“I invited Connor and Lauren,” Drew replies, tone casual.
My stomach sinks. Anxiety settles at the back of my throat and my chest pulls tight. I have so many questions.
After three years of silence, he’s gonna show up just like that? Tonight? Who’s Lauren? His girlfriend, obviously. There’s no way he’s still single at twenty-eight.
Masking my shock with indifference, I say, “I didn’t realize you guys still talked.”
Instantly, I know it’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever said because my lack of knowledge as to the status of Connor and Drew’s friendship is in direct proportion to the number of times I’ve inquired about Connor over the past three years.Zero.
“What?” Drew asks incredulously. “We’ve been best friends since we were fifteen and he was the Best Man in my wedding. Of course we stilltalk.”
There’s no time to form a reply because that’s when I see them—two figures approaching the table in my peripheral vision. While the rest of the table moves to welcome the new arrivals, I grab my water glass and chug it down, praying for the liquid cascading down my throat to sweep me out to Lake Michigan. The water might be a little cold, but it’s better than here.
“Paul, Kelly, this is Lauren,” Connor says of the woman at his side. I don’t hear Lauren—I don’t even see her—because…hisvoice. The depth with its smooth, yet rough, timbre that has only improved with age, has now taken up rent-free residence in my head. Again.
Chug, chug, chug.
I take him in over the rim of my water glass. He looks exactlythe same as the day he left me alone on that balcony. It’s infuriating.Devastating.
At just over six feet, he’s not too tall. Still built like the teenage quarterback he was for so many years, he’s long, toned and lean with enough muscle underneath his navy dress shirt to pull the fabric taut across his pecs and shoulders. That hair that’s dirty and blonde in all the right ways—he’s grown it out some, but the longer on top, shorter on the sides look works. The scruff along his jaw is that sexy in-between kind that I want to drag my fingers through.
His arctic blue eyes are as hypnotizing as they were looking back at me through a phone screen my freshman year of college. The same eyes that were pure warmth and friendship the day I met him on my back porch thirteen years ago.
I’m locked in the swirl of them before I realize he’s staring at me, too. His expression is strained, like the mountain of words unspoken, the memory of how things ended—all of it hangs on a clothesline tethered between our chests. I slap that thought away because it can’t be true. He’s with Lauren now. If he’s tense, it’s because this is awkward.
So awkward.
He rounds the table as his girlfriend is swept up in conversation with my parents. The thirty-seven seconds I was given to prepare for this was not enough. He claps Drew on the back and drops a peck on Reagan’s cheek. Before I know it, I’m on my feet, standing toe to toe with Connor Vining.
The hesitation lasts a fraction of a second—or maybe I imagined it—before he pulls me in to his chest, arms wrapped around my waist. With nowhere else for my arms to go, they lock around his neck. He squeezes me close and for a brief, beautiful, fleeting moment, the past is forgotten and I melt into him.
The exhale of relief I hear could be mine…or maybe it’s his.
“Congratulations, Gretch,” he breathes. The weight of his head against mine, the sincerity of his whispered words only meant for my ears, leaves me discombobulated. When we step back, I can’t bear to look at him. With the loss of contact comes the remembrance of everything that happened and I’m uneasy all over again.
The cumbersome silence between us is interrupted when Lauren positions herself back at Connor’s side. She extends her hand to me and I offer mine. I see her lips move, but I’m not listening. How can I when I’m still off-kilter from the feeling of Connor’s arms wrapped around me? Images of his hands frantically moving down my chest and up my thigh flood my mind.
I muster up a genuine-ishsmile and enough composure to spit out, “It’s nice to meet you, too.”
The conversation up until the appetizers arrive sounds like one bigwhirin my ears. However, I manage to catch a few key points that are particularly painful: Connor and Lauren met at work, her dad is their boss and the two of them double date with Drew and Reagan…a lot.
Every effort I’ve made over the last three years to avoid the subject of Connor—toneverask Drew about him for fear of the truth of what happened between us being written plain as day across my face—was a mistake. A big, huge mistake. I should have asked all the questions. If I had, maybe I wouldn’t feel two inches tall right now.
Between the three happy couples at the table, the conversation moves along fine without me. I try to pretend he’s not here, but it’s a wasted effort.
Chancing glances in his direction between the five pieces of bread and three glasses of water I’ve consumed wouldn’t be so embarrassing if his eyes weren’tright thereevery single time. Our gazes catch for two beats too long and there is nary a smile, smirk, scowl or furrowed brow—not even a wink.
As though she senses the need to send my heart into a complete and utter tailspin, Mom asks, “How long have you two been together?”
Lauren smiles as she reaches her hand across Connor’s lap. “Almost two and a half years.”
Mom coos in adoration and I’m…frozen.
Pause. Rewind. Two and a half years?
I had reasoned a long time ago that Connor moved on. After all,I’ve tried to move on myself. But I clearly spent a lot more time than he did grieving what we almost had. What was lost.
My breaths come shaky and unpredictable. Pressure builds behind my eyelids and in my chest. If I sit here another second, I may burst. “I need to use the restroom,” I announce, shoving back from the table with a loud screech of my chair.
