Chapter 3
81 hours until the wedding
When Jack and I step into the elevator we stand close enough that I can smell his cologne. It’s musky and tangy with a hint of something sweet—a far cry from the fresh, earth scent I’m used to Carter wearing, but in a good way, and I discreetly lean closer trying to catch another whiff.
When we reach Jack’s floor, he pulls out a key card and swipes it on the first door to my right. The lock clicks and he holds the door open for me as I roll my suitcase into a generic-looking hotel room with beige carpet, beige curtains, beige walls, and a beige bed. One beige bed.
Maybe this was a bad idea after all.
What if he snores? Or worse, has morning wood?
Should I offer to sleep on the floor? Or was that the plan all along and I was just being wildly optimistic that I’d be sleeping in a bed tonight?
I search Jack’s face, waiting for clues, but either he doesn’t care about sharing a bed, or he hasn’t yet realized the predicament as he tosses his garment bag over a chair and heads straight to the minibar.
“How about another drink?” he asks, reaching for the ice bucket.
“Uh…” I’m still a little tipsy and drinking any more probably isn’t a good idea. “How about we just talk?” I try.
A question mark hovers behind Jack’s gaze, but he blinks and it’s gone. “Sure. Let’s talk.” He sits on the edge of the bed and pats the spot next to him.
As I sit beside him, our thighs touch and a zing of electricity awakens in my gut. But I can’t tell if it’s a good zing or a bad zing.
Everything downstairs felt so fun and chill, but now I’m hyperaware that I’m alone in a hotel room with a stranger.
Was I naive to come up here? What if he really is a Lifetime movie villain?
My eyes skate from the window to the door, assessing how quickly I could make it out of here if I had to.
I’m probably being paranoid. But maybe I should update my location on Snapchat? Or punch the emergency number into my phone? Just in case? Except, we’re in England and I don’t even know what the emergency number is. Which is probably something I should have thought of before I came up here.
Why didn’t I?
Oh yeah. The charming stranger.
I notice he’s shifted closer, close enough that I can make out the tiny shaving scar on his chin and the subtle flecks of red in his otherwise dark beard. I also notice that his gaze keeps dropping to my mouth. A shiver of awareness runs down my spine.
He clears his throat, eyes hooking back up to meet mine. “So, Ada, before anything else happens, I wanted to let you know that I’ve been tested recently and I’m all clear.”
Tested?
The last time I took any kind of a “test,” it was a Buzzfeed quiz to find out what kind of hotdog I am (Seattle dog with cream cheese). But something tells me that’s not what he means.
I sit back, searching his face. “Tested?”
He flashes a faulty grin. “I know it’s not exactly a fun conversation to have. But better safe than sorry, right?”
Better safe than sorry? My brain whirs to action. He’s not…? No…He can’t possibly mean… STD testing ?
I shuffle backward across the bed, putting as much space between us as the queen mattress will allow. “What are you talking about?”
“Aren’t we gonna…?” Jack’s voice trails off and his brows knit together.
I sit up, body jolting to attention. “Gonna what ?” I demand.
His frown deepens. “Isn’t that why you came up here? To have sex?”
I freeze.
Sex? He thinks I came here to have sex? As in sexual intercourse ?
I try to swallow, but my throat’s coated in sandpaper. And the churning is back in my stomach. But for a different reason entirely.
Suddenly the top blanket on the bed is too scratchy, my jeans too tight. Everything is too much as I scramble up and off the bed, nearly tripping over myself in the process.
But I’m too anxious to be embarrassed. All I can think about is how I need to leave. Stat.
Beer sloshes around inside me as I jump up and grab my purse, eyes already zeroing in on the door. If I can just—
“Ada, wait!” He stands up, too, but I take a giant step back.
“I have pepper spray!” I cry.
I don’t. It’s a lie, but he doesn’t know that as I reach into my purse.
He puts up his hands in a sign of surrender. “There’s no need for pepper spray,” he says in a low, calm hum, like he’s trying to talk down a horse that spooks easily. “I’m sorry. I just thought…” He clicks his tongue and gestures between us.
“You thought what exactly?”
“That we were on the same page that this was a…you know…” He makes a face. “A hookup.”
