“Oh, okay, cool. I like that, too.”
She lingered a second longer and then scurried away. I hadn’t meant to shut her down, but I couldn’t risk a run-in with Bachelor Number Three. I didn’t trust myself in the presence of David Dylan’s irresistible charm.
I’d gotten lucky at the launch party for the “Most Eligible” issue two months earlier. Every bachelor and bachelorette had shown up to the event, the best in the magazine’s history. Except for David Dylan. I’d overheard Lisa say that he’d accepted a job in New York and absolutely could not attend, even though she’d begged him. Knowing he was out of town was no more painful than knowing he wasn’t right next to me. He was gone forever, and the physical distance wouldn’t change that.
I hadn’t been able to ignore his presence at the party, though. Despite his non-attendance, his smiling photo, which had far outshone the other attendees’ pictures, had been everywhere. Lisa had gleefully taken over David’s segment for me, and the way she’d styled the photo shoot, it could have been an ad for any top menswear designer. He was all teeth and hard muscles in a three-piece suit Lucy had sold him. Clutching his jacket casually at his side, he’d been the epitome of roguish businessman.
I’d given my boss the issue for final approval without ever proofing David’s spread. The wounds had been too fresh. Even now, I still hadn’t had the heart, or the guts, to read about David Dylan—wealthy, charming, and handsome Chicago bachelor. Every girl’s dream catch.
I got up, locked my office door, and allowed myself a moment to lie down on the couch, thankful for my sweater to block the blasting A/C unit above.
I was so reprehensible, that instead of the constant regret I should’ve felt over cheating with David, it only came in fleeting waves.
I recalled David’s hands in my hair, his breath on my skin, his mouth between my breasts . . .
Just fucking stop,I pleaded with myself.I have toforget,please. I can’t do this anymore.
The reason I didn’t feel was because I didn’t want to, not because I couldn’t. The scorching memory of our one night would destroy me if I let it. The guilt was already a steady drip through my system, seeping into the cracks of my interior.
My office phone rang, shredding through my thoughts. I pinched the bridge of my nose and sat upright. Work was the one thing in my life that never let me down, never judged or condemned me.
I returned to my desk and hit the speakerphone button. “Olivia Germaine.”
“What time is the bachelorette party tonight?” Bill’s voice filled the office.
“Um.” I wiggled my mouse to wake up the computer. “Seven, I think. When’s Andrew’s?”
“Same. Think you can get off a little early? I have a surprise for you.”
“A surprise?” I repeated cautiously.
“Yeah, can you?”
“I don’t know.” I rubbed my eyes and refocused on the screen. “I’m sort of backed up here.”
“Please?” he said. “I’m really excited.”
I’d promised Gretchen I’d try harder, at least through the end of this weekend. “Okay,” I said. “Sure.”
“I’ll pick you up downstairs at two,” Bill said. “Love you.”
* * *
On a street-facing concrete bench, I waited on the sidewalk outside of my office building for Bill, wondering what the surprise could possibly be. He pulled up to the curb blasting Bon Jovi—he was in a good mood.
“Hey,” he said when I climbed into the passenger’s seat. “Ready for your surprise?”
He’d made an effort. I needed to as well. I nodded and took his hand.
He squeezed mine. “It’s a bit of a drive, so sit back and relax.”
As we discussed the impending bachelor and bachelorette parties, it became evident we were leaving the city altogether. I recognized the point when we were entering Oak Park, but I still had no idea what his intentions were. It was only once we turned onto a familiar street that I recognized my surroundings.
We’d made this same drive months earlier in our realtor Jeanine’s car. My hands began to sweat as we got closer and closer to the final two-story house we’d looked at back in May.
“Don’t get any grand ideas,” Bill warned.
Our search for the perfect home had been put on pause after Davena’s death. I recalled the afternoon with Jeanine—the awkwardness at her suggestion of a nursery, and the ensuing argument where Bill had tried to convince me that we were ready for children. That house had sold, though, he’d told me bitterly back in June. Unless it had fallen through, and . . .
