Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
Cara
Kevin gets about thirty seconds of his human’s attention before she notices Hayden. Liz Mayfield’s eyes light up with recognition, and I brace myself for whatever’s about to come out of her mouth.
“Hayden Reilly! Look at you, all grown up!” Then, before he has a chance to react, she rushes forward and pulls him into a hug.
I try to hide how much I enjoy Hayden’s discomfort, but he gives me a look over her shoulder letting me know my acting skills aren’t exactly on par. I’m able to keep from actually laughing out loud, though, which I’ll take as a win.
“Oh, gosh,” Liz says, stepping backward. “I’m sorry. You probably don’t even remember me.”
“Mrs. Mayfield—of course I remember you,” he says with a warm smile. “It’s good to see you again.”
Her relief is obvious, and then she turns to me. “My husband and Hayden’s dad worked together and were good friends. There were a lot of backyard barbecues back in those days.”
“Those were good times,” he says with a genuine smile. “How have you been?”
“Oh, good. We’re good.” She’s practically beaming now. “Downright boring compared to you two. Congratulations on your engagement!”
“Thank—”
“And your upcoming wedding, of course,” Liz continues. “You’re certainly in a rush.”
She doesn’t do the nosy glance at my midsection this time. We covered that when she dropped Kevin off for his appointment. Having already congratulated me, Liz keeps all of her attention on Hayden.
“When you know it’s right, why wait?” he responds. It doesn’t sound rehearsed at all, and I envy his ability to deliver lies so smoothly.
It’s also a good reminder to me that Hayden is a smooth liar. While we’re both getting something out of this arrangement, I have to remember nothing he says or does is real, no matter how warm and fuzzy his words make me feel.
“We’re not doing invitations because we don’t want to wait long enough for printers and RSVPs and all of that,” he continues. “But everybody’s welcome to come down to the gazebo on Saturday afternoon and celebrate with us.”
Liz’s cheeks actually flush with pleasure. “We might just do that.”
Kevin’s had enough of the small talk and starts howling for his human to hurry up. Liz leaves me an extraordinarily generous tip, and when I give her a questioning look, she winks and tells me it’s for the wedding.
By the time they leave and I’m finished cleaning up, all I can think about is a bacon cheeseburger with a side of extra-salty french fries. I’ve earned them.
On second thought, maybe I should stick to the regular amount of salt on my fries because I have a wedding dress to wear in a few days.
A wedding dress.
Honestly, that sounds like a great reason for extra salt, not less. And extra dessert, too. A thick slab of hot apple pie with ice cream oozing into all the nooks and crannies. Maybe a mountain of whipped cream on top, too.
“I’m going to drop this in my car,” Hayden says, interrupting my dessert fantasies by holding up the envelope of documents I’d signed. “Where’s your car parked?”
“I walked today. The weather’s gorgeous and if I walk, I don’t have to find a parking space.”
“It’s still gorgeous out there. Should we leave my car and walk to the diner?”
“Sure.” It sounds less awkward than getting in his car and being reminded of my last time riding in it. I am never splitting a bottle of wine with Mel in my shop after hours again. Especially if I haven’t eaten anything.
After he leaves the paperwork in his car—not tossing them on the passenger seat like I would, but securing them in a locked briefcase in his trunk—we head toward the diner.
I’ve taken maybe three steps when his pinky hooks mine and I look up at him. Hayden is smiling at me, one eyebrow quirked, and I roll my eyes before threading my fingers through his.
Our hands being clasped presses the band of the engagement ring against my skin, making me conscious of the ring he’d slipped on my finger.
I really wish the diamond was as fake as our engagement because I don’t need another thing to stress about. Worrying about taking care of the rock on my hand will be high on the list.
But I’m proud of myself as we stroll down the sidewalk hand-in-hand, showing off what a loving couple we are to others out on the street or anybody peeking through a window. My heart’s not racing, my breathing’s normal, and I don’t think my cheeks are even a little pink.
