Chapter 8 #2
“Sweetheart,” he says, pulling me up from the stool to stand against his chest. “Wife… Mrs. Jones… Who’s lying?
” The self-satisfied smirk this husband of mine wears has me almost believing his words.
In fact, as Owen holds my ring hand curled between us, resting on his pecs, and my eyes narrow in on the intensity of his, the sharp line of his jaw, the jut of his tongue quickly wetting his lips…
I’m having a difficult time forgetting that we aren’t doing this for real.
I’d really like to kiss him. On the mouth.
And then his phone rings, followed immediately by the door bell, startling us both.
Owen grins, ear to ear, like the cat who caught the canary wanting to make out with him and places a kiss on my knuckles like a sexy consolation prize. “You get the phone. I’ll get the door.”
I slump my way over to the counter where Owen’s phone lies face up and the name, Erin Cruz, flashes across the screen.
And, forgive me, but that is a girl’s name, right?
Erin is definitely the female spelling of this particular name.
It’s not Aaron or Aeron or any version that could possibly be male.
I know the flicker of annoyance I have at the mere thought of a woman calling Owen’s phone means I should leave this for him to answer, but he’s very busy greeting Evan and his wife, Blaire, and he did say I should get the phone.
So I slip my finger up the screen and answer.
“Hello?” I say with all the sweetness of a villain selling poison to a princess.
“Oh, hi. This is Erin Cruz,” the mystery woman answers in a sultry voice with an exotic accent. I imagine her sipping a cocktail in a deep red dress and matching lipstick, hoping for a night out on the town with my husband.
And, whoa, am I feeling territorial all of sudden. I blame Gretchen.
That looney little monster is also probably why, when Ms. Erin Cruz, sexy Latina caller, says, “I was hoping to speak with Owen Jones,” I say, “This is his wife. How can I help you?”
Erin Cruz has the audacity to chuckle into the receiver. And, man, she just sounds so cool and pretty. I’m deflating by the second.
Of course, Owen has beautiful women calling him.
Why shouldn’t he? A month ago, I was dating someone else.
I didn’t love him or enjoy my time with him all that much, hence the reason it was time to cut things off, but Owen and I haven’t talked about who he might have been dating.
He usually doesn’t date much, at all, especially during baseball season, but he isn’t exactly playing baseball right now.
I know I’m spiraling and in serious danger of having an ill-timed emotional breakdown, but I didn’t expect the rush of feelings to hit me at the mere idea of another woman in Owen’s life.
It was always a distant possibility I tried very hard not to think about.
And now I’m wondering if Owen has ever felt this way about me?
Does it absolutely wreck him to think of me with Wolverine or Pinky, the guy before him, or the Brain, the guy before that?
How foolish have I been in thinking that I could distract myself with men that don’t compare to the real thing—to what I feel with Owen—only to have possibly made him feel even a fraction of how I feel right now?
It’s not fair for me to deny Owen a possible future with what I’m assuming is a sweet woman, or any other woman, if that’s what he might want for himself.
“Ummm…” I stutter, voice shaky. “Actually, I’m so sorry. I’ll just get him for you right now. Hold on for a minute please.”
“Owen,” I grab his attention, clearing my throat and the hint of emotion building there. “Someone needs to talk to you. Erin… Erin Cruz.”
He pauses his conversation with the Lovetts and rushes over, kissing my temple as he takes the phone. “Hey, Erin,” he greets her, stepping away from the kitchen to speak.
I say hello to Blaire, who’s been an acquaintance for a while now. She’s bubbly and outgoing and has insane energy for a woman who has twin toddlers running around, but I barely register anything she says as I overhear blips of Owen’s conversation.
“Yeah, I’m just not interested right now.”
“Maybe in the future.”
“I’ll be in touch if anything changes.”
If this morning, I was a red balloon, floating on the high of this unexpected life-turn with my best friend, it’s safe to say I’ve now popped.
Owen returns, threading his fingers with mine like he wasn’t just brushing off another woman until something changes—not that I blame him—and I’m pulled back to the conversation with our pastor.
“Well, I have to say,” Blaire proclaims in her sweet, Southern drawl, as Owen guides me to the living room couch, leading the others to follow. “I totally lost the bet I had with the Lovett girls about you two.”
“Is that so?” Owen chuckles, pulling me next to him on the couch and wrapping his arm around my shoulders.
“Oh man, the way I’ve had to hear about this since your surprise engagement at Tots,” Evan says, smacking Owen good naturedly on his good shoulder before finding a spot on the loveseat across from us. “Blaire was convinced you two were just friends. Until she got that text from your sister.”
“Well, she wasn’t wrong.” Owen turns to me, a secret smile playing on his lips. I swear my heart aches. Is that what we still are? Just friends? Is that what I want us to be? “Brooke’s my best friend,” he declares to the room but doesn’t take his eyes off me.
