Own the Eights Gets Married

by Krista Sandor

  All those little instances, taken one by one, could be seen as fleeting or insignificant. But together, they were everything.

  If she’d take him back, he’d never take those perfectly mundane moments for granted again.

  “Jordan,” she called.

  He blinked, having zoned out, to find the group packed into the elevator.

  He wove his way in to stand next to her—their bodies millimeters apart. She wrapped her arms around her body as the elevator started its ascent, then stopped on the second floor. The occupants trailed out, leaving only the two of them when he looked down and saw the sliver of dryer lint on her hoodie.

  Without thinking, he rested his hand on her shoulder and plucked the fibers.

  “What are you doing?” she asked with a startle.

  He held up the freeloading material. “Taking the dryer lint off your jacket.”

  She glanced at her shoulder and smoothed the now lint-free fabric. “I grabbed my hoodie out of the dryer before I came here.”

  Okay, they were talking—it was about dryer lint, of all things, but it was better than nothing.

  He held the lint to his nose. “It smells different.”

  She watched him warily. “The store was out of lemon verbena dryer sheets, so I got lavender-scented instead.”

  He took another whiff. “Smells nice.”

  “I like the lemon verbena better,” she replied.

  “Me too,” he agreed.

  She gave him a placating smile.

  God, help him! He had to stop sounding like such a douche canoe!

  The elevator dinged their arrival, and the doors opened.

  “After you,” he said, way too enthusiastically.

  Why did every word out of his mouth sound as if he were auditioning to become a game show host?

  He needed a plan—a plan free of asshattery and douche canoery.

  Was douche canoery even a word?

  Dammit! Focus!

  What were the objectives?

  Ester and Simon.

  They’d check on the pair and make sure they were okay, and then…shit!

  A large clock on the wall above the nurses’ station flashed the time. They had less than an hour before the Shakespeare Shuffle. Granted, he and Georgie had made sure the event would run like clockwork with or without them. But they needed to be there. CityBeat would be covering the event as well as the rest of the local media.

  Thanks to the Denver Wedding Frau—a sentiment he never thought he’d feel—and her uncanny ability to take charge of every aspect of their wedding, besides going to his tux fitting, nobody had bothered him with anything wedding related while they were in their engagement purgatory.

  But here’s the thing.

  Everyone knew today was their wedding day—or, at least, that it was supposed to be their wedding day. There was a damn countdown clock on CityBeat’s homepage.

  “Here’s Esther’s room, five-sixty-nine,” Georgie said, pointing to the placard.

  Sixty-nine?

  Was it a sign?

  Sixty-nine was totally their thing—and not even in a dirty way. Okay, it absolutely was in a dirty way, but, when they’d first met and learned they’d be competing together back in the Battle of the Blogs, Bobby and Hector had told them they had a sixty-nine percent audience overlap between their blogs. At the time, it seemed ludicrous any of his now-debunked Marks Perfect Ten Mindset blog followers could find anything useful in Georgie’s Own the Eights posts.

  She glanced over her shoulder at him, and he would have sworn he’d detected the hint of a grin pulling at the corners of her lips.

  Was he imagining things now?

  “Are you ready?” she asked, lowering her voice.

  He nodded.

  Georgie knocked gently, then opened the door. “It’s me. I mean, it’s us, Georgie and Jordan.”

  He bristled. That didn’t bode well!

  “Come in, come in,” came Esther’s raspy voice.

  They entered the room to find her in bed.

  “Thank you both for coming,” she said, then waved them over.

  Georgie sat on the edge of the bed and hugged the woman. “How are you feeling?”

  Esther adjusted the breathing tubes hooked around her ears. “Better. This unseasonably warm weather is playing havoc with my asthma, but I didn’t call you two here to talk about me.”

  “Is Simon all right?” he asked, lowering himself to sit on the other side of the bed across from Georgie.

  “Simon’s fine, but he doesn’t want to leave my side. I sent him out to get me some real coffee from the shop down the block. Even that was a struggle to persuade him to leave for fifteen minutes,” she replied.

  “I can understand that. I’m sure he’s worried about you. We all are,” he answered, sharing a glance with Georgie, who nodded her agreement.

  Esther took Georgie’s hand, then reached for his. “I’m going to be fine. I think Simon knows this, but he needs a nudge to feel okay about leaving me to compete in the Shakespeare Shuffle. As a retired high school English teacher, I’m sure you can understand this is very important to me. He’s worked so hard, and you both have helped him so much.”

  Jordan squeezed the woman’s hand gently. “He’s a great kid, Esther.”

  “He is. He’s stronger and more confident, and I have the two of you to thank for that. Since he started working out in your gym and hanging out in the bookshop, his real smile is back. You two have changed his life,” she said.

  “I don’t know if you could say that. Simon was always a good kid,” he replied.

  Esther released a shaky breath. “But he was headed down a dark path. He’d retreated into himself. I could tell him a million times that he was smart and funny, but I’m his grandmother. He needed to hear it from someone else, someone he admired. That’s where the two of you came in. You challenge him. You helped him see the person we all knew was inside of him.” The woman glanced between them. “You’ve also taught him about love.”