As long as I don’t think too much about that moment in my shop when I’m very sure he was about to kiss me, I’ll be fine.
When we reach the diner, he lets go of my hand to open the door for me.
My thumb immediately pokes at the base of my ring finger, making sure the ring is still there.
I absolutely can’t lose this ring because there’s no chance I can replace it.
There aren’t enough shaggy dogs in Sumac Falls for that, even in spring when the skunks are feisty.
Because it’s a Monday night, the diner’s barely half-full, but it feels like I just stepped on to a stage at sold-out Gilette Stadium when every single person stops eating—or pouring coffee—to watch us.
I want to turn on my heel and leave, but Hayden rests his hand at the small of my back and I forget anybody else is even in the room.
How, so many years later, does Hayden’s touch still make my heart rate soar and my skin flush?
He guides me to an empty booth, ignoring the quiet ones in the back. Of course he has to choose one along the front wall, right in the midst of the other diners, and where everybody out on the street can see us through the window.
When Lorene steps out from behind the coffee counter to approach our table before the college kid who works summer shifts can greet us first, I know Hayden’s plan for us to be seen and talked about is a winner.
Lorene has owned the diner for as long as I can remember, and she’s one of the most standoffish people in Sumac Falls.
Gin says she’s super sweet, but deliberately chooses not to be at work so she doesn’t spend all of her time listening to her customers share every detail of their lives.
That was for therapists and bartenders, according to Lorene.
But a Reilly and a Gamble sitting down to share a meal in her diner only days after getting a marriage license must be enough to break through Lorene’s shell because she’s all smiles.
“I hear congratulations are in order,” she says in possibly the friendliest tone I’ve ever heard her use.
Word must be getting around that if I’m expecting, I’m not showing yet because she doesn’t try to peek over the table to see my midsection.
People assuming this is a shotgun wedding situation and glancing—whether surreptitiously or blatantly—at my stomach wasn’t something I’d foreseen happening.
And it’s especially annoying when I’m about to make questionable food choices.
“Thank you,” Hayden says smoothly, shifting his gaze from Lorene to me. “We’re so happy.”
That’s my cue to make sure I’m beaming with joy when Lorene also turns her attention to me. Thinking about the french fries I’m about to order definitely helps, though I’m not as smooth a liar as Hayden. Hopefully anybody who notices it will chalk my wavering smile up to pre-wedding jitters.
“Incredibly happy,” I say when it becomes obvious Lorene expects me to chime in. I don’t really know what else to say.
Hayden comes to my rescue—again. “Wedding planning really works up an appetite, though. Thinking about your burgers and fries was the only thing that got us through picking a cake flavor.”
“Had dessert first, did you?”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Just the debate without the tasting, unfortunately. Or maybe fortunately, since we have plenty of room for fries now.”
Once Lorene has taken our orders, I can relax my face a little, but I’m still conscious that half the people in the diner are talking about us. And I’m also aware I can’t accidentally say anything that might give us away—especially a snarky comment about how good Hayden is at working cons.
It’s a lot of pressure, so I don’t say anything at all while Lorene drops off our sodas and moves on. But when I reach for my straw, the diamond on my finger catches the light, mesmerizing me.
My breath catches in my chest when Hayden’s fingers brush mine, his fingertips skimming over my knuckles in a way I don’t think should be exceptionally sensual. And yet a shiver runs down my spine before he pulls his hand back.
“Relax,” he whispers, handing me my straw.
That’s easy for him to say. He’s not the one sitting with the knowledge our hands touching is enough to make me squirm in my seat, and craving salty french fries is one thing. I can’t be craving Hayden, too.
“I’m not used to getting so much attention,” I say in a low voice because it’s the truth, but would also make sense to anybody who might overhear me.
“All the attention will be on you Saturday.”
“Great,” I say with overly exaggerated excitement. “That helps so much!”
