Chapter Thirteen
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
NATALIE
T he silence on the other end of the phone was deafening. I gave it a moment before holding it up toward the sky, checking my signal. All my bars were present.
I cursed silently and muttered, “Did I lose her? Where did she go?”
“No, no, I’m still here.” Carlie piped up.
“Okay, so give me your thoughts.” I paced back and forth along the stretch of beach immediately in front of my bungalow.
“What do you want me to say?” She was feeling me out. I hated when she did this.
“I don’t know. I want you to tell me what you want to say. Not what I want to hear or should hear. But what you are thinking. Please.”
“What did you say back to him?” she ventured.
I viciously kicked a pile of sand and watched it fly in all directions. “I didn’t.”
“What does that mean?” she asked.
I stopped pacing for a moment. “Do I need to let you go? I can hear Liam calling for you. ”
“No, no, no. We need to talk about this. Just hang on and let me put him in front of the TV.”
I could hear Carlie select a movie for Liam and excitedly tell him that he was going to watch his favorite monsters again while enjoying juice. Liam clapped and the sound of the TV dimmed as her footsteps carried her back toward the kitchen. The barstool scuffled as she climbed back onto it. “Okay, I’m back and can focus. I just bought us at least twenty minutes. So spill. What did you not say or not do?”
“That’s the thing, Carlie. It was not at all what I was expecting. I mean, we were kissing—a lot—and things were going well. Then it stopped. We both stopped kind of at the same moment. I immediately got all self-conscious that curvy isn’t the new cool or whatever because that’s where my head goes. Then the next thing I know, he’s telling me he can’t fall in love with me.”
“Yes, and then you . . .” She was losing patience with me.
“I sat up. I looked out at the ocean and said nothing. Eventually, he got up and left. And then I went to bed. Like a prized idiot, I did nothing. I didn’t say one word to him. Just let him walk away feeling rejected or whatever.” Between the wild gesturing as I spoke and the manic tone of my voice, the family headed my way carved a wide path around me, hurrying their children along.
“Poor guy. He already admitted he doesn’t date much and then you ignored him after his unorthodox grand declaration.” She was taking his side.
I plopped down with a resounding sigh and scooped the sand absentmindedly. “What if he meant, ‘Look, I can’t fall in love with you because I’m never going to get over losing Charlotte, so there is no reason to get your hopes up’? Or ‘I’m not going to fall in love with you because she was beautiful and the whole package and you’re just a nice distraction for now’? Or worse yet, ‘I can’t fall in love with you because you aren’t loveable,’ like he knows Dane or something and they’re in cahoots? ”
“Do you even hear yourself?” Carlie was taking her mama bear stance. “You’re ridiculous. He is obviously interested. You have been hanging out much pretty non-stop since you arrived, and you’ve kissed more than once. He’s probably a little freaked out that he is feeling something for somebody who isn’t his late wife, and it doesn’t help that you really have no future together—not to mention it sounds like feelings are flying at warp speed—so he paused the game before it went too far.”
She was right. That’s exactly what happened. The stupid thing was, I could have just as easily been the one to say what Joel said. I was getting attached. More than attached. He and I had chemistry from the moment we met, and for me, this wasn’t a rebound thing.
“Nat? Did I lose you now?” Carlie sounded far away as I snapped out of my thoughts.
“No. I’m here. I did send one text last night to make sure he got home okay.”
“Did he respond?”
“Yes,” I said, unwilling to elaborate.
“That’s a good sign—he could have ignored you. And you like-like him? This isn’t just a revenge on Dane kind of thing?” There was sincerity in her voice that let me know she wasn’t going to judge the next answer.
“He’s my foxhole guy, Carlie.” I began pacing again. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“Foxhole?” she sounded distracted again, and I could hear Liam demanding a snack. I knew my time was running out.
“Yeah, you know—the person you want to be with when things get really bad. The one you trust. You dig in and ride out the battle together. I know it’s only been a few days, and no, I’m not reeling from a canceled wedding. I mean, I maybe was at first. I came here to mope, feel sorry for myself, and get a tan while slowly eating through the whole room service menu by the pool, but I met him and that was it. If I never saw him again, I’d always regret losing him.”
