Chapter 52 Owen
OWEN
“Hi, sweetie!” She blows me a kiss, unloading items onto the sofa. “Sorry, it has to be so early, but such is the life of an impromptu wedding planner.”
She does a little curtsy. I manage a grunt in response.
She comes over and pats my cheek. “I know, babe, but as soon as we get some caffeine into you, you’ll feel a lot better.”
I’m not about to explain to her that I’m fully caffeinated and that my lethargic state has little to do with the hour. Apparently, I don’t have to, though, because her eyes go to my mug on the coffee table. Then back to me. She squints.
“Owen, what’s wrong?”
I’m sad and lonely and pathetic. An amazing guy said he liked me and I blew him off. I am going to die surrounded by cats. Not even real cats, fake wooden ones I make by myself in my studio after all the real ones get bored sitting around watching me be me and run off.
“Nothing. Tired.”
She squints harder. “Mmm-hmm.” I don’t know what’s up with everyone. “George is mopey too.”
“I’m not—George is mopey? Is he okay?”
She waves a dismissive hand as she riffles through one of the bags.
“He’s fine. He’s just being George. It’s par for the course, especially with the wedding happening today, although he tried to tell me it wasn’t about that and…
…” She looks at me. A little too closely.
But then she shakes her head. “Never mind. Ah, here we go”—she’s found a little box inside one of the bags she brought in—”I have extra cuff links. Do you need cuff links?”
I blink. “Uh, no. The cuffs on my one dress shirt come with buttons.”
Zoe sighs heavily, but it’s loaded with fondness, “Ugh, I forgot about your hopeless wardrobe. Right! That’s why I’m here. Okay, let’s see this shirt.”
I lead her to the bedroom, where I remove my white dress shirt from the closet. She scrutinizes it. “Yeah, okay. This will do. But not that jacket you sent me a picture of.” She wrinkles her nose.
“Unfortunately, it’s the dressiest jacket I have. And the only one I brought, because it’s the dressiest jacket I have.”
“Lucky for you, I come prepared!” I notice now that she’s got the garment bag flung over her shoulder.
She plops it onto the bed and opens it up, pulling out a very expensive-looking black jacket.
“Luca couldn’t decide between a traditional tux and a tailored suit.
Last night, he finally opted for the tux, which leaves you, my very similarly sized friend, the proud, if temporary, recipient of this lovely piece, which I am pretty sure will fit you. ”
She holds the jacket up in front of me and nods approvingly.
“Zoe, I—”
“Thank me later. Try it on now with the shirt. We might need to pin a few places. I’m not sure.”
I sigh and start buttoning the shirt over the t-shirt I slipped on five seconds before she got here. She hands me the jacket, which I also shrug on.
“Not bad,” she pronounces. “Obviously hard to tell about the whole look with you in the jeans, but we’ll get to the pants in a minute. First, you need a tie.”
“I have—”
She holds up a hand. “I saw what you have, O. We’re going to raid George’s closet. Don’t worry, I’m sure he won’t mind. It’s an emergency.”
He better not mind, considering he seems to have borrowed half my wardrobe while he’s been up in Vermont. A smile creeps over my lips before I remember everything else that happened and I just feel nauseous.
“Ah, perfect!” Zoe produces a tie from the rack she’s been flipping through.
It’s silk and sort of a frosty, muted silver.
Elegant. “This is the one he wore to the Oscars that time the adaptation of Man of Steele was nominated in all those categories. Come here, let’s see it on you.
” She beckons me closer, clearly making to do the job herself.
“I can tie a tie,” I protest, but I’m already turning up the collar and lifting my chin to let her do her thing.
“Let the stylist style,” she says.
So I do. As she’s flipping the ends, efficiently looping over and under and through, I catch the faintest whiff of cologne or aftershave or… oh, God, George.
Zoe freezes.
“Did you just… smell the tie?”
Shit.
“Uh…”
She opens her mouth, then closes it. She blinks. A goofy smile spreads across her face. “Owen Wilde, did you develop a crush on my friend George?”
“No!”
“No?” She pins me with a look.
“No, I… we… chatted a lot last week and kind of became friends and basically spent virtual Christmas together and…” I blow out a breath. “I’m pretty sure there was attraction on both sides…”
She narrows her eyes at me. “And?”
“And then he asked me out, and I said no.”
“You said no?”
“Yes.” She just stares at me, so I repeat myself. “Yes. I said no. Because once he thinks about it for more than one whirlwind romantic second, he’s going to realize I’m not what he wants.”
She stares at me some more. Then she slaps me.
“Ow!”
“That’s for selling my favorite cousin short. You’re the only one who thinks you’re someone people wouldn’t trip over themselves to have.”
“Beau didn’t want me.” I don’t know why I’m bringing up Beau to defend my own low worth, but there it is.
“Well, yeah, Beau was a dipshit who didn’t deserve you. Meanwhile, do you have any idea how big a deal it is that George asked you out? That he took a chance at all?! He probably spent sixteen hours debating the pros and cons.”
“Yeah, that does sound like him.”
Her face softens. “Aw, you really do know him.” She smacks me again, hard.
“Ow! Jesus.”
“Do you honestly think a man who overanalyzes everything like that would just hallucinate feelings for you?!
“Well, no.” Not when she puts it that way. “But he might have been acting impulsively.”
She puts a hand on her hip and raises an eyebrow. Right, yeah. That doesn’t really sound like George either.
I’m defiant now, though. Determined to be right. George doesn’t want me. Plain and simple. “Maybe he was just being nice.”
“Oh, I see. He was just too polite to tell you to suck it. How did this start, anyway? Did you text him? Call him?”
“I mean, no, not at first. I was going to stay out of his way because I didn’t want to intrude.”
“Mmm,” she says. Like she already figured this. Which, considering how well she knows me, she probably did. “So, he initiated contact.”
I shrug.
“And responded positively whenever you contacted him?”
I nod.
“And this asking you out thing was you somehow forcing your masculine wiles on him and mesmerizing him into thinking he liked you and also that he had to ask you out in order to be”—she uses air quotes here—”nice?”
I swallow. “Uh-huh.”
“Uh-huh.”
Shit. She’s right. She’s completely, utterly, totally right.
I rake a hand through my hair. He did. He actually liked me. A guy I’m completely crazy about liked me and I—
What the actual fuck is wrong with me?
“Zo, I think I need to—”
“Go up there and beg him to give you another chance?”
It’s a six-hour drive, but it’s barely dawn. Way too early to call George, but if I leave now, I’ll get to the cabin by early afternoon. And this is something I think I need to do in person.
“Yep.”
I hurry around the apartment, gathering my phone and keys.
Pulling on my boots. My heart is racing.
My mind is reeling ahead. I have no idea what I’ll say to George, but the idea of being in the same place as him, being right there, has me legitimately giddy.
I have six hours to figure out the rest.
I grab my coat, and I’m nearly out the door when I stop. I turn to Zoe. “Wait, I promised you I’d go to the wedding so you didn’t have to deal alone.”
“Pff, don’t worry about it. I only said that to get you there so I could introduce you to all of Luca and Cory’s hot, single guy friends.”
I should be mad, but I just laugh.
I’m halfway to my truck before I realize I’m still wearing the jacket and tie.