Chapter 1 Four days before the wedding #2
I sigh, turning around and letting my head fall back against the seat. “Look. I don’t want to make this any more awkward than it already is. We’re here for Sara. That’s all that matters.”
“I agree,” he says quietly.
“So after this, let’s just keep our distance from one another. I’m sure with all of the wedding events, we’ll barely even cross paths.”
“If that’s what you want.”
He settles back in his seat, and I glance at him out of the corner of my eye.
He’s studying me, still with that look on his face like he’s never seen me before.
I wonder if he notices my hair is a shade darker, not naturally but because I choose to color it to hide my grays.
Apparently I’ve become unrecognizable, but I don’t know if that’s because I’ve changed or because he never paid all that much attention to me in the first place.
After a silent ten minutes, the heat finally overcomes my willpower, and I tug my sweatshirt over my head. I wish I could say the move was graceful and sexy, but in reality it’s giving more raccoon struggling to free herself from a dumpster full of trash.
Still, I smooth out my hair like that was totally what I meant to happen.
Beckett clears his throat, and I sneak a peek to my right. His cheeks are flushed, and I catch his gaze darting back to the now-exposed swell of my cleavage, bolstered quite nicely by the built-in shelf bra of my tank top.
My nipples definitely do not tighten under his gaze.
He definitely does not swallow thickly when he catches my body’s response.
“How much longer until we arrive?” I squeak out.
Francisco grins at me via the rearview mirror. “We’ll be there soon!”
Unless soon is thirty seconds, it won’t be soon enough.
I guide my attention to the sights outside the window, watching the brightly colored landscape roll by. Costa Rica is lush and green and beautiful enough to distract me from the man sitting at my side. Mostly.
We roll to a stop at the hotel half an hour later. My mouth drops open once again, this time the shock a pleasant one, when Francisco opens my car door and I step out in front of the resort.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath. “I have watched way too much The White Lotus to stay here.”
Francisco chuckles quietly, handing me my backpack but passing my suitcase off to a waiting attendant.
I don’t wait for Beckett, stepping into the lobby of the nicest hotel I’ve ever been in and drinking it all in.
Everything is wood and white and natural tones, the only pops of color coming from the plants.
Tropical flowers and lush trees seem to bloom directly from the bamboo floors.
The ceiling opens in the middle, letting in the early-evening waning sunlight, a giant tree’s leaves branching out into the wide opening and reaching for the slowly darkening sky.
Rattan ceiling fans do their best to fight against the summer heat, but even though that’s a losing battle, the hotel is pleasantly cool and perfectly temperate.
“Shit,” Beckett says, echoing my initial reaction, his eyes roving over the understated luxury.
The Thatchers and I both grew up in a suburb of San Diego, certainly not poor, but nowhere near the level of wealth required to afford to get married at a place like this. Our summer vacations were more camping at the beach than luxury resort.
A squeal cuts through the soft silence of the lobby, drowning out the tinkling chimes and natural bird calls. The sound is out of place among the soft tones.
Beckett and I both turn our attention to the squeal just in time to see Sara sprinting toward us, her sandals slapping loudly on the wooden floors.
Now, Sara—Sara I will admit to Instagram stalking.
I probably should have unfollowed her after everything went down, but I could never bring myself to hit that button, especially because every time I checked, she was still following me.
Thanks to the glory of social media, I know she still looks almost exactly the same.
She and Beckett have the same golden hair, hers long and straight and shiny, and the same brilliant green eyes.
Since she remained in Southern California after graduating from UCLA, her tan is natural, her skin flawless.
I also know that she’s now a teacher and lives only a few minutes from the street where we grew up.
I know she met Marcus through work, almost a year ago, when he volunteered at her school.
I know she still loves to ride horses and read books.
I know she lost her mom a couple of years ago.
It was the only time I was tempted to reach out, break the silence she imposed right after our high school graduation.
But I was scared she wouldn’t want to hear from me. I let fear for my own feelings outweigh care for my former friend. Which is probably part of the reason why I’m here today, as if my presence at her wedding can erase my absence from her mother’s funeral.
Beckett wraps her in a giant hug, whispering something in her ear that makes her laugh. It softens me toward the both of them, seeing how close they remain.
At least it was all worth it.
Sara steps out of Beckett’s embrace, and our eyes meet like fated lovers in a rom-com. She smiles tentatively, and I return it. Only a few feet separate us, but it feels like a gaping chasm filled with decades lost.
She takes the first step, and before I realize what I’m doing, my arms are wrapped around my former best friend.
Her skin is warm, shoulders exposed in her flowy white dress.
She smells like sunflowers and home, and I blink rapidly to clear the tears from my eyes.
Hers are just as misty when we separate.
“Thanks for coming, Luce.” Her hands clutch mine tightly.
I can’t quite meet that piercing green gaze that could always see right to the heart of me, so I stare at our joined hands instead. “Holy shit, that’s the biggest diamond I’ve ever seen in real life.”
Sara throws her head back and cackles, and it’s achingly familiar. It stirs a laugh of my own, deep in my chest, and the two of us giggle together just like we did as kids staying up past bedtime at our weekly sleepovers.
“Not that this isn’t supremely entertaining, but I’m dying for a shower.” Beckett’s smile is amused, if tired, another familiar sight that steals my breath.
Sara tucks her arm through mine and leads us through the lobby. “Come on, we’ve got a suite for the wedding party.”
It doesn’t feel quite like old times—how can it with ten years of distance between us?—but it’s easy to fall back into our childhood patterns, Sara and I leading the way and Beckett forced to follow along for the ride.
“Marcus is taking a quick nap, but Mei and Tarak are already here and getting settled. You both should have time to shower before the welcome party tonight. You did get the itinerary I sent, right?” Sara practically drags me down the long hallway of the resort’s first floor before stopping in front of a set of double doors at the very end.
“We got the itinerary, Sar-Bear. Everyone knows where to be and when,” Beckett says with fond exasperation.
“Great!” Sara pushes open the door to the suite with a smile that’s tightened considerably over the course of our two-minute walk. “So let me show you to your room.”
An alarm bell starts dinging in my brain, but Sara barrels on before I can interject, talking as fast as she walks, leaving me no choice but to follow behind wordlessly, not even giving me a second to take in the details of the gorgeous suite.
This is Real Housewives–level accommodations, and I don’t even get to appreciate it, the living room and bar and kitchen a blur as Sara drags me along.
Was that a pool table?
“So originally the plan for the rooms was that the girls would stay in one and the boys would stay in another, but Marcus really wanted the primary, and Mei and Tarak—they’re married, I mentioned that, right?
—well, they have a two-year-old at home and this is their first vacation since the baby was born and so they were really hoping to have some alone time, if you know what I mean.
Honestly I think they plan to get going on baby number two while we’re here—”
“Sara.” Beckett silences her with a single word. “Get to the point.”
She comes to a stop in front of a door, the plain wood innocuous. At least until Sara pushes it open and ushers us inside. “I’m afraid the two of you are going to have to share.”
I step fully into the room, and my mouth drops for the umpteenth time. These Thatchers sure do keep springing surprises on me.
In the middle of the admittedly large and spacious room, positioned along the main wall, is a set of bunk beds.
Sara smiles sheepishly. “At least there are two beds?”