Chapter 13 Gracie
Five Weeks Before the Wedding
Sitting in my dark car in downtown Providence under a streetlamp, I check my lipstick one last time.
Tonight, I’m dragging Jude along to hear the band that plays at nearly every Larkwood wedding, hoping three things: (a) they won’t be able to resist my sad-puppy eyes when I beg them to squeeze Calvin and Brooke’s wedding into their packed schedule, (b) Jude meets an amazing group of people who would be seriously set back if Larkwood stopped hosting weddings, and (c) he miraculously changes his mind about selling.
And while maybe it’s a little too soon for C, after our meeting with Daphne this week, my hopes have never been higher.
I don’t want to admit that I’m nervous. Not just about guilting him into keeping Larkwood, but also because prior to last week, my feelings for him were black and white.
He was Jude: the heat-seeking missile aimed directly at my life.
Now though, he’s Jude: devoted but unappreciated cat guardian, excessive worrier over my bald tires, and sender of texts I look forward to way too much.
It’s more than a little unsettling. Admitting that I enjoy talking to him (or worse, that I’ve taken to rereading our text conversations when we’re not talking) feels wrong.
But the fact is, I’ve stopped crying in my shower to Celine Dion, and that’s a silver lining I’m not quite ready to give up.
So, with nerves crackling in my stomach, I get out of my car and walk to the bar.
Inside, it’s snug and crowded with a 1920s Art Deco theme and jazz that runs like a current just below the hum of conversation.
Across the dim room, I spot Jude seated on a dark-green velvet barstool.
An electric pulse goes through me at the sight of his large, graceful body leaning with one elbow on the bar, like he was born to slouch in elegant rooms. Rolling my eyes at the thought, I make it to the seat he’s saved for me.
“You didn’t bring Taco?” I say in greeting.
Jude smirks as he turns toward me. “She’s out back with the band, drinking bathtub gin and flashing her knees.”
“This place definitely makes me wish I’d worn something with more fringe,” I say, slipping my light trench coat from my shoulders. His eyes follow the garment, dropping down as my clingy maroon dress makes its appearance.
“You look lovely,” he murmurs, eyes meeting mine again.
I look away as the compliment, free of any of his usual snark, makes all my pulse points flutter to life.
“Thanks!” I say lightly, hanging my bag and coat under the bar before sitting down. I don’t mention that, as usual, he manages to make a boring white button-up look borderline pornographic. Instead, I say, “No sign of the band yet?”
“Not yet, but the drinks are strong.” He slides a cocktail menu over to me. “Anything look good to you?”
My eyes instantly zero in on the prices, which, at seventeen dollars per drink, make me want to rear back and rub my eyeballs.
“My treat,” Jude says, like he can hear the mental list of groceries I could buy for the price of two of these concoctions.
“No thanks,” I say primly. “Unlike Taco, I don’t require treats.”
“Please. It’s the least I can do after being… what did you call me the other day? The world’s most apologetic life ruiner?”
“That title could be revoked, you know. We still have weeks to go before the wedding, and every moment you spend with me is a moment you could change your mind.”
“Have you ever considered that I might change yours?”
I look over at him. In a slight departure from his usual straight-from-the-office appearance, he’s got a dense five o’clock shadow, and his collar is unbuttoned and tie-free.
His rolled shirtsleeves reveal a pair of distressingly toned forearms that I have no business staring at.
But there are veins and muscles and—is that what I think it is?
A dark tattoo peeks out from the underside of his left arm and draws my gaze like water going down a gutter.
It’s the last thing I would expect from Mr. Lawyer McContracts, and my brain can’t stop itself from remembering the way Calvin barely tried to hide his disappointment when I came home with tattoos of my own. It’s just not what I’m into, babe.
But maybe Jude is. The thought flies through my mind before I can stop it, and I force my eyes away from his skin. I think I do need that drink after all.
“Impossible,” I finally respond. “I’m extremely stubborn and fully committed to your emotional makeover.”
“Haven’t you ever heard that saying about embracing change, since it’s all we can ever count on?”
“Oh, I’ve already filled my Abrupt Life Changes bingo card. This year, I’m signing up for the Peace and Predictability package.”
“I didn’t realize the life of a wedding planner was so tumultuous.”
I look back up at him, ignoring the way my blood fizzes under his unwavering gaze. “Well, it’s not. Choosing the quiet life of a cottage-dwelling event planner calmed the tumult, but now you’re threatening to throw me back out to sea.”