“Then I guess you’d better tell him,” she said, no nonsense. “I gotta go. Foxhole it is.”
“Foxhole it is.” I repeated and ended the call, resolved to rectify my lost opportunity.
Back on a lounge chair by my pool, I send a text. It only took me six tries to nail down the winner. I admitted to him last night that I missed him, and while he replied, I hadn’t heard from him since. I had to play it cool.
Good morning. What are you doing tonight?
I had started various different approaches—jokes, lengthy monologues—but really, simple would be best. I had lots of thoughts I wanted to share with him, but he needed to hear them in person. It didn’t take long before my phone vibrated.
Good morning! I am meeting Ben and Lea for dinner. They get in this afternoon. Going over a few last-minute things before tomorrow night.
It shouldn’t have bummed me out as much as it did to know we wouldn’t see one another. But I only had a handful of days left, and it felt like a massive clock was staring me down, taunting me.
Have fun! See you tomorrow night. What time is the dinner? Where should I meet you?
I kept emotion out of the equation and patted myself on the back for leaving my response friendly and inquisitive.
I’ll pick you up at five.
The dinner starts at seven.
Their rental is across the North Shore from you, and I’m sure there will be traffic.
I started reading way too much into his text: it was all business. Nothing flirty, nothing giving me hope. Luckily, before the spiraling went too far, another message showed up.
Also, I want to hang out a little by ourselves before it gets chaotic. Is that okay?
The corners of my lips tilted. I hurried to reply.
I’ll be ready! And I’ll knock your socks off.
He sent a thumbs up emoticon, signaling we were done for now. My attention turned to figuring out what to wear to both the dinner and the wedding. I definitely hadn’t packed light for this trip, but nothing I brought screamed wingman-worthy. While mulling my options, I pulled up the resort’s app to schedule a yoga session for the morning, as well as my aromatherapy massage, followed by a mani-pedi. On the home screen was an option to shop at their boutique stores in the main building.
Problem solved.
I put on wide leg linen pants and a black t-shirt, slipped into Vans, brushed my fingers through my unruly hair, and grabbed my room key. Even though I had stayed at the Pineapple Bay Resort on a yearly basis, I never ceased to be amazed by the sheer size of the place. It catered to families wanting to stay busy and active as well as couples looking for a romantic getaway. There were two restaurants on site, a large pool with the best lazy river, and all the spa amenities that people sought after .
Dane had always appreciated the world-class gym while I steered myself toward the Pilates classes and sunrise yoga on the beach. There was even a large eighteen-hole golf course, if I were into standing outside all day hitting a small ball into a hole.
What I had completely forgotten about, though, was the row of boutique stores near reception that had all kinds of fun clothing at exorbitant prices. But I was desperate not to drive into Waikiki and willing to pay what it took to look good. Keeping oneself high maintenance came at a cost.
The path from the bungalows toward the main building was busy. I skirted my way around a large group headed to the pool, couples heading off to brunch, and a handful of women who moseyed toward their appointments at the spa.
A resort employee welcomed me as he held open the door to the main building. The air conditioning was an immediate welcome as the morning had warmed quickly and it was already sticky outside. I walked across the lobby and into the first store without a clue what I was looking for.
Living in soggy Portland, my weekend style was much more about layers than anything else. Weekdays, it was all professional all the time. Mr. Banks wanted each employee to dress for Wall Street because he believed if you projected wealth, wealth would find you. Hard to disagree with him, considering how well his business was doing. Dane’s boss at the law firm was woven from the same cloth. Even though most of the city emanated hipster vibes, our closets were full of conservative pieces in gray, black, navy, and the occasional pin stripe or floral print. Fashion wasn’t really my natural strong suit. I always hired somebody twice a year to dress me, but I was on my own now. I knew I wanted two pieces that would be off the beaten path from what I usually wore and also a little bit sexy.
I poked around the tidy racks lined against the walls. My fingers lazily strummed across the fabrics, and I pictured how each would make me look, as opposed to letting the price tags persuade me. As I pulled out a mustard yellow and white floral print short sleeve dress, my phone vibrated in my pocket. Glancing at the screen, Kate’s name appeared.
