“Even when you’re with all those other girls?” I shot out, instantly scolding myself for opening my big mouth.
“It doesn’t matter who I’m with. Who I’m dating. It’s always you I want. I don’t know if it’s just that you left me wanting more…or…” He gave a laconic chuckle. “Let me put it this way: Usually I’m the one doing the leaving. Chad Harris doesn’t have many girls walking out on him.”
I groaned, actually surprised at how pompous he sounded.
“But I think there’s something more with you,” he went on. “I mean, we’re friends, yeah, but…”
I looked over my shoulder at him, raising one inquisitive brow. “But?” I pressed.
“But… God, aren’t you curious? Don’t you want to see where this, where we could go?” He reached a hand out for me, but I refused to accept. Instead, I just stared at his hand, lips pressed tightly together. I could feel my stomach churn.
“I promised I’d let go and have fun this summer,” I said at last. My voice was crisp and cool, which was a great front, because I was feeling so frazzled inside.
What did Chad expect of me? To fall head-over-heels for him after one week together in Paris? Confess my supposed undying love I’ve hidden all these years, and just, what? Enter into some jacked-up relationship? Or keep on having a fling or whatever it was we were doing?
“I’m having fun with Henri,” I said defiantly. “I’m dating some guys here and there. And you!” I gestured a hand to him. I turned in my seat so I was facing him front-on. “You come here, out of nowhere, and you’re—you’re—you’re—”
“I’m what?”
“You’re just another guy I’m having fun with!” I blurted. “Henri’s open, he knows I’m seeing you. You obviously know I’m seeing someone, and…” I shrugged, discomfited. “I don’t know. What we’re doing now is what we said we’d do…have fun, no-strings-attached. Can’t we leave it at that?”
“Yeah,” he said, voice short. He looked off to the side. “You’re right, we did say that.”
“And we knew it’d have to come to an end some time, Chad. And, to be quite honest, I think we’ve done another doozy for the Sophie-Chad saga.” I scoffed. “I mean, are we dense? How stupid could two people be to go and do the same thing again? And, what?” I wrinkled my nose. “We thought the outcome would be different? That is the definition of insanity!”
“Oh, don’t be so melodramatic.”
“We’re friends, Chad. Friends, nothing more.” I abruptly shook my head, trying to erase the images that were suddenly flooding my way—images of Chad caressing me, his moist lips hovering over mine as we panted, practically in sync, our bodies moving together—
“I get it,” he said, breaking my arousing train of thought. “You want to wave that damn friend card again!”
“Yes. And mum’s the word about this.” I waved a hand towards the bed. “This will all just become a part of our past; we move on, forget about it, and hope to god it doesn’t make our friendship any more weird.”
“Whatever.”
“No matter what, Chad! We just put it behind us and try not to let it ruin things. Okay? You, me, Claire, Conner…I don’t want anything to wind up weird. No one getting hurt.”
“Whatever.”
“Please,” I begged. “Just friends.”
“Fine,” he replied gruffly.
“Good.” I handed him his shirt. “Now please, get dressed before Conner and Claire get back.”
I was about to turn around behind the Japanese blind partition I’d fashioned to separate the bedroom from the living and dining spaces, when Chad called out my name.
“Yes?” I turned and looked at him. He looked so attractive, and so strong, yet also so vulnerable, his dark eyes actually looking a twinge sad.
“Look,” he began, “I don’t want to fight with you, Sophie.”
“Isn’t that what we do?” I kidded.
My little remark didn’t elicit anything from him, not even a half-drawn smile. Instead, he said, “If keeping this a secret is what you want—if being just friends is what you want—then fine. I can do that. If it’s what you really want…”
“It is.”
He stared at me with a blank expression.
“Thank you,” I said. “Let’s just move on.”
“Okay, but…uhh…” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “I should…”
“Yeah?”
He hemmed and hawed some, and as he was muttering a lengthy ermmm he was cut off by the ringing of my cell phone.
I pulled a taut face and told him it had to be Claire. “She’s probably freaking out right now!” I giddily retrieved my phone from the dresser. “Yup, it’s Claire.”
