Chapter 5
five
JAY
“When I said I wanted something else to wear, I didn’t mean slightly different gym clothes,” Calla complains from my office.
I’m in the kitchen, shirtless, trying to decipher the French press instructions through a hangover haze. Calla trudges in, and I nearly burn myself on the kettle. She’s wearing one of my softest white T-shirts and a pair of soft gray sweatpants, both absurdly large on her petite, curvy frame. Her hair is a tousled mass of dark brown, to match perfectly with those piercing hazel eyes of hers. She looks vaguely like a kid playing dress-up in her dad’s clothes.
Or she would, except that I can see the hard nub of her nipples poking out of my T-shirt. She shifts and now I can see not only the outline of her breasts, but I’m fairly certain that I see the faint hint of areola…e. However you say that word.
Hot damn .
I swallow and blink. Calla is hot . Not in the girl-next-door kind of way that I found her attractive before now. She’s a fucking siren . And she’s calling to me as she sits at my kitchen counter.
"I look ridiculous," she says, crossing her arms and glaring at me.
I chuckle, then wince as the sound ricochets in my skull. "You make them look good. It's a new fashion statement."
She snorts, an unladylike sound that I find oddly endearing. "I'm changing as soon as I get back to my house."
I pour us each a cup of coffee, black and steaming, and slide hers across the marble countertop. She eyes it warily, then takes a tentative sip. Her shoulders relax just a fraction.
"Why did we think this was a good idea?" she asks. She is pointedly not looking at me.
"The tequila thought for us," I say, rubbing my temples. "Look, Calla, I’m as shocked as you are. But maybe this isn’t the disaster it seems."
Her eyes snap to mine, sharp and disbelieving.
"You think it’s not a disaster that your wedding cake baker is now your wife? Do you not think that the whole-ass internet will have a field day with this news? I can see it now.” She waves her palms in the air to emphasize her point. “'Jay Rustin rebounds with girl he met only hours before’. Yeah, that’ll really help your brand."
I flinch, not at her words, but at the truth in them. My brand. The business. Everything I’ve built is precariously balanced on public perception. She’s right. This could topple it all.
"That's why we need a plan. Come on, Java Monkey is just a couple of blocks away. We can walk."
She looks down at her bare feet, then at my shoe collection neatly lined up by the door. "Got any shoes that would fit a kid?"
The morning air is crisp. I can see my breath as I walk.
Calla shuffles beside me in a borrowed pair of sandals, her steps cautious. It isn’t icy here, but in Georgia, you never know where black ice will spring up. She holds the waistband of the sweatpants with one hand and has the other stuffed into a pocket of the oversized fleece I leant her. She looks impish; I half expect her to produce a slingshot and start aiming at weathervanes.
We turn the corner onto Greater Street. Now the town square is truly coming to life with early risers and dog walkers. The sight of the Java Monkey's glowing neon sign makes my stomach growl, though the thought of food still turns my stomach.
We step inside, the bell tinkling overhead. A cheerful barista greets me with a smile that’s way too bright for this early hour. Calla orders pancakes and a frilly latte. I order a veggie scramble and another black coffee. Once I’ve paid for our meal, I turn to see that Calla has taken a seat by the window. She’s staring out at the square, her expression unreadable.
Sliding into the chair across from her, I set down her coffee. "Food's coming. You can change after."
She nods, sipping her latte. I try to take her cue and enjoy a bit of coffee in silence. When the food arrives, Calla eyes my plate with a mixture of disbelief and amusement.
"Are you on a diet or just allergic to joy?" she quips, taking a generous sip of her sugary, whipped-cream-topped latte.
“Who, me?” I lean back in my chair, letting a smug grin spread across my face. "This body doesn’t maintain itself on pastries and lattes, you know. Discipline is the name of the game."
She raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Discipline, huh? You make it sound like you’re training for the Olympics. It’s just breakfast." She gestures to her own plate, piled high with pancakes. "Food is meant to be enjoyed."
I shrug and take a measured bite of my egg whites. "Everyone has their vices. I just choose to enjoy mine in moderation. Besides, someone has to balance out all the hedonism in this marriage."
Calla makes a noise that is somewhere between a laugh and a giggle. It’s a genuine, warm sound that catches me off guard. "Hedonism? Please. I’m the most boring person you know. I’m rigid in every way except my diet."