“Natalie!” she cried, having said my name before I could even greet her.
I smiled at her panic. We had worked together four years, and I appreciated her constant state of fully charged energy and dedication she brought to the table. But this was next level. “Hi, Kate, what’s going on?”
“Natalie,” she sounded out of breath. “The caterers pulled out of the fundraiser.”
I yelped, drawing the attention of a shop employee. Hand over my mouth to stifle the string of curses ready to leave my lips, and remembering I was at a family friendly resort, I excused myself back into the main lobby. “What do you mean, they pulled out of the event?”
“I got a call from Cascade Catering and was told they would not be able to do our event this year.”
“But they have done it every year for the past decade. I called them three weeks ago to confirm everything was good to go. We paid them, right?” Panic sunk in. “Wait, where are you?” A rush of cars hummed in the background.
“I am outside the office on the street. I didn’t want anybody to overhear me, and I felt like I had to actually call you about this one,” she apologized.
“Yeah, totally. Um . . .” I pinched my fingers on the bridge of my nose and clamped my eyes shut. “Did you pull up the contract? We paid in full by the due date, right?”
“Yes, everything was paid the end of last month. Tom is refunding the money and explained he’s selling the company. The sale happened quicker than anticipated and the new owner doesn’t want to fulfill any existing jobs during the buyout but will pick up events starting after Labor Day.”
I snorted. “Oh how wonderful for them. Okay. We have two weeks?—”
“What are we going to do?” Her panic had turned into calculated calm.
“What had we planned on? Five hundred people?”
Spreadsheets ran through my mind and while I usually could recite them forwards and backwards, this moment of chaos erased anything I had ever known.
“Yes.”
“And who else knows about Tom canceling? Did you tell Jill?” The momentary alarm subsided. If Jill didn’t know, then Mr. Banks wouldn’t know, and nobody would be any the wiser for now. It gave me an opportunity to do something new and possibly cinch my chance at that promotion for thinking outside the box and running the fundraiser in a new direction.
“Nobody knows but you and me. I got Tom’s call, then ran outside and called you.” There was a pause after her response, and I knew she was letting me contemplate our options.
“I got it. Pull Luca into this. He’s got connections to a bunch of owners at the Alder Street Food Cart Pod. Let’s see how many of them want to bring their carts to us. Take the refunded catering money and tell Luca we can split it between the food carts with a sign-on bonus of an extra twenty percent to whoever will commit by the end of the business day tomorrow—and whatever they can offer to serve for that money, we’ll take it.”
“Okay, but that is going to take up a lot more room than Cascade’s set up did.”
“Right. We can rope off the parking lot for the food carts to use, and we have all attendees use the parking garage down the street. To incentivize parking there, we hold a raffle to offset those who are put out by the parking garage fees. I’m putting you in charge of thinking what the prize will be.” The more I thought aloud, the more my energy spiked. “This will be good. People will love it. Instead of Tom’s standard buffet fare, we will offer all kinds of culinary options. Most important, though, is to call the Booze Truck guys and that craft beer truck Luca has raved about and verify they’re still coming. I called them both last week, but they’re currently our lifeline. Keeping the employees slightly sloshed means wallets are out and donations are coming in.”
“Yes! I’m on it!” Kate sounded less worried and more excited, which made me feel like we were actually going to pull off this new idea. “Before I let you go, what fun plans do you have today?”
“Actually, I need you. You’re going to help me pick out two dresses for a wedding I’m going to”—I smirked as she squealed—“and no questions asked.”
We switched to a video call, and I took her back to the shop with me. Walking her up and down the racks, she helped me pick out dresses in teal, coral, persimmon, fuchsia, aqua; colors I would never normally choose for myself. After tediously trying everything on and sending her photos, she helped me choose two and a pair of sandals. I charged it to my room and headed back to my bungalow for an afternoon of work.
Every once in a while, I’d pause reading proposals and answering emails to glance over at the dresses hanging in my bedroom and be filled with a giddy excitement at seeing Joel again.