Own the Eights Gets Married

by Krista Sandor

  “I don’t need your help,” she said through chattering teeth.

  “You look like you need something,” he shot back.

  With perfect posture and her chin held high, she pinned him with her rain-soaked gaze. “Oh, I need something, all right! I need a bed. I need a shower. I need at least two tubes of vegan cookie dough. I need the Belgian Waffle Princess to make me a boatload of carb-infused deliciousness. And more than that, I need a fiancé who isn’t afraid of alpacas!”

  Jordan looked away and shook his head as she took a step toward him.

  “What else are you afraid of, Mr. Big Strong Man? Turtles? Do their creepy shells freak you out? Elephants with those big floppy ears? Or, what about bunnies and their hippity-hippity-hop way of getting around?” she rattled off.

  “I am not afraid of turtles or elephants,” he mumbled.

  “So, add bunnies to the list?” she replied with sarcasm coating her words.

  He met her gaze. “I’m not afraid of bunnies either. But I’ve got something to say about that.”

  “By all means, don’t keep me in suspense,” she threw back.

  He held her gaze. “Hippity, hippity, hop, hooray! I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but it looks like we’re spending the night soaked and freezing.”

  She glared at his symmetrically perfect face and reached inside her sweatshirt and pulled out the tracking device, hanging from the lanyard, then gripped the panic button.

  “I’m done with this wilderness bridal boot camp bullshit! I’m done with it all!”

  Jordan raised his hands defensively. “Don’t push it, Georgie. It’s one night. We can do this. We can tough it out.”

  “Tough it out? What do you think I’ve been doing while you’ve been snoring like a sleeping bear every night?”

  “Eating cookie dough,” he replied accusatorially.

  “That was one night!” she exclaimed.

  “You could have left a little bit for me?” he countered.

  She wiped the rain from her cheeks. “Is this what’s happening? Are we going to pretend this is about cookie dough or shit shovels or llamas?”

  “It was an alpaca,” he corrected.

  “It doesn’t matter! Look at us, Jordan! The only time we’re not trying to rip each other’s heads off is when we’re screwing! Maybe I am a sex maniac?”

  He stared up at the pouring rain. “What are you saying?”

  She steadied herself. “I’m saying that this is over.”

  She pressed the button and watched as the indicator light changed from a solid green to a blinking red.

  “What happens now?” he asked as rivulets of water trailed down his face as a clapping sound came from behind a wall of rock.

  “Now, you leave without your wilderness bridal boot camp completion certificate,” Buck said with a final clap.

  She and Jordan whipped around to see the wilderness expert and his wife coming around the rocks.

  “How did you get here so fast?” she asked.

  “Where do you think you are?” Syd asked, sharing a look with Buck.

  “Way the hell away from camp, near the red flag,” Jordan answered, but he didn’t sound so sure.

  Buck chuckled. “You’re no more than a two-minute walk from camp. It’s up this trail, past the rocks. Don’t you recognize where you are?” Buck pointed to the alpaca. “Didn’t Frankie give it away that you’d circled back?”

  Georgie glanced at her fiancé, whose posture had gone rigid.

  “Are you sure you want to give up?” Syd asked.

  Georgie took another look at the sullen man she thought she knew.

  “We’re done.”

  10

  Georgie

  “I can’t believe you won’t walk the five feet it takes to get to Jordan’s gym from the bookshop. This is getting insane, Georgie. Your wedding is in two days! Two days! You guys need to talk,” Becca whisper-shouted across the shop.

  Georgie slid a copy of Pride and Prejudice onto the bookshelf and sighed.

  The wedding may be in two days, but the last two weeks had flown by in a hazy blur.

  Three hundred and thirty-six hours—not that she was counting—had passed since she and Jordan turned in their shit shovel and their engagement had turned into a full-blown shit show.

  And just to be clear, it wasn’t that the weather was hazy. Nope, the wedding frau was right. The last two weeks had been unseasonably warm and sunny with high temperatures near eighty degrees every day since she and Jordan had flunked out of wilderness bridal boot camp.