"Maybe that’s why you married me," I suggest with a wink. "So you can loosen up and enjoy life a little more."
She sticks out her tongue and smirks. "Or maybe you married me for my superior taste in breakfast foods. You know, because you secretly want to convert."
“Have you seen my abs? Don’t lie, I know that you have.”
Her face turns the pink color of a bouquet of carnations. “Maybe. But that isn’t all that life’s about. You have to live a little.”
Our banter feels easy, almost natural. For a moment, I let myself imagine that this could be real. That we could actually make a go of it. That Calla could be my sweet, devoted little wifey. Would that be so ludicrous?
This thought makes me think of Blake. The woman who was supposed to be my wife. I wince as I picture her face; it’s like a hot knife slid right into my belly.
What is she doing right now? Is she alone, or with another man? Because I just realized that I don’t know anything about Blake. Maybe I was just blind the whole time, dazzled by the flash of her camera.
I quickly shove that thought aside. There will be time to mourn my relationship with a twelve pack of beer and my best friend Ryan to keep me company. Now is just not the right time.
Calla finishes her coffee and leans back, stretching her arms. "You know," she says, thoughtfully, "if we were really married, this would be a pretty decent start to our mornings. Minus the hangovers, of course."
I study her, wondering if she’s starting to see the same thing I am. The tiny spark of possibility amidst the absurdity. "Yeah," I say slowly. "It wouldn’t be the worst thing."
The conversation shifts, pulling me back to reality. I tell her about the missed calls and texts from my sponsors, all demanding to know what my plan is. Some of them are already threatening to pull out, which is a disaster for my business.
Calla frowns. “My sister Cora is an attorney who might help us get an annulment.”
I shake my head. "It’s not just about us; there are other factors to consider. This affects a lot of people, not just you and me."
She leans back, crossing her arms. "So, what, you need a focus group to decide if you want an annulment? It’s just hitting the undo button on last night’s bad decisions."
"I see it more like damage control for our accidental foray into drunk matrimony. If we just rush into an annulment, it could make things look worse. Like we’re trying to hide something."
Her eyebrows shoot up. "Jay, it was a stupid, drunken mistake. People will understand that."
"Will they? The internet loves a scandal. And a quick annulment? There’s nothing juicier. An annulment is like admitting guilt. If we take our time, it’ll seem less like a cover-up and more like… I don’t know, like we’re being responsible."
"Responsible," she repeats, testing the word on her tongue. "I have a business to run too, you know. You were a client. If people find out that I married you, even though you were jilted at the altar, it could be bad for me. My clients need to trust that I can keep my personal life separate from my work"
"But if we handle this the right way, it could blow over without ruining either of us. We just need to be smart about it."
She sighs, clearly unconvinced but not entirely dismissive. "So what’s your brilliant plan, then?"
"We don’t rush into anything. We see how things unfold and make decisions based on that. In the meantime, we can frame this as a temporary situation.”
“Temporary.” She studies me for a long moment, weighing my words. "Only until we have thought everything through. Right?”
"Exactly. I promise, you’ll get back to your normal life before you know it.”
As we finish eating, I catch her looking at me thoughtfully. I grin and say, "See something you like, wifey?"
She rolls her eyes but can’t suppress a smile. "I was just thinking," she starts, hesitant. "You’re actually more charming in person than in your videos."
I raise an eyebrow. "Oh? So you’ve been watching my videos? Doing some research on your future ex-husband?"
She blushes and looks momentarily flustered. "I had to know what I was getting into," she defends herself. "You’re quite the character. "
I laugh. "Well, well. I’m on my honeymoon with my stalker. This just keeps getting better."
She turns an even deeper shade of red but bites her lip, trying to hold back a laugh. "Don’t flatter yourself. I only watched a few."
"Sure, sure. You know, I think I’m going to enjoy this. Teasing you, I mean. For as long as we’re still married."
She shakes her head, but there’s a twinkle in her eye. "You’d better not get too used to it. This whole thing is temporary, remember?"
"I know," I say, more seriously. "But that doesn’t mean we can’t make the best of it while it lasts."
Calla rolls her eyes. But I can’t help but notice that she’s blushing at the same time.
I just hope that she’s thinking about making the best of our situation too.