Best Man for the Wedding Planner

He shrugged. Friday, when she’d remembered how much he liked eggs in the morning, he’d been taken aback. Not just that she remembered, but that she’d actually mentioned it. Her eyes had lit up with that little bit of mischief he remembered. They’d been together for three years. A lot of memories had been made—ones he couldn’t erase no matter how much he tried.

“We can eat and then I can take you home, if you like.”

Her face changed, the easy expression replaced by awkward tension. He hadn’t meant it to sound like he was trying to get rid of her, but he could tell that was how she’d taken it.

“I’m okay to drive today. I still feel like I was hit by a bus, but it’s better than last night.”

“Whatever you want, Adele.” He softened his voice, trying to keep the tense energy in the room from escalating. “But eat something first.” He poured her tea. “And have some tea.”

She accepted the cup and thanked him. “I swear, I’ve had more tea in the last few days than I’ve had in a month.”

“It’s good for you. That and chicken soup.”

“That’s an old wives’ tale.”

“Not true. There’s actual science behind it.” He came back to the bed, took her mug, set it on the nightstand and then put a plate in her hands.

“Raspberry jam. My favorite.”

It seemed she wasn’t the only one with a good memory. He’d remembered she preferred raspberry to strawberry, and grape jelly ahead of both.

She started to eat, and their conversation ceased. Dan started to feel more and more awkward. Last night she’d been so ill and tired, he’d merely tucked her into bed. Today he didn’t know what to say or do. She would be walking out of his life again in probably an hour or so. They’d say goodbye and that would be it. She’d go on with her life; he’d go on with his. And this weekend would become one of those “remember that time you ran into your ex at our wedding?” memories he’d share with his friends.

So why did it feel so...wrong? Like t

here was something left he was meant to do?

He went to the dresser and got the remote for the TV. An old Friends rerun was on, and he flipped through a few channels until he got to some type of home improvement show on the Home and Garden Television network.

“Dan?”

He turned around and she was standing there, dressed in his boxers and T-shirt. His mouth went dry. Despite the smeared mascara and wild hair, Adele was still a beautiful woman. Her curves were hidden beneath his clothes, but he knew they were there, and even though she wasn’t a tall woman, her legs seemed to go on forever.

She put the plate on the cart. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “For looking after me last night. I was in no shape to drive. You could have put me in a cab and you didn’t.”

“You’d fainted. I didn’t want you to be alone.”

“That was big of you. Considering...well, considering how much you must resent me.”

He did. And yet he didn’t. It was easier to hate someone when they weren’t standing in front of you. Easier to reduce them to a two-dimensional “character” in your life than a flesh-and-blood, flawed but sweet woman.

“I don’t resent you,” he said, knowing it was only a half-truth. “It’s just awkward because we have history.”

Awkward. Another massive understatement. Truthfully, spending time with Adele yesterday had reminded him of some of the things he’d really liked about her. She was smart, efficient, capable, funny, compassionate. Her one flaw was not wanting to be his wife.

Maybe he needed to finally get over that.

CHAPTER SEVEN

ADELE KNEW SHE should change out of Dan’s clothes and go home. It was the sensible thing to do. And yet...she couldn’t. Not yet. Because this would really be the end, wouldn’t it? Walking away hadn’t been easy then and it wasn’t now, either. Because this time she was sure he wouldn’t be back. The moment she went through his hotel room door, that was it.

“What is it?” he asked, coming to stand in front of her. She’d been quiet for so long that concern wrinkled his brow. “What’s the matter?”

She met his gaze. “The whole ‘we have history’ part. This whole weekend has been strange and it’s like we’ve danced around the whole topic of our past. It feels...unfinished.”

The worry cleared, but she noticed the barriers he’d erected to keep her out were still in place. His gaze was distant, impersonal. “There’s not much to tell. You didn’t feel the same as I did, and you left.”

The words were a knife to her heart. “Yes, I suppose that’s how it looked. How it...must have felt.”