A litany of no ’s spill out under my breath.
Have I really been out of the dating scene so long that I didn’t realize this was supposed to be a one-night stand? Not that I’ve ever had a one-night stand. But I at least thought I’d recognize an invitation if I got one.
Did I give some kind of unintentional hint I’m not aware of? Was it the cheers? Teasing him about what kind of underwear he’s wearing?
But just as I replay everything that happened downstairs, searching for some kind of pattern, my thoughts come to a screeching halt. Why am I blaming myself here? Clearly this is his fault.
Sure, there might have been some harmless flirting. But that’s all it was. Harmless. Besides, I told him about Carter, my long-term boyfriend whom I clearly want to get back together with. Not exactly an invitation to jump into bed with me. If anything, he misread the signs. Not me.
My gaze sharpens on him as embarrassment bleeds into indignation. “Why didn’t you say something?” I ask.
Jack’s forehead creases. “I thought I did when I asked if you wanted to come back to my room.”
I make a noise somewhere between a snort and a gasp. “How was I supposed to know that meant you wanted to have sex? You should have used precise language! Like maybe, ‘Hey, Ada, wanna go upstairs and have sexual intercourse?’ That might have been a good start!”
“Okay, okay.” He puts his hands up, voice even and measured. “I’m sorry, I just thought we were kinda…having a moment down there,” he says.
My eyes skitter away. He’s right. We were definitely having some kind of moment. But it doesn’t mean I wanted to have sex with the guy.
“Listen, you’re attractive, don’t get me wrong.” All kinds of warning bells go off in my head, each of them blaring, Shut up! Shut up right now! “But what I mean is no , nothing was going to happen,” I say tightly. “I have a boyfriend, remember?”
“I thought you were on a break?”
“But it doesn’t mean I want to sleep with someone else,” I shoot back.
His mouth twists like he might argue, but I don’t give him time to as I spin on my heel toward the door. This is now painfully awkward. I need to leave.
But go where exactly?
I think of having to shell out hundreds of dollars on a hotel and remember that my bank account is basically in a race to zero.
Shit, shit, shit…
I sit on the edge of the bed and put my head in my hands. Jack looks like he might sit next to me, but I shoot him a scowl and he backs away.
“What am I going to do?” I whine.
“Maybe you could go back down to reception?” he tries. “See if they’ve had a cancellation?”
Even if there was a room available, I couldn’t afford it. But that doesn’t matter right now. The only thing that matters is that I get out of here.
“Right, good idea,” I tell him, standing up and grabbing my luggage.
“Do you want me to walk you downstairs?” he asks.
“No. I’m fine.”
I got myself into this mess. I can get myself out.
Jack shoves his hands in his pockets, mouth bending into a pensive frown. “Well, good luck,” he says after a beat.
“Thanks.” I swallow thickly. “You too.”
It feels like there’s something else we ought to say, but I’m not sure what. This doesn’t exactly seem like a nice meeting you type of situation.
“Well, bye,” I finally say.
He rubs the back of his neck. “Bye, Ada.”
We share one more cursory look, then I move toward the door. My hand is hovering over the handle when my phone buzzes from inside my pocket. I probably would ignore it if it weren’t for the fact that Jack’s phone buzzes at exactly the same time.
We share a look of surprise before reaching for our respective devices. But as soon as I see my screen, I almost wish I hadn’t.
I have one new email notification telling me I’ve been bumped off tomorrow morning’s flight to Belfast.
Great. So much for the luck of the Irish.
“Shit,” Jack mutters under his breath. “I just got bumped off my flight.”
I look up, eyes meeting his. “Me too. What do you think happened?”
“No idea.” His brows hook down into a scowl. “But it looks like there aren’t any flights to Belfast for a few days.”
My stomach jolts, the panic inside me swiftly replaced with a different kind of panic.
Belfast?
Jack’s going to Belfast?
But didn’t he say he was going to…? I rack my brain, trying to remember. I swear I would have remembered if he’d said Belfast. I mean how many weddings are there in Belfast this weekend? What if…?
Oh no.
