The Accidental Honeymoon (Wildflower Lane #1)

Chapter 34

thirty-four

CALLA

I stand in the kitchen, purposefully not looking at my husband, who clearly wants to talk.

My soon-to-be-ex-husband.

I’m currently following Cora’s advice to get all my ducks in a row before making any moves. It feels sneaky and a little dishonest. But to put it in Cora’s words, I have to be ready ‘before I pull the plug.’ It’s the advice that she gives all of her divorcing clients.

She didn’t give any advice on how to ignore someone who is trying to get your attention though, so after another moment of trying to look engrossed by the woodgrain in the table, I look up at him. “Hey. What’s up?” I try to sound nonchalant. Like I’m not dying inside or anything.

“What happened to you last night? I was hoping that we could talk.”

I fidget. “I slept at my apartment. I worked until really late and just crashed there.”

A lie. I cried in Cora’s office for two hours and then spent the rest of the day slumped in my bed.

“Ah.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Well, I wanted to?—"

Jay’s phone buzzes on the kitchen counter. He walks over and glances at the screen. “Shit,” he mutters.

“You wanted to—?” I prompt.

He runs a hand through his hair, mussing it further, and shakes his head. "I need to ask a favor."

I raise an eyebrow. Of course Jay needs a favor. The whole arrangement is one big favor, isn’t it?

"I have a sponsor who’s getting antsy," he says, holding up his phone as if it’s Exhibit A in a court case. "I need to do a quick shoot at the Roadkill Café & Gift Emporium. They’re a huge sponsor and willing to pay big time money. I promise, it won’t take long. But I need you to come with me. They’ve seen our content and want us both there."

I stare at Jay. Over the past two months I’ve acted my heart out and, in the process, every touch, every kiss became real. Jay isn’t held captive by the same feelings.

That’s why I have to leave.

"I have a client meeting this afternoon. The Jensen-Barkley wedding. It's kind of important."

He’s close enough now that I can see the stubble on his chin. It’s the kind that grows in after a day of not caring. On anyone else it might look sloppy. But on him? It just adds to his annoyingly effortless charm.

He’s so hot that I want to punch him.

"Calla, please?” There’s a softness in his eyes that makes me look down at my Converse-clad feet. "I promise we’ll be quick. This is important for me. For us."

I bite the inside of my cheek. I have no idea how things will be after we pull the trigger on our annulment. This could be one of our last days together. I love Jay and the thought of leaving him high and dry is shredding my stomach lining.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

He lights up like I’ve just given him a birthday gift. Another tiny piece of my soul flies away.

When we finally drive to the perimeter of Atlanta, The Roadkill Café & Gift Emporium is every bit as ridiculous as its name suggests. The exterior looks like a cross between a log cabin and a cartoon. There are oversized animal tracks painted on the walls and a giant, neon raccoon sign that flickers ominously.

Inside, the décor is a shrine to bad taste. It’s filled with dusty taxidermied animals posed in absurd, anthropomorphic scenarios. In particular, I notice a poker-playing possum and a raccoon in a rocking chair. A peculiar smell wafts through the air, a mix of old wood and mystery meat.

Gross . I make a note that I don’t want to try the cheeseburgers here.

I stand just inside the doo with my arms wrapped around myself in an attempt to ward off the ‘ambiance’. Jay strides past me with the confidence of a man who’s never met a themed restaurant he didn’t like.

"Can you believe this place?" he says, grinning like a kid in a very morbid candy store. "‘We scrape it, you eat it.’ Classic."

I give him a tight, forced smile and an eye roll for good measure. The tagline makes me wonder if the health department has ever paid a visit. If so, how many violations did they find per square inch? I bet a lot.

He notices my lack of enthusiasm and his grin falters. "What’s wrong?"

"Nothing," I say, too quickly. "Just having a bad day."

It’s a lie, of course. It’s this situation that’s bad: the faux marriage, the playing pretend, the sinking feeling that I’m in way over my head.

But I’m not about to unload all that on him. We have a job to do.

"Calla," he starts, but I cut him off with a smile.

"Let’s just get this over with. I really can’t be late for my meeting."

Jay’s eyes narrow ever so slightly on my face. Then he seems to make a decision and holds up his hands in surrender. "Okay, let’s set up. How about over there?"

We move to a booth in the corner of the café where a display case full of souvenir T-shirts and keychains creates a gaudy backdrop. Jay pulls a small tripod and camera from his bag, then starts fiddling with the settings. I glance at the menu, which is printed on a piece of plywood. Items like "Smeared Deer Quesadilla" and "Flattened Feline Frittata" jump out at me. I suppress a shudder.

"Here," Jay says, tossing something at me. I catch it reflexively and find it’s a T-shirt with the café’s logo of a cartoon skunk with tire tracks across its back. "It’ll make the video more fun."