Blaire slaps her husband in the chest and audibly awws. “You see the way they look at each other, honey? They’re positively smitten. Let’s get started so we can dig into this little lovefest.”
Evan chuckles at his wife’s enthusiasm and opens us up with prayer before diving into the purpose of our meeting. “So this might be a surprise to many of your friends and family, but obviously it wasn’t for you.”
Speak for yourself, Pastor.
He continues, “I’d like to hear from you two on how you knew you wanted to make this huge commitment to one another, and what you hope to gain from marriage counseling.”
What do I hope to gain? Until last week, I never considered myself in any marriage, period. Much less counseling for it. I think I’m hiding my discomfort until Owen whispers, “You okay?”
I nod but feel myself tensing even further. What am I supposed to disclose to this couple about the benefits of marriage when I’ve never seen any?
I’m saved from answering right away when Owen beats me to it. “I’ll be honest with you,” he says, taking my hand in his again and squeezing it once. “I didn’t know if it would ever happen for us. We’ve always been friends, though I’ve felt more… for a long time.”
His thumb runs along the length of mine, probably in an effort to keep me from freaking out, because Owen’s gone rogue and is telling Pastor Evan Lovett and his wife what I think is a semitruth here. One we did not agree upon telling him and something we haven’t ever discussed ourselves.
“I know it sounds crazy, but my injury, and then Brooke getting chosen for this show… it all feels meant to be. In some crazy way, I think this was the perfect chance for us to be… honest…” he continues, smiling at me like he’s remembering his part of our agreement the night we got engaged, though it must be fuzzy with all the meds he’d been on.
It still sends shivers across my skin. It feels like a confession.
One he wouldn’t have made if Evan and Blaire weren’t sitting with us now.
“To be honest and committed to a future together. I hope meeting with you guys will help us work through anything that might hinder that future.”
Though I’m left with quite a few questions myself, I think that answer pacifies their curiosities until everyone turns to me.
“Ditto?” I say, hoping it suffices.
Everyone laughs. I am the funniest girl in this room. So very, very funny.
“Um…” I chuckle, too, feeling like a lunatic and deciding to take a page out of Owen’s playbook with some blatant and ugly honesty. “I don’t actually know if healthy marriages exist. I didn’t have, um…”
Owen squeezes my hand again.
“I didn’t have that. Growing up.”
Blaire nods, lips pinched pensively. I’m sure she’s heard a tale or two of Beth McBride’s marriage woes through the joint Honey Hill-Sugartree gossip mill. It’s a small community we have here, and my mom has certainly left her mark since we rolled into town over ten years ago.
“I guess I want to believe all of this. Me and Owen could be forever, but I’m not sure how…
” I let my eyes flick to Owen who’s looking at me with a mixture of sadness and understanding.
I know he gets it, but I wish I could be as hopeful and sentimental as he is.
I wish I could be what he needs me to be, but I’m not even sure what version of myself would ensure he wouldn’t change his mind about us.
“I’m sorry. That probably isn’t the answer you’re hoping for. ”
“I want honesty, Babe. Always honesty,” he whispers, then does something I can’t quite compute. He leans in and gives me a tender kiss.
On the lips, people! In front of Jesus and his worker bees.
It’s quick and sweet, but it is the first time our mouths have touched in seven days. In case anyone is counting.
“Well,” Evan says, holding his wife’s hand, “I know Blaire and I appreciate your candor, y’all.
Everyone brings baggage and bruises to a marriage, healthy examples or not.
What we can do is give you tools for communication to work through that baggage and hold each other accountable to the honesty you clearly already have with one another.
“I know it will look interesting, since you aren’t technically supposed to have outside communication once you’re on the show, but apparently having fresh newlyweds on Suite Hearts is quite the story, so they’ve agreed to let us meet weekly with y’all for the entirety of your tenure there.”
“Thank you. We’re looking forward to it, ” Owen says, but I can’t say I agree with the sentiment.
Baggage and bruises sounds a whole lot like therapy, which yeah…
I know technically is what we’re doing here, but what does Owen need therapy for?
He’s well-adjusted, has a college degree, a good job, a solid family and support system.
I’m clearly the weakest link in this union.
“It’s so exciting,” Blaire muses dreamily. “Getting engaged and married and, now, being in this competition, of sorts, together. When do you leave?”
“Right after this, actually.” I smile, feeling as if this is a safe topic to discuss. This is the real reason we’re here. Suite Hearts. The competition will be fun.
I think. I hope.
“I think y’all will have the very best time. Any thoughts on what the suite might be?”
I answer in the negative, though Owen and I have laughed about the possibilities over the last week. A submarine. A treehouse. A skyrise hotel room in Atlanta. We even considered the Atlanta zoo.
But when we finally leave the house and head to the drop-off location, signing in for our first day of Suite Hearts, I don’t think anything could have prepared me for what we’ll be living in for the foreseeable future.