For the first time since I sat down, he takes a sip of his drink, his searchlight eyes scanning my face over the rim of his glass. He lowers it and says, “You look like a pretty strong swimmer to me.”
My heart lurches to a stop before resuming its job.
“I’m surprised you have any confidence in me after your visit to my cottage,” I admit, curling the corner of the menu in front of me. “I was definitely treading water that night.”
He lifts a shoulder and takes another sip of his drink. “We all need to drown our sorrows once in a while. And anyway, I take full responsibility for driving you to make that particular life choice.”
“Oh, you don’t get to take all the credit, trust me.”
His dark eyebrows rise in faint surprise. “Who on earth is making you more miserable than me? I’ll need to try harder.”
My smile is halfhearted at best when I think of Calvin embarking on family life with Brooke.
But instead of the usual pang of longing, I’m hit with a flare of unexpected anger: at Calvin for asking me to plan his wedding, and at myself for agreeing to it, no matter what opportunities it opened up for saving Larkwood.
But there’s no way I’m getting into all that with Jude, who probably wouldn’t understand unrequited love if the dictionary definition got up and did a pole dance for him.
I sit up a little straighter. “Unfortunately for you, that’s a secret I won’t be divulging. ”
He turns more fully toward me, and I’m trapped like a fly in his dark, honey-colored gaze. “I could take a guess.”
My eyes run away from his, landing on the tattoo peeking out from beneath his rolled shirt sleeve.
I can only see half of it, but the distinctive forked tail feathers are instantly recognizable.
A swallow. It’s simple, all black linework.
I force myself to look away. “It’s cute that you think you know me so well. ”
“I’m picking up on little things.” His gaze flicks to my nervous hands, curling my menu. “I bet I could order your new favorite drink.”
“Does that mean you missed my aversion to unrequested food and beverages?”
“Stop pretending you didn’t love that sandwich.”
“ ‘Didn’t?’ You make it sound like that sandwich exists in the past tense and won’t continue to feed me and my future grandchildren for generations to come.”
“Then you admit it’s the gift that keeps on giving and won’t argue if I order something for you here.” I only realize how close we’ve gotten when he sits up straighter and flags the busy bartender. It’s like she’s been waiting for his subtle hand raise all night.
“Everything good here, handsome?”
I can’t tell if she’s committing a little too hard to the speakeasy bit or simply hitting on Jude, but either way, I am not bothered, because this is not a date.
“Could I get a Corpse Reviver for my date?” he asks. “Also, do you know when the band is coming on?”
The bartender glances over at me like she’s just now noticing that I’m not a particularly dense collection of air molecules before smiling apologetically.
Meanwhile, I begin what I know will be an ultramarathon of overanalyzing the word date, the tone in which he said it, and where the moon was in conjunction with planet Whatthehell.
“They got a flat tire,” the bartender answers as she grabs a coupe glass from under the bar, “but I’m about to put the karaoke machine out while we wait. I’ll get you that drink first, though.”
She hustles off, and I’m left staring at Jude’s profile.
“I hope you didn’t mind being called my date,” he says, without looking at me. “She was coming on a little strong earlier.”
Oh. So, I was just his decoy. That’s… fine.
Great, in fact. No astrological charts or mental flagellation necessary.
I clear my throat. “No problem. But she is really pretty. No need to deny yourself a good time on my account. That is, if you’re even single, or interested in humans of the female variety. ”
A smirk tugs at his full lips as he swivels back toward me.
His knee brushes the outside of my tightly closed thigh, and I realize if I were sitting any more rigidly, I could probably put out a hat and earn a few bucks as a living statue.
That’s when I see the inside of his other forearm has a twin swallow.
Why, God, why have you cursed me with a deep appreciation for symmetry and inked skin?
“I think you know I’m single,” he tells me. “I also prefer humans of the female variety, both as partners and generally speaking. But she’s not my type.”
“Hmm. More of an O-negative kind of guy?”
His sharp-cornered grin sets off a chemical chain reaction that starts low in my belly and ends… well, we’ll see where it ends. “If only it were that easy. These days, my tastes seem to tend toward everything I can’t have.”
I’m saved from having to respond to this information by the bartender, who slides me a yellow cocktail in a frosty coupe glass. I nod my thanks, and she winks at me.