“It’s true,” she protests. “He’s like a movie star. I met him at a party, and I knew nothing about him. But I was attracted to him, and I was incredibly flattered when he asked me out.” I swear under my breath, but loud enough for her to hear, and her lips curve up. “I said you’d disagree,” she says with amusement.
“I disagree because you’re wrong. Only a six.” I glare at her.
She meets my eyes and holds my gaze for about six seconds before lowering hers. I shouldn’t have been so obvious, but I’m not having her implying she’s so far beneath Jude that she should be thankful he even noticed her.
“Does he look at other women when you’re around?” I ask.
“No, of course not.”
“You’ve been going out with him for over two years, haven’t you? There must be something right for it to last that long.”
“I don’t know. Relationships are about compromise, right?”
“I guess. I don’t have a huge amount of experience.”
“Well, neither do I, but that’s what I’ve been told. But I feel that I compromise a lot more than Jude does.”
She’s never said anything to me like this before. Neither has Jude, apart from his brief fears about the fertility issue. I thought the two of them were happy.
I feel completely torn. Jude is my best friend.
But I’ve been in love with his girl since the moment I met her. Completely, hopelessly, deeply in love. I’ve fought it with every ounce of strength I possess, and I will continue to do so, all the while I think there’s hope that the two of them will get back together. I’m not going to take advantage of the situation to turn comfort into something else.
As much as I long to do just that.
Chapter Three
Beth
Archer has fallen quiet beside me. I finish off my wine because I want something to do, and also because I feel as if I’m in the middle of a heart bypass, and the surgeon is cracking open my chest, and I desperately need more anesthetic. I don’t want to feel the pain. I need to numb it.
He sips his whiskey, then leans on the bar beside me. He’s a big guy, bigger than Jude, who’s slender and wiry. Jude may be striking, as gorgeous as Jensen Ackles or Jamie Dornan, but Archer is also handsome in a more traditional way, like a 1950s Hollywood movie star. He reminds me of a young Paul Newman or Burt Lancaster, quiet, respectful… a real old-fashioned gentleman.
I have a thing about perfume and cologne, and I’m always asking people what they’re wearing. Jude wears Dior’s Sauvage Elixir, which is spicy and exotic, sometimes a little too intense for me. Archer told me that he wears Acqua di Parma Colonia. I looked it up. It’s an Italian classic, understated, with a fresh citrus smell. It’s said to be elegant and timeless, and it was worn by Cary Grant. What a shock.
“I want another glass,” I mumble. “Can you get Tyr’s attention?”
Archer purses his lips. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not sure I can carry you all the way to your house.”
I bump his shoulder with mine. “You’re the strongest guy I know. You could throw me over your shoulder and carry me all the way to Invercargill.”
His lips curve up. “Probably. I’m sure you weigh hardly anything.”
I draw a finger through the drops of condensation on the bar. I didn’t tell him where I was because I wanted him to come and find me. Or did I? Maybe I should start being honest with myself. I could havephoned Isla, or Kim, or any of my other friends, and they would all have dropped whatever they were doing to come and pick me up. But I didn’t. I sat here on my own because I knew that Archer would eventually discover what had happened. And I knew he’d find me.
It’s not romantic. It’s soul affirming. He’s a good friend, and he always makes me feel better. Jude has been like a tornado whirling through my life—fast, furious, and exciting, whipping me up until I’m spinning with him, until he eventually moves on, leaving me exhausted and burnt out.
Archer is like a warm March afternoon in the Northland. The kind of day that’s a comfortable temperature, while still carrying the beauty of summer in the air. He’s the background music of a waterfall, the scent of a forest, the glimpse of an animal in the undergrowth. Not a fox, like Jude, careful, cunning, and defensive. Archer is steady, patient, and loyal; a guy who stands his ground. But he’s not a Labrador. The glint in his eye when he looks at me holds a glimpse of danger. He’s more like a wolf.
Hmm. I think maybe the wine’s going to my head. We don’t have wolves in New Zealand.
Tyr glances our way. I raise my hand, and he walks down the bar toward us.
“What can I get you?” he asks.