“The wedding you’re going to is in Belfast too?” I ask, hoping he’ll correct me and say no, he’s just passing through on his way to somewhere else. Somewhere like Reykjavík! Or Timbuktu!
But as soon as I ask, I already know the answer. I can see it in the visceral look of panic that starts in his eyes, then sweeps lower into the downward curl of his mouth, finally settling into a frown.
Slowly, he nods. “My best friend, Collin, is getting married in a castle outside Belfast.”
Collin?
My insides jumble. Because holy shit. Holy shit.
Jack and I are going to the same wedding. And if he is the best man then that means…
I jump back as though knocked off-balance by the realization. “ You’re Houghton?”
There’s a brief moment of surprise, like he’s shocked to hear his name on my lips, but he almost instantly swallows it back. “Houghton’s my last name, but most people call me Jack. Except Collin, the ‘unwrapped Hershey’s Kiss,’?” he adds with a heavy look.
Panic swarms my body in hot torrents, brain zipping from one incriminating detail to the next like a game of spin the wheel. But instead of cash prizes and tropical vacations, it’s bone-numbing embarrassment.
Congratulations, brain, you now have a new scenario to remind me of when I’m trying to fall asleep!
I expect Jack to share in the embarrassment, to look as mortified as I feel. Instead, he shakes his head, fighting back silent laughter.
“It’s not funny!” I cry.
“You have to admit, it’s sort of funny. It’s like a Shakespearean misunderstanding.”
I fold my arms over my chest. “Did you know?”
“Know what? That you’re Allison’s sister? Of course not. You didn’t even say where you were going.”
“But how did you not realize? I told you plenty of details!”
His jaw ticks, expression filtering from amused to annoyed. “I’m sorry, I was a little distracted.”
“With what? Trying to get laid?”
His lips set into a grimace. “Why didn’t you put it together, Nancy Drew?”
I open my mouth to argue, but he’s sort of right. Why didn’t I figure it out? He told me he was going to a wedding. But he hadn’t said where. Though, perhaps I should have asked instead of word vomiting about Carter and Allison.
For a long moment neither of us speaks. We just stare with increasing hostility like either one of us is moments away from declaring this town ain’t big enough for the two of us.
Finally, I ask, “You do realize what this means, right?”
“That you called me a pig downstairs?”
“No. I mean, yes , I did say that, but I didn’t know it was you when I said it,” I say, brows scrunching in frustration. “But I was right, considering you just tried to spring your dick on me!”
“I didn’t try to spring my dick on you. I was trying to have an adult conversation about STDs,” he says. “ I was being responsible.”
“Yeah, well, the responsible thing to do would have been to make it clear you wanted to have sex in the first place.”
“I thought I did!”
“Well, not clearly enough.”
He shoves his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry, okay? I thought you were into it. How many more times do you need me to apologize?”
“At least three more times and maybe some groveling wouldn’t hurt.”
The ditch between his brows deepens. “Shouldn’t you be the one apologizing to me? You’re the one who referred to my best friend as an ‘unwrapped Hershey’s Kiss.’?”
“You called my sister intense! And judgmental!”
“And now I see where she gets it from.”
Fire builds in my stomach. What is wrong with this guy? And why on earth did I find him charming? Clearly that had been the beer.
He sighs, shoulders deflating. “Listen, I get that this is weird—”
“Weird is an understatement!”
“ But ”—he holds up a hand to stop me—“I think it’s lucky we ran into one another.”
I flick one eyebrow upward. “And please enlighten me as to why on earth I ought to feel lucky to have run into you?”
He bites his lower lip, which would be sexy if I wasn’t so pissed off right now.
“Given the flight situation, it’s better if we stick together,” he says. “Would you rather be stranded in London alone?”
Flight situation. London. Alone. His words hurtle through me, reminding me why we’re even having this conversation in the first place.
“Wait, so there aren’t any flights to Belfast tomorrow?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Everything’s booked. There aren’t any more available flights until next week.”
Next week? The rehearsal dinner is in two days. And the wedding is in three. There’s no way we’re going to make it.
If whoever is running The Truman Show could please give me a better plotline, now would be a great time!