  “Love?” Georgie repeated, surprise coating the word.

  Esther nodded. “I’m not sure how much Simon’s told you, but his parents aren’t allowed to have contact with him.”

  “He’s never mentioned them to me,” he replied.

  “Me neither,” Georgie answered.

  “It’s not a happy story. His parents had gotten mixed up in drugs, and his early years were tumultuous, to say the least. He’d never been around a couple who loved each other. You see, I’ve been a widow for almost twenty years now, and Simon never knew his grandfather. I suspect he wasn’t sure what real love between a committed couple looked like before meeting the two of you. He talks about you all the time. You’ve had a great impact on his life.”

  Georgie swiped a tear from her cheek. “That’s very kind of you to say. We’re grateful he’s a part of our life,” she added, catching his eye, then turning back to Esther.

  Our life?

  That had to be something. She still thought of them as having a life together—or that they used to have a life together.

  His gaze washed over Georgie, and the slight hint of a smile she gave him when she caught him looking at her was there, barely a breath beneath the surface of her schooled features.

  “You know, he has a girlfriend now. He and Talya spend just about every waking moment together,” Esther continued.

  “I suspected there might be something going on between them,” he replied.

  “He says she’s epic,” the woman added with a glint in her eyes when the door to the room flew open.

  “Mr. Marks, Miss Jensen, what are you doing here?” Simon asked, carrying in a large to-go cup of coffee.

  “They’re here to take you to the Shakespeare Shuffle,” Esther said in a firm, don’t-mess-with-grandma tone.

  But the kid wasn’t having it.

  “I told you, Grandma. I’m not leaving you,” he answered firmly.

  “Sweetheart, you heard what the doctors said las
t night. They only kept me overnight for observation. And the nurse stopped by after you left to tell me I’ll be released later today,” Esther replied.

  The teen set the coffee on the bedside table. “I should be here.”

  “No, you should be at the race. You’ve worked too hard to miss it,” Esther replied.

  Jordan glanced between grandmother and grandson and saw the pain in Esther’s eyes.

  “How about we do it together, Simon?” he offered.

  Simon frowned. “You want to run the race with me?”

  “Why not?” Jordan asked, switching from concerned mentor to motivational trainer.

  Simon shrugged.

  “You don’t think you can keep up with me?” Jordan pressed, knowing how to challenge the teen.

  The kid scoffed. “I can keep up. But what if I mess up the sonnet,” he said, deflating as he glanced at his grandmother.

  Jordan pinned the teen with his gaze. “We’ve been training for this from the moment you entered the gym. And you’ve got the sonnet down. I’ve listened to you recite while running, jumping rope, and doing deadlifts. I’d venture to say you could recite it while being chased by an alligator.”

  Simon’s expression softened. “Maybe.”

  “Jordan’s right, Simon. I overheard you practicing with Talya. You’re ready,” Georgie added.

  “Talya,” Simon repeated, as a grin spread across his face at the mention of the girl.

  Jordan shared a look with Esther, and she gave him a conspiratorial wink.

  “Look at the time! You need to get going!” the woman said, pointing at the clock on the wall.

  Simon’s gaze bounced between them, then landed on his grandmother. “Are you sure?”

  She waved him off. “Yes, and it’s not like I won’t be able to watch. You set up my laptop so I can ride the web.”

  “It’s surf the web, Gram. And yes, I’ve got the CityBeat site bookmarked for you,” Simon answered, retrieving the laptop from a bag on the floor and setting it on the bedside table.

  “There you go! Now, give me a hug,” she replied, folding her grandson into her embrace.

  Jordan followed Georgie to the door to give Simon and Esther some privacy to say their goodbyes.

  “Does Simon know?” Georgie asked under her breath.

  “Know what?” he murmured back.

  “That we…” she began but stopped when Simon joined them.

  He held her gaze, but he couldn’t read her. What was she saying? Did Simon suspect they were living apart or that their wedding may or may not take place in the next handful of hours?

  With one last wave to Esther, the three of them left the room and rode the elevator down to the first floor.

  “Where’d you guys park?” Simon asked as they walked out the sliding doors into the fresh morning air.

  He and Georgie spoke at once, with her pointing in one direction and him in another.

  The boy frowned. “You guys didn’t come together?”

  Jordan threw Georgie a worried glance. “No, we didn’t, but that’s because—”

  “I had a few errands to run this morning,” she finished.

  “Okay,” Simon answered, not sounding convinced.

  Jordan gave the kid his best fake grin. “Let’s take my car.”

  “Is everything okay?” the boy asked.

  “Yes,” he and Georgie answered in the same rah-rah, go-team-go voice.

  “Are you guys feeling okay?” Simon pressed.

  “Yes,” they answered again, channeling a deranged cheer squad.

  “I bet you’re excited for today,” Simon continued as they walked to the car.

  “Sure! We couldn’t have gotten better weather for the race,” Georgie answered with an expression as fake as his.

  “No, I mean for your wedding?” Simon said, getting into the back seat as they buckled their belts in the front.

  “We sure—” he began, not knowing what the hell to say when Georgie interrupted.

