“Sorry,” I mutter. “I’m just leaving.” The security guard follows me all the way to the parking lot. When climb into my rented Honda Fit, though, I’m still too shaky to drive off. Instead, I fumble in my purse and grab my phone. The second speed dial button is Nick.
His voicemail message kicks in almost immediately. Can’t answer the phone. Text me because I don’t listen to messages.
Ignoring his instruction, I babble a message. “I’m in San Diego. I saw Nate at Tiffany’s. He was buying a ring. Or looking at one. Is he getting married? Is he really getting married, and no one told me?”
Hanging up before Nick hears me sob on the message that he might never listen to, I start the car and drive back to my hotel. I could call Aunt Grace, his mother. I could call my mother. Both would know the truth about Nate’s relationship status. Unless . . . unless this is some woman he’s kept secret, and he’s going to marry her and spring her on us the next time we all get together as a family.
Finally, I break down and call Reese. “I need you to come here,” I say without preamble.
“You having problems with Christian?”
Oh god, Christian and Peyton. The bracelet I’m supposed to buy to soften the trade is still unpurchased, and the whole to-do list for them sits untouched in my purse. Sitting up, I fumble for my bag and find the little orange notebook that I’ve picked out for Christian. Opening it up, I glance unseeing down the list. I can’t concentrate. Throwing the book across the room, I say, “No. Not yet. That’s not important. I saw him.”
“Who? Christian? You’re supposed to see him. He’s your client.”
“No, Reese. Pay attention. Nate. He was in Tiffany’s looking at diamond rings.” I start crying, sobbing really. “He’s getting married.”
“Back up the horse, honey, what happened? Start with why you are even at Tiffany’s.”
Hiccupping, I try to get myself under control. “I had to go to buy a bracelet for Peyton. She’s pissed about the trade. Christian was trying to buy his way back into her good graces. When I glanced in the window, I saw him. He was staring at a tray of engagement rings.”
“You don’t know that,” Reese says. “He could have been buying something for his mom—like a cocktail ring or something. Why do you think it was an engagement ring?”
“He was holding one up as if he was trying to decide if it was big enough.”
“She’s probably a huge bitch, and they’ll be divorced within the year.” Reese tries to comfort me.
“Maybe.” But what if I run into them during my time in San Diego? He’ll be all smiles and wanting to introduce me to her. She is probably tall and really, really gorgeous. Like a Nordic goddess. I need a barrier, something or . . . someone to deflect some of that pain. “Come here. Be my boyfriend,” I beg.
“Oh, honey. You know I don’t swing that way.”
“No, I mean, come to San Diego and do this job with me. That way, if I run into him and his fiancé—” I almost gag at the word “—I can smile and say, here’s my super hot boyfriend Reese. Nice to meet you.”
I hear rustling and then a zipper being pulled. “Okay, I’m packing. I’m not posing as your boyfriend though. That never works because, according to all the books I’ve read, you’ll fall in love with me and then I’ll have to break your heart.” I start laughing just as Reese intended. “But I am flying out on the first plane because I love you and you’re my best friend. At the very least we can stalk him and find out exactly who this wench is, and then you’ll be all prepared for a random meet and greet. How hot is it there?”
“Really hot,” I answer. Drawers are being opened and shut as Reese selects his Southern California wardrobe.
“How many guys you been with since him?” he asks suddenly. I can’t answer, but he reads the silence perfectly. “Charlie. No.”
Defensively, I say, “I dated.”
“You’ve been separated for how long?”
“Nine years,” I mumble.
“Nine fucking years?” He yells into the phone. “You haven’t played hide the sausage in nine years? Charlie, I’m so disappointed!”
“I’ve done other stuff,” I stammer. “I tried but whenever it came down to it, I couldn’t do it. I felt like I was cheating on him.”
“No wonder you are hung up on this guy. I’m packing right now. We are going down to the Gaslamp District, and you are going to get laid. Dr. Reese prescribes at least three one night stands. Then we can think about a nice guy that you will date for a period of six months or so before moving on.”