Half-Hitched (The Wrong Bed)

But she’d just figured it out. And she knew she really had because now instead of waves of pain, she was getting a huge sense of relief, like her subconscious had been trying to tell her this for years and she resolutely ignored it, but now thank God she had finally paid attention.

Sarah was choosing the men deliberately out of fear. She was setting herself up to fail because she was afraid of taking that risk she’d been thinking about earlier, the risk of being that vulnerable.

That night on the beach with Joe, she’d wished on a falling star that she’d find someone to love who’d love her back. Joe had told her she couldn’t see what was right under her nose. Tonight when she found out he was leaving Boston, her whole world threatened to collapse.

Oh, Joe.

She could totally see it now. See everything she’d been lucky enough to have for the last decade, and all she’d done was try to find it somewhere else.

Maybe...maybe if she hadn’t screwed this up too badly, after the wedding she’d be able to show Joe exactly what she’d learned about men, and about relationships and most of all, about what this new Sarah wanted to try. With him.

12

DEREK THREW OFF the covers. What time was it, 1:00 a.m.? Two? He’d given up trying to sleep. What a messed up day. One of the most blissful afternoons he’d ever had, with a woman who affected him deeply, then during Paul and Ellen’s really fun rehearsal dinner—lobsters that put every other one he’d eaten to shame boiled in a huge pot right on the beach—the whole afterglow aura had drifted away. He wasn’t even sure when the downshift had started, or at what point he noticed. The evening started with warm glances between him and Addie and occasional surreptitious touches. By unspoken agreement, they both seemed to want to keep their new bond private.

As the evening drew on, as the partying intensified, as Paul and Ellen became more demonstrative, and the toasts longer and drunker and funnier and more poignant, the obvious hopelessness of his and Addie’s situation had hit him. And it must have hit her, too, because her eyes had dulled, her smiles and cheers became as forced as his own. Not that he wasn’t happy for Paul and Ellen, he couldn’t be happier. Theirs was a strong and good relationship that would only grow stronger and better through marriage.

The problem? He and Addie had that potential, he could feel it in his gut no matter how much his sensible side tried to explain it away with theories about animal attraction and infatuation, the fool’s gold of love.

But there was no way they could make their happy-ever-after happen.

Part of what he loved about Addie was her strong and sensible side; she’d be a woman he could depend on to tackle life’s decisions calmly. She’d never be a woman like Sarah, a maelstrom of impetuous and random choices. But that very characteristic meant she was unlikely to give up her life after a short affair and go trotting around the globe with him. Derek couldn’t blame her. Neither was he willing to give up life aboard Joie de Vivre and stick himself into a suit and between four walls.

After dinner as the crowd dispersed, he’d taken Addie into a private place in the woods for a quick good-night. He’d kissed her, and they’d embraced fiercely. His body had responded to hers, he’d lowered his lips to her hair, inhaling her scent. She’d clung to him, pressing her face into his neck. Then they’d gone to bed, neither suggesting they do so together in his room. He wasn’t sure of her reasons, but Derek knew his: if he got the chance to hold Addie in his arms all night, leaving her on Sunday would be that much more painful.

Now, body tortured by physical memories, and brain tortured by emotional ones, he was giving up the farce of trying to sleep and going downstairs. Maybe get a glass of milk or herbal tea or whatever he could find that might help him relax.

Though he had a feeling nothing would help get Addie out of his system.

He clumped downstairs with his flashlight and headed toward the glow emanating from the kitchen. Someone else up? Or had someone left a light on?

Joe was slumped over, face pressed against the wooden tabletop, a bottle of Irish whiskey by his head. Derek took two steps into the room and he sat up, squinting blearily to see who’d disturbed his beauty sleep, hair sticking up on one side, cheek and forehead red where they’d been resting on the table.