  “Let’s focus on one thing at a time, Simon. Do you need to stretch? Do you want to take another look at the sonnet? I can pull it up on my phone,” she offered, still sporting that plastic grin.

  Simon perked up. “No, I think I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, and you guys should use the sonnet today, too.”

  “For what?” Jordan asked, merging into traffic for the short drive to the community center.

  “The wedding! The sonnet is all about what love is and what it isn’t. It would be perfect for you! But you probably already know that since you were the ones who recommended it,” Simon replied.

  Jordan glanced over to where Georgie was twisting the cuff of her hoodie.

  “I don’t have it memorized like you do, Simon,” Georgie answered with a nervous laugh.

  “Mr. Marks probably does. He’s listened to me recite it a million times,” the teen countered.

  “Let’s focus on you, champ,” Jordan said, catching the boy’s eye in the rearview mirror.

  “You guys aren’t in a fight, are you?” Simon asked as the worry returned to his face.

  “No, it’s nothing like that,” Georgie answered.

  Simon leaned forward and pressed his elbows to his knees. “You guys haven’t been hanging out at the bookshop very much these last couple weeks.”

  Shit! The last thing he wanted to do was upset Simon.

  “It’s been a busy time with the Shakespeare Shuffle and…” Georgie began, her eyes begging him to help her out.

  “And everything else going on with us,” he finished.

  Jesus! Could neither of them even say the word wedding?

  The teen gave them an unconvinced half nod.

  Simon looked up to him and Georgie just as he’d looked up to Maureen and Deacon all those years ago before Deacon lost his way. And there was no way in hell he was about to let Simon think he didn’t love and respect Georgie. He swallowed hard, trying to come up with something encouraging to say when Georgie placed her hand over his.

  “We’re going to be okay,” she said, giving it a gentle squeeze.

  “We are?” he answered in a cracked voice, not meaning for it to come out as a question.

  “I hope so,” she said, blinking back tears.

  He threaded his fingers with hers and rested their clasped hands on the console as they cruised down the boulevard.

  “Back to mushy. That’s more like I remember it,” Simon said, feigning teen mortification at their display of affection.

  But what the hell was going on? Was Georgie only doing this to make Simon feel better before the race? It felt genuine. But could the tears in her eyes be tears of sadness—the tears over something about to end?

  He couldn’t let that happen.

  They approached the community center, and reluctantly, he released her hand. “I better let go so I can park.”

  “Right,” she answered, clasping her hands nervously in her lap.

  Instantly, he missed her touch, hating the loss of the connection he longed for over the last two weeks. He turned into the parking lot across from the community center and found a spot. He cut the ignition as his gaze traveled to the teen in the back seat, and he pushed aside the emotion welling in his chest.

  Simon was their priority now.

  Georgie opened the car door. “Jordan, why don’t you stick with Simon. I’ll go check in with the director and our volunteer coordinator. I’ll catch up with you two during the race,” she said, gifting the teen a grin before exiting the car.

  He watched Georgie jog up to the volunteer stand. When would he see her again? He needed to carve out a moment to get her alone—to apologize, to make her see they were meant to be together.

  It couldn’t be over between them. It simply couldn’t.

  “Mr. Marks, are you ready?” Simon asked.

  Ready?

  Jordan swallowed past the lump in his throat. Was he ready to find out if the woman he loved would take him back? And what if it was over? How the
hell would he go on?

  “It looks like it’s you and me, big guy,” he said to the teen, doing his best not to sound defeated.

  “Yeah,” Simon replied, nodding to himself as if he were turning something over in his mind.

  They got out of the car and surveyed the bustling rec center.

  Jordan cleared his throat. “Let’s pick up our race bibs and get warmed up.”

  He needed to get Simon moving. Hell, he needed to get out of his head and get himself moving.

  Once they started running, he could figure out what he wanted to say to Georgie. And it wasn’t like she’d catch up to them in the race. Yes, with a hell of a lot of training, they’d knocked a little time off her mile, but she still got passed by spry senior citizens out power walking.

  He breathed a cautious sigh of relief. There was still time. The wedding wasn’t until later this afternoon.

  A shiver traveled down his spine.

  What kind of guy doesn’t know if his wedding is on or off hours before the big event?

  He shook his head and willed the thought away. He couldn’t go there. Not yet. Not while there was still a chance.

  They checked in, grabbed their race bibs, and headed toward a crowd of runners gathered at the starting line. Along with participants of all ages, the place was packed with teens, amped up and horsing around, preparing to run the 5K, then complete their Shakespeare recitation.

  “Do you think I’m going to look like a fool?” Simon asked, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

  Jordan met the kid’s gaze. “No, not at all.”

  Simon glanced over at a group of teenage boys. “They’re from my school. They’re athletes.”

  Jordan checked out the jock squad. “Did they ever bother you?”

  “A few comments here and there. But not much anymore,” the kid answered, but Jordan knew the damage had been done.

  Simon might not be that skinny kid anymore, but it didn’t erase the years of teasing.

  He rested his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Listen, those guys don’t matter. Not one bit. You’re strong. You’re fast. They’ll be eating our dust.”

  The teen swallowed hard. “You believe that?”