I hesitate, then shrug and slip the shirt on over my top. It’s scratchy and smells like a combination of gift shop and fryer grease. Fun is not the word I’d use.

Jay positions the camera and takes a test shot. "Ready?" he asks. I nod, though I’m anything but. "Hey everyone, it’s Jay from Alto & Ash," he says. He slides into his spiel with the practiced ease of a news anchor. "I’m here at the Roadkill Café with my lovely wife, Calla. Say hi, honey!"

I flinch at the word "wife" but manage to wave at the camera. “Hi honey!”

Jay puts an arm around my shoulders. I go rigid as one of the taxidermied animals behind me .

"We’re sampling some of the local cuisine and checking out the awesome gift shop. If you’re ever in town, this place is a must-visit. Right, Calla?"

I press my lips together and then force a smile. Jay pulls me closer and I can’t figure out where to put my hands. Simultaneously, I want to drag his mouth to mine and somehow not ever touch him again. It’s perplexing.

My voice is stiff when I say, “It sure is unique. I can say with confidence that I’ve never been somewhere quite like this."

He pauses the recording and looks at me. "Calla, come on. You have to act a little. We have to make this road trip stop believable."

"Believable?" I snap. My frustration starts to bubble over. "Maybe it would be more believable if we weren’t faking the whole thing."

"Faking?" He sounds genuinely hurt.

For a moment I feel bad. But only for a moment.

"This? The happy couple routine. The marriage. It’s all just for show, Jay. Don’t act like it’s become real all of a sudden."

His calm facade cracks. "I know it’s not real, Calla,” he snaps. “But we agreed to this. I’m just trying to make it work."

"It feels like I’m the one making all the sacrifices here. It feels like I’m the one making all of the risks and saying all the I love yous."

He studies me for a moment. "I thought this was a partnership. I didn’t realize you saw it as a one-sided deal."

A nearby customer gives us a curious glance while crunching down on what I hope is beef jerky and not raccoon. The absurdity of the situation hits me all at once. We’re two supposed lovebirds having a meltdown in a restaurant dedicated to squashed animals. It’s like a scene from a bad reality show. Half of me expects a crew to burst in and tell us we’ve been punked.

Or maybe flattened? Whatever the term would be at a place that worships roadkill.

I let out a short, bitter laugh. Jay looks at me, confused, then around the café as if searching for the punchline.

"This is so ridiculous.” My anger can’t stand up to the absurdity of this situation. I sigh. “Let’s finish this. I’ll try harder."

Jay nods, but there’s a new wariness in his eyes, like a man who’s just seen the fault lines beneath his feet. He turns back to the camera. I adjust the scratchy T-shirt, trying to smooth out the wrinkles.

"Ready?" he asks again.

"Yeah," I say, taking a deep breath. "Let’s go."

He hits Record. We slip back into our roles as the kitchen delivers us several truly revolting food items fresh off the grill. Dutifully I cut, chew, and swallow, all while smiling at the camera instead of revealing how I really feel about this diner.

Once we’re done filming, I am out of the booth and sprinting to the parking lot like a bullet from a handgun. Jay stays behind, presumably to shake hands with the owner. But he appears through the doorway soon after. “The owner offered me a gift certificate.” He waves it in my direction. “Are you sure you don’t want any taxidermied, square-dancing possums?”

I cross my arms, not just for warmth, and glance at Jay. His hands are in his pockets, his shoulders hunched. The tall, confident man has shrunk. I wonder if this is the real Jay, the one who lives beneath the surface of his public persona .

Or did I just make him smaller? That’s entirely possible.

"I’m sorry," he says after a beat. “For pushing you. For everything."

I uncross my arms, then recross them, unsure what to do with my hands, my body, my words. "I’m sorry I snapped. That was completely uncool.”

"Calla, I think we should have a serious talk about our expectations here."

“I’m trying!” I take a deep breath, the cold air stinging my lungs. "I’ve been in relationships where it was all one-sided before. Where I cared way, way more than the other person. It never ended well."

He stays silent, waiting. I appreciate that he’s not rushing me, that he’s letting me find my own pace.

"That’s why I’m so cautious. It’s not just about the time and effort I put in. It’s about the emotional investment. I’ve thrown myself into things thinking they were real, only to find out I was just a convenience. Or worse, a joke."

Jay’s expression shifts, the lines of his face rearranging into something more somber, more understanding. "Calla, you can’t think that you’re a joke to me.”

"I’m saying that we don’t really know each other. You don’t know my past. I don’t know yours. Everything was fine and easy until… you know, we start being real with each other."

"Let’s focus on the positives," he says. "We’re in this together, and we both have something to gain. Maybe we can even learn from each other."

God, that is exactly what I didn’t want to hear from him.

"We’ll make it work," he says. I want to believe him. I don’t, but I want to.

"We’ll see," I reply. That’s all I can give him.