But he volunteered to pick me up from the bus station. That has to mean something. Or maybe it means he drew the short straw in whatever conversation led to this particular arrangement.
My phone buzzes again with a final message.
Emma: You're going to be absolutely fine. You're going to be amazing and professional and probably save my entire wedding from disaster.
Me: From your mouth to the universe's ears.
Emma: Love you, Sav. Thank you for doing this even though I'm clearly asking too much.
Me: Love you too. Even though you're obviously insane for thinking this will work out well for anyone involved.
I lock my apartment door and head for the elevator, dragging my suitcase behind me like it contains evidence of crimes I didn't commit. The hallway smells like other people's cooking and the faint mustiness that comes with old carpet and broken dreams. In three months, I'll either return triumphant with enough money to save Bourbon Bliss Weddings, or I'll return completely defeated with my heart broken in three new and creative ways.
The bus station downtown smells like diesel fuel and anxiety with high notes of regret and questionable life choices. I buycoffee from the vending machine, bitter liquid that barely qualifies as caffeine but gives my hands something to hold while I wait for my chariot to emotional chaos. My phone shows seventeen more minutes until departure.
I find a seat near the departure gate and watch other travelers shuffle past with their own burdens and destinations. A mother with two small children, heading somewhere that requires three suitcases and a stroller that looks like it could survive the apocalypse. An elderly man with a single worn duffel bag, moving carefully like his bones hurt from carrying too many years. A college student with a backpack and headphones, lost in whatever music makes waiting bearable when you're young enough to think everything will work out.
Everyone going somewhere else, leaving something behind. Story of my entire life, really.
My phone buzzes with one final text from Emma.
Emma: P.S. - You should know they ask about you sometimes. All three of them. I thought you should know that too.
Maybe Emma's right. Maybe people actually do change.
Maybe this wedding is exactly what I need to find out who we all became while we were busy avoiding each other.
The bus arrives with a hiss of hydraulic brakes and diesel exhaust that makes me cough like a Victorian heroine with consumption. I gather my belongings and join the line of passengers boarding for Pine Hollow, my suitcase wheels sticking on the uneven pavement because apparently even inanimate objects are conspiring against me today.
Clumsy. Still clumsy after all these years. Some things never change, no matter how much you want them to.
But as I find my seat and watch Colorado fade through the dirty bus window, I allow myself to imagine what it might be like to see Xavier again. His careful smile, his mint-scented professional composure, his way of making everything seem manageable even when it's completely falling apart.
Logan with his storm-gray eyes and steady presence that used to make me feel safe until it made me feel trapped. Griff with his easy charm and capable hands that built beautiful things until they built walls between us that I couldn't climb over.
Universe, if you're listening and not actively plotting against me, I could really use this one to go right. Just once. Please?
(Note to self: stop negotiating with the universe. It clearly has commitment issues and a twisted sense of humor that makes my failed attempts at comedy look like Shakespeare.)
5
GRIFF
The parking lot at Pine Hollow's bus station looks like a goddamn alpha convention, and I'm the idiot who started it. My truck sits in the first spot, Xavier's pristine BMW gleams two spaces over, and Logan's fire department-issued SUV takes up the handicapped spot because apparently emergency vehicles don't follow normal parking rules.
Each of us clutches a bouquet like we're competing in some twisted flower-giving contest nobody signed up for.
Mine are sunflowers, bright and cheerful and completely wrong for December, but the florist assured me they'd make a statement. Xavier's got white roses, naturally, because the man wouldn't buy impulsive flowers if his life depended on it. He's wearing his glasses instead of his usual contacts, probably trying to score points by looking educated and sexy. Logan's holding what looks like wildflowers mixed with something that might be weeds, which is either thoughtful or lazy depending on your perspective.
We look like three divorced dads at a custody hearing.
"This is ridiculous," Logan mutters, stomping between his SUV and the station entrance. His smoky cedar scent is sharp with irritation. "We agreed Xavier would pick her up."
"I offered," Xavier corrects, stepping closer to the building's entrance and adjusting his glasses with his free hand. "We didn't agree the rest of you wouldn't show up anyway."
I lean against my truck bed and grin at both of them. "What can I say? I like to hedge my bets."
"This isn't betting," Logan snaps, stomping his boots against the pavement. "This is a clusterfuck waiting to happen."
