Charlotte
Iclosedthedoorto my Uber, and stared out the window, feeling more than a little apprehensive about this weekend. It was only a twenty-minute ride to the airport, so I had plenty of time to second, third and fourth guess myself. Before I drove myself nuts, I pulled out my phone and sought clarification one more time.
Me: I’m on my way. Are you going to be there?
Nick: I wouldn’t be anywhere else. I have everything taken care of.
I reread his text twice, deciphering if there was double meaning in his words. They were vague and could mean a variety of things, but they also didn’t rule anything out. They felt somewhat spontaneous and romantic. I bit down on my lip, suppressing a squeal as I couldn’t believe I might actually be getting married. My mind walked through the steps that would have to happen if we were to get married.
Would he propose, or would it be a casual thing?
I wasn’t what you call a hopeless romantic, especially this late in the dating game. I definitely saw myself having a traditional proposal, something I could look back on years later. If I was being honest, I also wanted a ring. I mean, the wedding only lasts an hour but the ring is what you had forever. I wouldn’t be overly picky, though. I’d accept a ring from an arcade machine if it meant I could finally move to the next season of my life.
I blinked away my questions, letting the last one linger.
How would it feel to marry my best friend?
It had to be the next best thing to finding a soulmate. Nick and I can talk about everything. It only made sense to marry him if I didn’t want to end up alone. We already love doing everything together . . . Well, there are things Nick and I don’t do. We don’t kiss each other, but if we got married . . . My cheeks heated, and I quickly pushedthatout of my mind. I couldn’t think about that part. Especially since it was all just a joke.
“Phew.” Letting out my breath, I heaved my rolling suitcase that wasn’t exactly rolling because the left wheel had gotten jammed. It didn’t help that the sidewalks were covered in dense snow, making it feel like I was off-roading a one-wheeled wagon. I dragged and shoved it—maybe kicked it once—through the entrance door of the Harbor Inn in Mapleton.
The lodge had a way of making me feel as if I was coming home for Christmas. It had perfect-Christmas splendor just like a movie set, complete with a large tree next to the stone fireplace and carols piping out the radio.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a handsome man who looked like he could play the love interest in every Christmas romance movie—complete with scarf and matching sweater—smoothly wheeling in his two suitcases while his female partner casually strolled next to him without a hair out of place. She had one of those strides like she was walking a runway in slow motion. I tried not to ogle, but the jealousy was so thick it was seething right out of my mouth.
What I wouldn’t do for a hunky man to tow my luggage around.I dropped a sigh that I would love to be able to describe as feminine, but at this point I had to admit it was on the spectrum closer to huffing.
“Oh, babe,” I overheard the man say to his woman. “I’m going to help her. She’s such a hot mess.”
Maybe I should have been offended, but all I heard was the word hot.
He called me hot!
Doh, too bad he was taken.
The man parked his suitcases next to his partner and crossed the room, greeting me. “Hello, Miss. I can help you with that.”
I didn’t even pretend like I wanted to carry this cement brick of boulders by myself. Taking a grandiose side-step, I cleared his path to my suitcase, then cringed as he struggled to pull it forward.
“What on earth did you pack?” he grunted out.
“Err, just normal weddings stuff: a dress, toiletries, and a gallon of homemade Redeye.” He gave me side eyes like I was a drunk, or something, so I tacked on, “It’s a wedding tradition. My father’s recipe. He didn’t want me to be without it in case I get married this weekend.”
“Oh,” the woman exclaimed, slapping her cheeks with both palms. “Us too! It’s been my dream to get married here since I was a little girl.”
“You must be having a huge reception,” the man added as he tugged on my suitcase until it was neatly parked next to the front desk. “That’s a lot of shots to drink.”
“Nah.” I wagged my head, mulling over the oddities of our wedding arrangements. “It’s not really a reception sort of thing. We are more like eloping, but my father couldn’t fathom that a wedding wouldnotneed this much Redeye.” I gnawed on my lip, knowing exactly how weird this looked. “I honestly don't drink but I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.” Then I rushed to change the subject, “How about you? Are you having a large reception? I could totally donate some Redeye.”
“Just one hundred of our closest friends and family,” the woman explained, letting a Barbie smile fill her face. She reached out her hand, her French manicured tips were so perfect, I instantly got self-conscious of my home manicure. “I’m Alisa, by the way,” she said. “And this is Jack.”
“Oh,” I took her hand, eagerly shaking it. “I’m Charlotte and my um, my Nick isn’t here yet.”
“Nick is your fiancé’s name?” Alisa asked, with a tilt of her head in my direction.
“Ah, I’m not sure we did the whole fiancé thing?” I mused more to myself, trying to classify what Nick would be. “I think we skipped that step. He’s more like my husband-on-hold sort of thing.”
She gave me one of those looks that if she hadn’t been so obviously pumped full of Botox would have made her brows bend down, but now she looked frozen.