I looked to Chad, waving the phone at him. “Hurry, hurry. She’s going to burst from excitement. What did you want to say?”
“Erm…nothing,” he dismissed with breeziness. “It’s nothing. Go ahead and talk to Claire.”
“Fine. Suit yourself.” I took in a deep breath, bracing myself for the uncontainable excitement that Claire would be exuding the moment I clicked her on.
“Hello?” I answered.
“Omigod! Omigod! Omigod! I’m engaged, Sophie! Conner finally proposed!”
***
“So I guess I’ll see you back home in Seattle then, huh?” Chad asked from the entrance to the security check at Charles de Gaulle airport. “A month, month and a half?”
“Guess so,” I said, nodding slowly. “Have a safe trip.”
I spread wide my arms to envelop him in a hug when he said, “About us.”
“Oh, Chad.” I readjusted the pair of oversized Gucci sunglasses atop my head, nestling them square between my high-top bun and wide curl of bangs.
“Let’s forget about it,” I said breezily. “We were having fun, we were impulsive… It’s Paris for god’s sake.” I rocked back on my heels and laughed. “This city does crazy things to people.”
“Yeah, well, as long as you’re cool.” He stuffed his free hand in his jeans pocket and scratched at his forehead with the edge of his passport.
“Of course I’m cool. You cool?”
“Yeah, yeah,” he stammered. “Yeah, I’m cool. I’m always cool.” He gave an abashed grin, eyes focused on something far off behind me.
“And I’m serious, by the way.” I moved my head to meet his eyes. “This has to be a secret. This is all in the past. What happened here was just…”
“A secret,” he said, right as I was at a loss for words. “Yeah, you’ve drilled it into my brain.” He exhaled loudly, scratching at his head with his passport again. “Whatever you say, Sophie. Whatever you want.”
“Well.” I opened my arms again. “Safe travels. Bon voyage.” I giggled weakly. “Say hi to Claire for me, and that I’ll help with all things wedding just as soon as I get home.”
He sniffed and said, “Yeah, this wedding planning is going to drive Conner fucking nuts.”
I rolled my eyes at Chad’s colorful language and leaned forward for a hug, arms still outstretched.
He hesitated for a moment, almost seeming to appraise me as I stood there like a fool with open arms. Then, finally, he embraced me and said goodbye.
“Later,” I said with a wave as I backed up a pace. “Oh, and Chad! Congrats on selling that painting of yours. That’s really cool.”
He gave a one-armed shrug, waved goodbye with his passport in hand, and turned around.
And just like that Chad Harris was departing the charming city of Paris as suddenly as he’d arrived. We hadn’t spent any more time together, just the two of us, since that night Conner and Claire became engaged. We agreed to be friends, keep our experience a secret, and move on. It was better that way.
Though in that moment at Charles de Gaulle I didn’t feel completely at rest with the idea that Chad and I were burying the hatchet. I told myself then that in time—the great healer that it is—I could move on and things would go back to the way they were. I’d gotten over Brandon; I’d l
earned how to deal with the loss of Pamela; Robin and I had even moved past our great obstacle. Over time, Chad and I could do the same.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Claire’s sitting here motionless, mouth slightly parted, as it has been for the past several minutes while I’ve divulged my long-kept secrets of my Parisian affair with Chad. Surely her lips and tongue are sandpaper-dry by now.
“Say something,” I urge, brushing my sweaty palms against the silky throw.
“Sophie,” she gasps at last, finally rewetting her lips. “I’m—I’m—stunned!”
“Yeah,” I say in a lighthearted kind of way. “Figured that story’d kind of have that effect.”
“You’ve kept all this a secret for…” She wets her lips once more, eyes wide. Her gaze is now fixed on the bag of Twizzlers.
“Two years,” I say. “And, oddly, it feels good to get it off my chest.” I dramatically swipe a hand across my forehead.
“Two years and this is the first—the first—first time I’m hearing this?” She blinks hard twice, then looks me in the eyes. “Sophie!”
“I know, I know. What are BFFs for, right? I keep this a secret and it’s akin to a lie and—”
“Two years! You and Chad were in love and—”
“Whoa, whoa!” I hold up a hand, immediately putting a stop to her insane assumption. “Where did you get that idea?”