He laughs and relaxes against the booth. “What song should we play for our first dance?”
I freeze in the act of sucking soda through the straw and it’s a good thing it hadn’t reached my mouth yet, because I probably would have choked.
I’m still struggling to wrap my head around the fact I’m marrying Hayden at all. That he’ll be taking me in his arms and holding me close, swaying to music, while everybody watches hadn’t even occurred to me.
It’s too much.
My expression probably gives away my thoughts on the matter because Hayden shakes his head. “Even with a scaled-down reception, there are milestones we don’t want to skip. And our first dance as man and wife is one of them.”
“Fine. But no songs from high school.” Almost every love song made back then was a song I cried to in my room.
We didn’t have an “our song” because most of our time together was spent by the river, rather than at dances or in cars with radios, but it was a solid six months—at least—after homecoming night before I could listen to any song about love or heartbreak without crying.
“Challenge accepted,” he says, pulling out his phone. After a list of popular wedding songs is on his screen, he turns it so I can see.
I skim the list and laugh. “I’m absolutely here for the ‘Chicken Dance’ being our first dance as a married couple.”
“I should probably specify first dance songs.”
“Less fun, but sure.”
We spend thirty minutes going through song lists, and it actually is fun. We laugh together over some of the most frequently listed songs, many of which were probably contenders for our grandparents’ first dances.
“Just surprise me with something,” I finally tell him, because reading lyrics about love and marriage when I’m only getting the marriage part is starting to give me a headache.
“Okay, how about this,” he says, dragging a fry through the puddle of ketchup on his plate. “Let’s see what favorite movies we have in common and maybe one of them has a song we can use.”
Not a bad idea, but Hayden has terrible taste in movies, and I spend more time laughing at his choices than coming up with any of my own.
“Wait. Did you see Armageddon?” he asks.
“Only eleven or twelve times.”
“That’s a good song.”
I wrinkle my nose, taking a sip of my drink while I think about it. The song is good, and I think it had fallen off the charts by the time I went through my heartbreak playlist phase. And, honestly, there’s a good chance I won’t even notice the song when he’s holding me close.
“Of course, the bride and groom doing the ‘Chicken Dance’ would also be memorable,” he teases.
Just like that, Aerosmith’s “I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing” becomes our official wedding song.
The whole evening is like a dream—a perfect date as daydreamed by my teenage self—and I really wish it didn’t have to come to an end.
Of course it has to, though, and as we step out onto the sidewalk and Hayden turns back toward the direction of his car, the dreaminess gives way to panic. Of course he’s going to insist on driving me home.
And if I were Hayden, I’d probably assume Gin will peek out her window and, if she did, she would expect to see him kiss me goodnight.
In this moment, there’s literally nothing I want more than to feel Hayden’s mouth on mine.
But I can’t.
I’m already having a hard enough time maintaining that boundary between the way young me felt about Hayden and the absolute lie that our relationship is now. I do not want to end a date to the diner—something we never got to do before—by kissing in his car.
“I’m closer to home than I am to your car,” I tell him. “I’ll just walk.”
“I can drop you off.”
But I’m already pulling my hand from his. “Thanks for the burger.”
“Cara, wait. We should—”
“See you tomorrow for dinner.” Before he can say anything else, I turn and practically speed-walk up the sidewalk in the opposite direction without looking back. I know it’s childish, but my heart just can’t take any more games tonight.
When I get home, Gin’s sitting in her recliner in front of the television, and she barely acknowledges me when I call out a greeting to her.
I leave her alone. She’s been forced to accept that not only will she have to give up the house, but her daughter is marrying a Reilly, so it’s no surprise she’s wallowing in misery. I know this is hard for her.
And I also know tomorrow, when she has to walk into Aaron’s house and share a meal with Colleen Reilly, is going to be even harder. I just hope everybody is pleasant—no matter how hard they have to fake it—and there aren’t any food fights.
And nobody gets stabbed with a fork.