  They’d driven back to their Denver bungalow in silence, and then Jordan had packed a bag, collected the contents of their dryer’s lint trap, and left.

  She couldn’t blame him. She was the one who said they were done.

  But what was she talking about? The boot camp from hell or their engagement?

  And why didn’t she know the answer?

  In this alternate universe, time passed in a nebulous tumble of routine.

  Yes, she went through all the motions. She’d open the shop. She’d close the shop. However, out of spite or out of morbid curiosity, she’d spent a ludicrous amount of time over the last fourteen days researching lemon verbena.

  For the past two weeks, she’d written a myriad of blog posts on the perennial shrub. Lemon verbena required full sun to flourish. Perfect for attracting butterflies and hummingbirds, the drought-resistant plant could also be used as an essential oil or its leaves employed in making herbal teas.

  She’d interviewed gardeners and spent hours online gazing at the herb’s delicate white flowers hidden in a sea of deep green leaves.

  Some sources claimed it was associated with supernatural forces and could protect against dark spells.

  Unfortunately, her lemon verbena dryer sheet wasn’t able to protect her and Jordan from whatever dark place they’d entered.

  They communicated through the blog by going tit-for-tat with their posts.

  She’d blog about the lemon verbena. Then, he’d hit back with a post touting the importance of pushing past one’s mental blocks. She’d write about treatments to stop snoring, and he’d come back with the pitfalls of binging on raw cookie dough.

  One thing was for sure. Under extreme stress, they’d reverted to the worst version of themselves.

  The fragile beauty queen turned into an inflexible eight, and the former weakling turned into a hyper-masculine, single-minded ten.

  “Seriously, Georgie! You’ve got to snap out of it. Has anyone else figured out Jordan left the bungalow?”

  Or that she possibly kicked him out?

  It was a legit question. Thankfully, only the perceptive Becca seemed to pick up on the disconnect between the bookshop owner and the fitness trainer next door. Not even Cornelia Lieblingsschatz or any of her wedding minions seemed to know.

  “It’s coming down to the wire, Georgie. Is the wedding still on?”

  Georgie blinked and met her friend’s gaze. “I think so.”

  Becca’s jaw nearly hit the floor. “You think so? Your mother has invited all of Denver to this shindig, and that scary wedding lady is sending out emails left and right on wedding party etiquette and panty lines. Panty lines, Georgie! She made me send her a picture of my ass in the bridesmaid dress with the underwear I planned on wearing that day so her people could inspect it for visibility issues. First of all, who has people for that? And second, that’s nuts! I get that she’s a wedding genius, but sheesh, panty lines procedures?”

  Georgie swallowed past the lump in her throat. She hadn’t called off the wedding, and, as far as she knew, Jordan hadn’t either.

  But was it on?

  She steadied herself and attempted to make sense of the situation. “Think of it this way, Bec. From what I’ve heard, the champagne engagement breakfast was a real hit, and Jordan and I were only there for ten minutes. I’m sure, between my mother and the wedding frau, the actual wedding will go off without a hitch.”

  B
ecca left the counter and joined her next to the Jane Austen section.

  “Have you hit your head?” Becca asked.

  “No.”

  “Did somebody give you a pot brownie, or did you eat some magic gummy bears?” Becca pressed.

  Georgie shook her head. “Nope, I’ve been sticking to my cookie dough, but even that doesn’t taste so good anymore.”

  “There’s no chance you’ve been drugged, or hypnotized, or had your body highjacked by aliens?”

  “No, Becca! Have you been highjacked by aliens?” she asked, about done with her friend’s antics.

  Becca’s expression grew serious. “I’m asking this because you said a wedding that didn’t include an actual wedding could go off without a hitch. I know you’ve been in your head a bunch the past two weeks. But say that slowly and let me know if you still think people wouldn’t notice a wedding without a bride and a groom?”

  Georgie leaned against the bookshelf. “We’re ready for a wedding.”

  They were.