“Come on, Sophie! That story…all those stories!” Her mouth forms that familiar O shape for a second again.
“Love’s got nothin’ to do with it, Claire,” I say, adamant.
“You two not being able to keep your hands off each other! The history! Jeez, the history you two have…back in college!” She clasps her hands to her head, shaking it in disbelief. “This is unreal.”
“Trust me,” I scoff. “I’ve tried to suppress it so long I thought it actually was unreal. But,” I blow out a long puff of air, “it’s as real as ever.”
“And now it’s all coming out? The truth’s coming forward?”
I stare at her, deadpan, unsure of what to say at this point.
“Well,” she says. She balances the balls of her feet on the single low shelf of my coffee table, plunking her elbows onto her thighs.
As she drops her chin into her hands she says, “All this time, you two have something going on. I can’t believe it. How could I not see this? I aced the matchmaking course! I practically invented it!”
“Claire, you couldn’t see it because there isn’t anything going on. It was a long time ago. A one-time and totally stupid, irrational thing.”
“No!” She perks her head up. “No, that’s a total fib, Sophie. You and Chad together happened way more than ‘one time.’”
“Okay, whatever. Minute details.” I roll my eyes, conceding the facts. “But it wasn’t anything serious.”
“I’m not one who subscribes to the theory that sex can be casual.” Her chin drops back into her hands. “It’s serious.”
“That’s because you’ve only ever been with Conner.”
Though I’m not hungry, and in fact am feeling slightly queasy from so much junk food, I snag a Twizzler.
I roll the sticky, limp candy between two fingers. “You’ve only ever had true love and meaningful sex, Claire.”
“And that’s…a bad thing?” She looks confused.
“No. I’m not saying it’s good or bad. I’m not making judgments or claims or anything. I’m saying that sometimes there’s nothing but attraction and ecstasy and pure—”
“Horniness?” she cuts in with a raised, curious brow.
“Not just that. But pure…spur-of-the-moment indulgence! I wasn’t thinking. Clearly.”
“I beg to differ.” She tucks her knees into her chest and sits back snuggly on the sofa.
“Huh?”
“Maybe back in college when you shacked up with Chad you could blame it on a spur-of-the-moment thing. A rebel period. You weren’t thinking, blah-blah. Yeah?”
I nod, slowly twisting the Twizzler to the left, to the right.
“It was a totally random one-off, and so rebellious and…weird.” She shivers, and I tell her to go on—no need to drive the point home this hard.
“But again in Paris?” she wheezes. “And multiple times! That is not spur-of-the-moment. That’s having time to think and knowing exactly what you’re doing and going for it, full force.” She gives my knee a tap. “And good for you. You two do have chemistry, even though you’re always nitpicking and crap. It’s part of the charm, the chemistry, I guess.”
“Whatever.” I toss the uneaten Twizzler on top of its pack. “I think it was all spur-of-the-moment and so not thought-out. Like I said, there was attraction, and he was all seductive and—and—and, Christ, it was Paris! You can hardly blame me, Claire.”
“I’m not blaming either of you.” She snags my rejected Twizzler and bites off an inch worth. “There’s no one to blame here. ‘Blame’ and ‘love’ are two words that have nothing to do with each other.”
“You’re right, they don’t, because ‘love’,” I cross my eyes and stick out my tongue as I say this four-lettered word, “was never in the picture to begin with. Lust. Pure lust. Lust born of homesickness and attraction and a romantic city and—”
“Loneliness,” Claire says so sharply (and accurately) that she leaves me speechless for a moment.
“Loneliness, right?” she repeats. “You had your heart broken by Brandon, Sophie, and you’ve never been able to fully heal from it—move on. And…you’ve been lonely.”
“Oh, Claire.”
“I don’t want to upset you.”
I know she doesn’t; she’s just pointing out the facts, moving the conversation along, perhaps in search of an explanation for what transpired between Chad and me.
The reality is, though, that sometimes there isn’t an explanation for two people giving in to lust and moving on after the fun’s been had. There doesn’t have to be love to explain sex; there doesn’t have to be a reason to seek companionship; there doesn’t have to be a rational remedy to a heartbreak. Sometimes things just happen. No explanation.