I sit on the edge of the bed and flop back on the mattress. “This is terrible,” I say to the ceiling. “I can’t miss the wedding. My sister will kill me, if my mom doesn’t get to me first. Fuck… fuck .”
“Relax. It’s gonna be fine,” Jack says.
“How? Unless you can charter a private jet, we aren’t gonna make it.” I pause, gripped by the idea. “Wait, can we do that?”
“I’m working on a plan, okay?”
I sit up. “What about a train? A boat? A car?”
His jaw clenches. “Will you calm down?”
“How can I calm down at a time like this! I’m the maid of honor! I’m supposed to bring the veil! I can’t miss my little sister’s wedding!”
“We’re not gonna miss it. I told you, I’m working on it.”
I stand up and begin to pace the length of the hotel room. This is bad. I’m trapped in a foreign country with a stranger (Is he still a stranger?) and no way to get to Allison’s wedding.
“She’s gonna kill us both, you know,” I say. “She’ll probably kill you first because she hates you. But if you’re lucky it will be quick and painless. But me? God, she’ll probably torture me for hours. Something really sick and twisted.” I shiver, physically disturbed. “She’ll—”
“Ada, will you stop? You’re not making anything better. Now come here and look.” He gestures to his phone. “Tomorrow morning we can take the train to Liverpool and from there we can take the ferry to Belfast.”
My heart begins to steady. “We can?”
He nods.
“How fast can we get there?” I ask, trying to calculate how many hours a cross-country road trip might take.
“Three hours to Liverpool…” He pauses as he scrolls through his phone. “And eight hours from Liverpool to Belfast.”
“Eight hours?” My eyes widen. “On a ferry?”
“Unless you want to swim?”
I violently shake my head. “I get really bad seasickness. I. Will. Die. Like, vomit everywhere .” I spread my hands to demonstrate the volume of vomit Jack might expect. “Trust me, it won’t be pretty.”
“All right, all right,” he says, putting up a hand to stop me. “I’ll see if there’s something else. I’m not holding your hair while you puke.” Jack turns back to his phone, forehead creased in concentration. After a beat, he says, “We can take the train to Scotland, then the ferry to Belfast.”
“Scotland?” I ask.
“You know, the place with the Loch Ness Monster and the kilts?”
I glare at him. “I know what Scotland is.”
“The ferry from Scotland to Belfast is only two hours.”
I nod, digesting this new information. “I can do two. Two hours on the high seas is very different from eight.”
“So it’s settled, we’ll go to Scotland tomorrow,” he says, eyes snagging mine in confirmation. “See? Everything’s fine.”
But everything’s not fine.
A few minutes ago I thought I was never gonna see Jack again. He would be nothing more than a footnote in this disastrous trip. Now, not only is his best friend marrying my sister, but I’m going to have to go on a cross-country road trip with him?
My brain takes a lap around this new development, assessing for impediments—of which I’m sure there are many—before snagging on one crucial detail.
“Wait. How much is all of this going to cost?” I ask.
Jack’s brow furrows in thought. “We need to get to the wedding, right? So does it really matter how much?”
“It definitely matters to me considering I’m sort of broke,” I admit.
“Broke?” he asks, like he’s never heard the word before.
“Yes, broke ,” I repeat, exasperated. “It’s what happens to some millennials when they spend too much money on avocado toast.”
His face twists with confusion. Clearly he doesn’t have to check his account balance before buying cereal. Must be nice.
“My business went under a few months ago,” I clarify. “So I’m not exactly flush with cash at the moment.”
“Can you borrow the money from someone?” he asks.
I think about calling my mom and stepdad and explaining the situation, but they’re already letting me crash on their couch while I look for a job and I really don’t want to have to ask for money too. Not when I’m supposed to be the daughter who has her shit together. The one who fixes things, not breaks them.
When Allison forgot she had a presentation at school, I went to get poster board at eleven p.m. And when mom had to work late and couldn’t make Allison’s choir concert, I showed up with flowers and took her for ice cream after. I was the one who could always be counted upon to take care of things—the responsible one . The fixer .
But now I’m the one who is penniless, unemployed, and crashing on my parents’ couch, and I can’t help but feel like my circumstances are more than just temporary setbacks. They’re the result of failure. Because I’m a failure. And I don’t want to be more of a burden to anyone than I already am.