  They’d made all the big decisions during their whirlwind of a trip to the Denver wedding underground.

  At this point, there was no way of squeezing the proverbial wedding toothpaste back into the pre-wedding tube.

  Perhaps, out of the need for structure or routine or not wanting to let go, she hadn’t hit the brakes.

  She’d followed all the frau’s instructions and had gone to her dress fitting and met with the hair and makeup people. She’d smiled and nodded politely at their suggestions. And it wasn’t like it was odd that Jordan wasn’t there. Many brides want to keep their dress and wedding day beauty preparations a surprise. She and Jordan had opted out of a bachelor or bachelorette party—it wasn’t their thing. And, in lieu of a rehearsal dinner, they’d already decided to donate to a food bank.

  As far as her mother, Hector, and Bobby—aka the Hydra of Denver—the frau had assigned them a slew of what she called transcendent wedding duties. What did these duties entail? She had no idea. But it had kept the hydra occupied and out of her hair.

  In fact, she’d barely heard a peep out of them.

  She glanced down at her left hand—the hand without an engagement ring. The wedding frau hadn’t mentioned if it was back from the jeweler, and she hadn’t brought it up.

  A sinking feeling set in. Would she ever wear that ring again?

  Had her words in the pouring rain sealed their fate?

  “You’re not answering the question, Georgie. Are you going to be walking down the aisle? Are you going to marry Jordan?” Becca asked gently.

  What was she supposed to say?

  She hadn’t said anything to anyone about the catastrophic wilderness boot camp. Jordan was most likely bunking at his dad’s place, and, for all she knew, he told his dad they wanted to be apart before the wedding.

  But the one thing she knew for sure was the stalemate between them was real.

  Neither had budged. Neither had reached out. Neither had waved the white flag.

  The obstinate eight. The inflexible ten.

  So much for being more than just a number.

  “I…” she began when hushed giggles came from the children’s area.

  “We don’t have another story time today, do we?” Becca asked.

  Georgie checked her watch. “No, Talya should have finished up the last one over an hour ago.”

  “Want me to check it out?” Becca asked, glancing past the shelves of books. “It could be some kids horsing around.”

  Georgie shook her head. “I’ll go. You watch the register.”

  Georgie wove her way toward the children’s area. A bright and cheery space, when they’d designed it, she’d made sure to have cozy reading nooks built. These were great. Customers loved them, but so did teens, often with raging hormones, who, from time to time, she caught, reenacting the naughty scenes from the books in the romance section. She passed the now empty children’s story time area, then froze.

  “Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, but bears it out even to the edge of doom.”

  Shakespeare. She’d know the line from Sonnet 116 anywhere. The lines Jordan had recited to her when they’d made love in the car before they entered Dante’s ninth ring of boot camp hell.

  She came around a table, stacked with the English bard’s hardbacks and plays, and found Simon and Talya with their heads bent over a book.

  “Edge of doom sounds super epic,” Simon said, playfully bumping Talya with his shoulder.

  “Well, this is Shakespeare’s sonnet on his definition of what love is and what it isn’t—and he’s not messing around. You’re right. It is pretty epic,” Talya replied.

  “Very epic,” the teen agreed.

  Talya blushed. “And there really isn’t anything as epic as listening to someone recite it.”

  “Really?” Simon asked, meeting the girl’s gaze.

  “Oh, yes,” she replied.

  Simon played with the corner of the book. “Do you think I’m going to do all right in the recitation part of the Shakespeare Shuffle? It’s important to my grandmother.”

  “Why is it so important?” Talya asked.

  “She used to be an English teacher, and she’s big on poetry,” Simon answered.

  Now, Talya gave Simon a playful shoulder bump. “You’ve been practicing and practicing with Mr. Marks, and you just sounded totally epic.”

  “I like practicing with you more,” Simon said, his cheeks growing pink.

  Talya bit her lip and twisted the sleeve of her hoodie. “I like helping you practice.”

  Georgie watched the sweet pair as young love blossomed before her eyes.