“Well then here’s something for you,” Claire says once she’s halfway through her Twizzler. She smacks her lips. “Why do you think you’re mulling over all of this now? Why do you think you’re telling me all these secrets? Having all these memories and stuff?”
“I told you.” I rest my head exhaustedly on the sofa’s backing. “I’m getting back into the dating scene. Then I see Evelyn and Chad together all the time…” I roll my head along the cushiony backing and give her a half-smile. “I see everyone happy, in love, dating, or married, or making up. And I want to find love, and it’s completely out of my control! That’s nothing new. We both know that.”
“And when you’re down and out on the subject of love, you begin to think of your time with Chad? Mmmhmm. Now if that’s not telling…”
“All my relationships,” I quickly assert myself. “All my serious and not-so-serious relationships, encounters, spur-of-the-moment flings. I’m reflecting on all of them.”
She nods. “Okay, fair enough.” She pops the last bit of the candy into her mouth. “So what are you going to do about it?”
I furrow my brow, totally baffled. “What do you mean ‘what am I going to do about it?’”
“You heard me.” She gestures to me, waving her hand up and down. “You’re lonely, you want love, and you’re thinking about your past. What are you going to do about it? The future? Moving on ahead? You can’t just sit here and grouse about it, expecting something to happen.”
“I guess…” I jut out my bottom lip and shake my head. “I don’t know. I suppose just keep doing what I’m doing.”
“Oh, that’ll do you a lot of good!” she says with a hearty laugh. “Burying yourself in your work and fending off dates faster than Jackie springing to a Nordstrom sale. Recipe for success, totally.”
“No. I mean, what I’m doing now, as in dating. B
eing optimistic and putting myself out there. I am dating Dean.”
I cringe a little at the mention of his name. I don’t know why I’m disinterested in Dean, borderline wanting to ward him off with a ten-foot pole. But he’s there, he’s interested, and I said I’d take a chance, so there you have it.
“Good for you!” Claire says gaily. “That’s exactly what I think you should do!” She licks her sticky fingers, then eyes the Twizzlers, perhaps contemplating if she should take another sugary vine.
“You do? You really think so?”
“Hell yeah!” She keeps eyeing the candy. “And as for Chad?”
“What about Chad?” I’m almost afraid to ask. Claire couldn’t possibly think Chad and I…that we have…that we could actually be anything? Anything…legitimate?
“You have feelings for him?” she asks, point-blank.
“Uhh.”
“For Chad. You have feelings for Chad?” She’s unrelenting.
“He’s a friend…” I scratch at the bridge of my nose.
“Do you have feelings-feelings,” she wiggles her eyebrows, “for him? Is it just lust? Or is it…love?”
I stop her immediately. “None of the above. We’re only friends.”
“Okay then. Forget about him.” She shrugs. “Forget about Brandon and Henri and all of the past, too.” She eyes the candy once more, then brusquely looks to me and says, “And, do what you’re doing now. Get out there and date, Sophie. Meet new guys, be receptive. Have fun! Be open and positive, and, well,” she makes a clicking noise with her tongue, “let love find you. It will if you get off your duff and perk up.”
I give a mollifying laugh. “Okay, Claire, if you say so.”
“You never know.” She tugs at the corner of my throw and buries her bare, peach-polished toes in its soft folds.
“That’s the annoying part,” I say with a loud, exaggerated sigh. “The ‘never knowing’ thing. I so wish love was like a cupcake.”
“Huh?”
“Like it came with a recipe, you know?” I explain. “You know that you need to mix your dry ingredients, then your wet ingredients. You measure accurately, pour slowly, whip or whisk or smooth in. Then when it comes to vanilla flavoring or zests of lemon or the thickness of the icing—the really yummy, spicy stuff—you can be a little spontaneous. But overall, you know how to go from separate ingredients to a perfectly sculpted and totally scrumptious cupcake. It’s all there, plotted out just so for you on a recipe card. You don’t have to second-guess or worry or fear the cake won’t rise right or the icing will be too liquidy.”
When Girlfriends Find Love Page 21
