21. Emma
21
EMMA
“ S urprise,” James said. “The reviews online will tell you this is only a three star establishment, but the pictures were fantastic. Personally, I think it’s worth a shot.”
“You drove us half an hour to a three star taco shop?” I asked.
James drummed his fingers on the wheel, smiling at me from beneath a black wool beanie that made his eyes seem dangerously bright and inviting. “It sounded like a better idea until you put it that way.”
“Lucky for you, I happen to be very curious to know just how tiny these tacos are. So I will allow you to take me into this place.”
James hopped out of his side, shut the door, and then pulled my door open, extending a hand. “It’s icy. I’m going to have to insist you hold my hand the whole time.”
“Is that right?” I asked.
“That’s right,” James said, taking my hand and helping me out of the car.
It was cold, too, and James also had to insist that I huddle against him for warmth for the whole ten second walk from the truck to the front door. The inside smelled like grease and beef, which, under some circumstances might have been disgusting. Considering I was starving, it smelled like heaven.
I ordered myself a “tiny taco fiesta,” which was a sampler platter of fifteen tiny tacos, each smaller than the palm of my hand and loaded with precisely one bite’s worth of food.
James ordered a “tiny burrito bomb,” which was basically the same thing, except burrito style.
We took our seats on creaky barstools painted in a gaudy bright green, brown, and yellow color palette. The vinyl covering the seats was splintered from what I assumed were decades of tiny taco enjoyers.
“If nothing else,” I said, lifting my first tiny taco—beef, cheese, beans, and pickled cabbage. “These things are super cute.”
James lifted a tiny burrito and balanced it on the tip of his index finger. “Adorable,” he agreed. “But how do they taste?” he asked with a cocked eyebrow.
I took my first bite, chewed, and considered.
“Hmm,” I said. “Five stars for the tiny factor. Three stars for taste.”
James chewed his burrito, swallowed with a slight grimace, and nodded. “I’m no mathematician, but I’d say that puts us above a three star average. See? Not as bad as people said.”
I was hungry enough to deal with the mostly overcooked meat, slightly stale taco shells, and questionable ingredient combinations. I also had to admit I was having fun.
"So," I said, picking up my fourth tiny taco, "how did you even find this place?"
"Would you believe me if I said I have a sixth sense for questionable Mexican food?"
"Absolutely not. And if you did, I’d say your sixth sense was more of a curse for leading you to a place like this."
He grinned. "Fair enough. Truth is, I spent an hour this morning looking for the most ridiculous place I could find. Figured you could use a break from all that resort perfection."
"My hero," I said dryly, but something warm bloomed in my chest. He'd been thinking about me. Planning this.
"Enough about me and my talents,” he said. "How'd you get into wedding planning?"
"My parents, actually." I picked at the shell of my fifth taco. "Dad's a perfectionist who can't handle social interaction. Mom's a dreamer who can never follow through on details. So I ended up being the family organizer. Every event, every holiday—if it needed planning, it landed on my plate. I think my first official family job was a trip to Boone, North Carolina. I was twelve, and I got super into it. I called hotels, trail guides, and tourist destinations. I planned the whole thing on this giant poster board. Dad was worried about letting me handle it, but mom convinced him to give me a shot.”
“And tada. The vacation was a smash hit. After that, they basically forced me to be the vacation planner. And that evolved into planning birthdays, anniversaries, and so on. When mom and dad wanted to get remarried in their fifties, I was twenty-two, and they asked me to plan it. At that point, I was working as a wedding photographer. I’d already been taking notes upon notes about what made weddings perfect, and I knew exactly how I wanted to make their day amazing.”
I sucked on my drink, eyes lingering on the straw as I jabbed at the ice in my cup. “I think some part of me used to believe you could set the stage for a happily ever after if you just got the details right. The perfect wedding was like the perfect foundation. Part of me believed I was helping bring more love into the world, and that… I guess it mattered to me. It made me feel like I was doing something worthwhile."
His expression softened. "Emma?—"
"What about your family?" I cut in. "You mentioned a brother and a sister..."
James hesitated. He looked like he wanted to say more—maybe even to make an excuse or apologize for the role he might have played in the way my views had changed. But he finally sighed, then nodded with a tight jaw. “Just a brother. I made the sister up for that story. But, yeah, I used to be close with my family. My dad is a structural engineer who works on bridges and things like that. As a kid, we used to take trips sometimes to drive across bridges he worked on when they were finished. Mom would joke that we were putting our lives in his hands, and he’d tell us how mathematically impossible it was for the bridge to fail.”