“No,” I say after a minute. “I can’t borrow the money.”
Jack runs a hand through his perfectly coiffed facial hair, eyes sharpening, like there’s an invisible math problem he’s trying to work out in his head. Finally, he says, “I’ll pay.”
My eyes stretch wide. “You’ll what ?”
“You can pay me back,” he says offhandedly, like it’s the last stick of gum, not an offer to bankroll a whole-ass trip.
“I can’t let you do that,” I tell him.
“Why not?”
“Um, because it’s a lot of money,” I say, mentally tallying up what this little adventure will cost. “And I don’t like owing people things.”
“I get that, but I don’t think either of us has a choice. Either I pay, or you miss your sister’s wedding.” He tilts his chin, giving me a knowing look. “Besides, I thought you’re supposed to bring the veil?”
My stomach climbs into my chest. He’s right. I have no choice.
“Fine,” I reluctantly agree. “But I swear I’ll pay you back. Every penny! With interest!”
“It’s fine,” he says, giving me an insistent look. “And just a little business tip, don’t offer to pay interest.”
I ignore the dig and we shake on it.
Wonderful. Just wonderful. Not only do I still not have anywhere to sleep, but now I’m in debt. Well, more debt.
“Okay, so…” I reach for my suitcase and make my way to the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”
Tension creases his forehead. “Where are you going to sleep tonight?”
“I don’t know. Maybe the train station.”
It’s not exactly a warm, cozy hotel bed, but hey, maybe the rats are friendly?
“I’ll figure it out,” I tell him.
I move toward the door, suitcase in tow, when he calls after me.
“Ada, wait.”
When I turn back to face him, his arms are crossed over his chest, brows narrowed. Finally he says, “You can stay. If you want.”
“As appealing as that sounds, I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” My eyes zip around the room like the reason I can’t stay might pop out at me, but of course I don’t have a very good reason, and he knows it too.
“Listen,” he says, gaze latching on to mine. “I get that you think I’m a sleaze right now, but I’m not gonna let you go sleep outside or at a train station or whatever it was you planned on doing.”
“You’re not letting me do anything,” I tell him.
He sighs, frustrated. “That’s not what I meant. Just that it doesn’t make sense for you to leave. Not when there’s a perfectly good, very large bed right here.” He gestures toward the bed. “Besides, I’m not exactly a stranger anymore, right?”
Part of me is already mentally slamming the door, racing toward the elevator and away from this nightmare. But another part of me—the rational, practical part—is wholly aware of the constraints of my predicament and knows I should at least consider the offer.
My eyes trail toward the bed then back to him. It’s not exactly the night of reality TV and me time with my vibrator I’d envisioned, but it’s certainly better than sleeping on a bench at a train station. Besides, as he pointed out, he’s no longer a stranger, so it wouldn’t be that weird, right?
I hook my eyes back to his. “Are you sure?”
“I mean, yeah…” He frowns like he’s reconsidering. “But you’re not going to tell Allison about the whole, uh—”
“Sex incident?”
“I was going to say misunderstanding .”
“And have to suffer that humiliation? No thanks.”
“Ada.” He gives me what I imagine is his attempt at a meaningful look. “It was an honest mistake. And I wouldn’t have invited you upstairs if I didn’t think you were into it.”
I sigh. As much as I’d like to hold on to my annoyance, it’s not like I haven’t misread signs before. Like the time I thought Carter was proposing, but really he just wanted to tell me he’d enrolled in culinary school. The point is Jack’s right. It was all a misunderstanding, and if we’re going to travel together for the next few days it’s better to forgive and forget, right?
“I guess it’s all just fodder for my tell-all,” I say, rolling my suitcase back into the room.
“So you’re staying?”
“Looks like I am, roomie .”
For a minute we just look at one another, trading suspicious glances until finally I sigh and plop down on the bed. “And I should probably say thanks for saving my ass three times in one night,” I tell him.
His dark eyes flash like he’s not sure whether to say you’re welcome before finally saying, “Looks like it was your lucky day when you took my suitcase by mistake.”
I grimace, but only because he’s right.