  She and Jordan had helped Simon choose that sonnet for the competition back when they were experts on love—or, so they thought. She sighed, and it must have been one hell of a sound because it had the teens on red alert.

  “Miss Jensen!” Talya said, bolting to her feet. “I didn’t see you there. I finished up with the story time cleanup and…”

  Simon sprang up next to her. “And…I finished up early with Mr. Marks at the gym and came here because…”

  “Because at school today, I offered to help Simon with his sonnet practice,” Talya finished.

  With their cheeks rivaling the color of a beet, they looked as if they’d gotten caught making out behind the bleachers instead of the very tame act of reciting Shakespeare in a bookstore.

  Georgie chuckled. “Nobody ever needs to apologize for reciting Shakespeare here. I’m glad you’re getting some extra practice in before the Shakespeare Shuffle.”

  Simon shared a relieved glance with Talya. “Yeah, Mr. Marks has been preoccupied lately. He says he’s busy with the gym.”

  Busy with the gym, just like she was busy with the bookshop.

  “It’s totally epic that you’re getting married on the same day as the Shakespeare Shuffle. I picked out a dress and everything,” Talya said with a dreamy expression.

  “Me too!” Simon blurted.

  “You found a dress that works?” Talya teased, glancing up at the boy through her lashes.

  “Um…no, like pants and a shirt and a real tie that doesn’t clip-on.”

  Georgie forced a grin. “I’m sure you’ll both look great.”

  No longer the skin and bone lightweight, Simon shifted his strong frame from foot to foot.

  “I was thinking since we’re both going to be at the Shakespeare Shuffle and then we’re going to Mr. Marks and Miss Jensen’s wedding, it would make sense for us to go together.”

  “That would be epic,” Talya answered, back to twisting her sleeve.

  “Epic!” the boy answered wide-eyed.

  “Totally epic,” Talya replied as Simon’s phone pinged.

  The teens stared at each other.

  “Simon, your cell phone,” Georgie said, pointing to the forgotten device in the teen’s hand and praying they were done dropping the word epic.

  “Right!” He glanced at the phone, then frowned. “I
t’s my grandma. She says she needs me.”

  “Is she okay?” Talya asked.

  The teen shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “You better go,” Georgie said, patting his shoulder. “And if you or your grandma need anything, reach out to—”

  “I know, I know,” Simon said, cutting her off. “Reach out to you or Mr. Marks.”

  Georgie nodded as the kids grabbed their backpacks and headed toward the exit.

  She suddenly felt quite alone.

  She glanced at the bright wall, decorated with children’s drawings.

  The wall that separated her shop from Jordan’s CrossFit gym.

  He was, most likely, on the other side.

  Physically, only a few feet away—but emotionally, miles apart.

  She stared at the barrier between them, her vision becoming blurry from strain or possibly the threat of tears until a wet familiar little nose nuzzled into her hand.

  She scratched between Mr. Tuesday’s ears. “Do you feel like a meandering walk, sweet boy?”

  The pup’s ears perked up as he ran around her in an excited loop.

  A walk would do them both good. They’d been spending sixteen hours a day at the bookshop. If her restless limbs needed to move, Mr. Tuesday’s must as well.

  She headed to the front of the store, where Becca met her with Mr. Tuesday’s leash.

  “I heard the commotion. You must have said the W-word.”

  Georgie took the leash and fastened it to Mr. Tuesday’s collar. “We’ve been pretty cooped up and could use the exercise.”

  “You could always go next door and ask to see a trainer. I’m sure there’s one there who would welcome your visit,” Becca said with a sympathetic expression.

  Georgie shook her head. “Just the park today. I won’t be long.”

  Becca nodded as she walked them to the door. “Take your time. Mrs. Gilbert’s knitting group is at their Michael Bolton Fan Club meeting tonight. So, we won’t be slammed, running back and forth, supplying them with pastries and coffee. Man, those women can knock back a doughnut hole or ten.”

  Georgie chuckled and shook her head, grateful for her friend’s humor, then stepped outside.