James’ expression went distant as he stared at his plate, the ghost of a smile touching his lips. “He had this thing he used to say. ‘That’s the thing about bridges, Son. You build them from materials with known stress ratings and known tension strengths. It’s just a numbers game. If you do your job, get the numbers right, and take your time, they’ll never surprise you. People are the ones who surprise you, which is why I avoid them whenever I can.’ When things with Katie went south, I found myself thinking about that a lot. How much simpler life is if you stick to predictable things. Known quantities…”
“But not all surprises are bad. Sometimes, people surprise you in good ways.”
James lifted his eyes to meet mine. He nodded in a way that made warm things flutter all around in my chest.
“So, um,” I said, feeling suddenly uncomfortable, as if we had accidentally stumbled into another full-fledged date night. “You said you used to be close to your family. You’re not now?”
The glow of warmth from James vanished in an instant, replaced by pure ice. “My brother, Chase… He was the younger brother, and the golden child. He never lived up to their expectations, and they took my success almost as an insult, like I was rubbing in how wrong they were to think the world of him. And when my wedding imploded, I think they almost enjoyed it on some level. Everything had gone so well for me before that, and then Katie didn’t just cheat on me, she cheated with my brother. A few months later, Chase got engaged to her.”
I choked on my sip of lemonade, leaning forward. “What?”
“Yeah,” James said with a twist of his lips. “Needless to say, I wasn’t too pleased. I had no feelings for Katie at that point. None at all. But I thought I was patching things up with him, and then he dropped that nugget. We had some heated discussions, and my parents ended up taking sides. They thought I should be happy for him and move on. They thought family was family, and I shouldn’t hold a grudge. Anyway, they were married two months before they got divorced. In a shocking turn of events, Katie was cheating on him.”
I put my palm over my mouth. “God. What’s wrong with that woman?”
“A lot,” he said. “Last I heard, my brother is still sleeping with her, but she’s married to someone else now.” He took a long drink of his soda. “Makes it hard to believe in happy endings.”
"Do you ever..." I hesitated, heart pounding. "Do you ever think maybe some relationships are worth fighting for? Even with obstacles?" I thought about how impossible it would be for a “wedding wrecker” to ever stay in a successful relationship with a wedding planner. But every time I was with him, even back in Ireland, I felt… good. When he was around, it was almost like he carried some part of me I didn’t know I was missing—like I was only really complete when I was with him, and every time he was away, he took that piece of me with him.
Wasn’t that the kind of thing worth fighting for?
He was quiet for a long moment. "I used to. With Katie, I thought if I just loved her enough, if I just tried hard enough..." He shook his head. "Some things just aren't meant to be. I think people lie to themselves. They think their love or hard work will overcome the obvious obstacles and incompatibilities. But in the end, those things just get worse. They don’t go away. And they eventually ruin everything."
The words hit like a punch to the gut. He had to know I was asking about us, so his explanation was a gentle rejection. He was telling me we needed to keep this thing light and unserious. He still believed there was no overcoming obstacles, and the issues between us would only get worse if we took things further.
"Right," I said, pushing away my plate. "We should probably head back."
"Emma?"
"It's fine. I just... I realized how late it is. And I still have a lot of things I need to check on before tomorrow.”
He studied my face, confusion clear in his eyes. "Did I say something wrong?"
"No. You said exactly what I needed to hear. And… I appreciate you being straightforward and upfront with me. It’s refreshing when people can just say what they mean. No games. No confusion." I forced a smile.
James frowned. Probably because he thought I meant what I said when I told him I didn’t want anything complicated. And here I was, implying I wanted exactly that. Why should I be put off when he is the one sticking to the original plan?
The more I tried to pretend his rejection didn’t hurt, the more I found myself emotionally curling inwards. I hardly spoke on the drive back. I rested my forehead against the cold window and watched the snow-covered trees pass by and listened to the crunch of the tires on ice.
I told myself this was good. It was better to get clarity on our future—or lack of one—before I let myself get even more carried away with silly thoughts about what might be possible between us.
I should thank him for not leading me on or letting me have false hope.
So why did it feel like my heart was breaking all over again?