Best Man...with Benefits. Nancy Warren
it so much more special. Every time he touched me, I thought, ‘This is my husband,’ and when he kissed me and looked right into my eyes I felt like he was looking into my soul.”
As happy as she was for her friend, Lauren experienced a pang of worry. Amy sounded almost too happy. She’d always been such a romantic that Lauren feared she was going to be disappointed when the real world intruded on her fantasy.
Then she mentally smacked herself. She was cynical about marriage for a lot of reasons that had nothing to do with Amy or with marriage. She should be happy that Amy was the kind of person who believed that perfect love existed. Maybe she’d even been lucky enough to find it.
So, Lauren put away her cynicism for a minute and squeezed Amy’s hand. “I am really happy for you.”
“I hope one day you find a man like Seth. I really do.”
She smiled, but knew that a man like Seth would never do for her. He was a nice guy, in his way, but, like Amy, he’d never been tested by life. He’d grown up rich, healthy and sheltered. He didn’t seem like a person who thought deep thoughts or had big dreams. He’d work in his family’s business, as he’d been born and bred to do, and he and Amy would have a few kids and join the right country club. She hoped they’d continue to be as happy as they were today, or at least manage to enjoy the future that she could see rolling ahead like a movie of the week she’d already seen.
“You were such a beautiful bride,” she said, because she’d rather talk about Amy’s wedding than the likelihood that she would ever end up with someone like Seth.
“You were such a great maid of honor. You’re the sister I never had.”
“I don’t know how I got so lucky,” she replied.
It was true. The odds that she and Amy would have ended up best friends were insanely low. She’d only met Amy because after her parents divorced, her mom had rented a former pool house on the property next door to Amy’s parents.
Since they were the same age, they’d played together all summer and in the fall, when she’d started school, Amy had already been her best friend.
Lauren’s mom worked long hours as a nurse and Amy’s mom, wonderful woman that she was, had opened her home and her arms to the lonely child. She’d often gone over to Amy’s after school and had so many sleepovers at her friend’s place that she’d started leaving extra clothes and a toothbrush over there.
Her mom had done her best, but she’d always been tired from work and bitter over the divorce. She’d been only too happy to let someone else help rear her only child.
Lauren’s dad had married again soon after the divorce and she’d overheard more than one telephone argument between her parents as her mom complained that he didn’t take Lauren often enough.
As her father went on to have a second family, she’d seen less and less of him. The pain had softened, but she knew herself well enough to know that she would always bear the emotional scars.
Her mother had remarried not too long ago, to a radiologist she’d met at work. Her mom finally had the big house she’d always wanted and she’d cut her work hours way back. They tried to be close, she and her mom, but deep down she knew it was an effort for both of them.
“Excited about the honeymoon?” she asked.
“I can’t wait. Remember when you and I went to Venice? I always thought it was the most romantic place in the world. I picture us eating wonderful food, and seeing all the sights. And having fantastic sex every single night.” She shivered. “I love being married.”
Lauren had decided on eggs Benedict for breakfast, but when the waitress took their order, to her annoyance, Jackson ordered eggs Benedict. She decided to change her order to something else, then mentally chided herself. If she wanted eggs Benny, then that was what she’d order. So she did. Like Jackson, she also ordered freshly squeezed orange juice. Because she wanted it.
After breakfast, she packed up, freshened up once more and then headed down with her travel case. She dropped off her key and was waiting in the main foyer for Amy’s parents when Jackson came toward her with his own overnighter. She knew the second he caught sight of her. His steps faltered and she could see him debating whether to duck off into one of the hallways or face being alone with her.
After an infinitesimal pause, he continued toward her.
She was pretty sure that, in his shoes, she’d have ducked down another hallway.
When he got close to her, she saw that he had a newspaper tucked under his arm and a take-out coffee. He stood close but not too close. Nodded.
She checked her watch. Eleven on the dot. Where the hell was everyone?
“Well, we got through it okay,” he said.
“Yes. We did.”
She did not want to have a conversation with this man. She wanted to be far away from his annoying presence and the hot, hot memories it evoked.
He clearly felt the same. He moved a step away and flipped open his newspaper.
Not to be outdone, she pulled out her cell phone and checked her email.
Not that there was much email on a Sunday. She had an invitation to submit a piece to a curated exhibit, which was flattering. A note from a supplier that the copper oxide she’d ordered was going to be delayed, which didn’t please her at all.
Since she didn’t want anyone thinking she was the kind of loser who got only two work-related emails on a summer weekend, she took her time replying to both of them. By the time she was finished, Amy and Seth had arrived with both sets of parents in tow.
Amy and Seth were driving their own car and heading to the airport. Seth’s folks were driving back to their home, and she was riding with June and Ted to their house where she’d left her car.
Since they were all heading to the same ferry back to the mainland, they saved the hugs and final goodbyes.
The Ruehls’ Lincoln pulled up in front and the valet attendant flipped the trunk and helped load their luggage.
“Jackson,” June Ruehl said, “can we offer you a lift back to the city?”
“No, thanks, June,” he said. “I’m catching a ride back with Willy.”
“All right, dear. We’ll see you soon.”
When they were all settled in the car, Lauren in the backseat, June gazed out the window at Jackson, who was throwing his case in the back of Willy’s Mustang. “That Jackson is such a lovely young man,” June said. “I wish he could find a nice girl.”
THE TROUBLE WITH being an artisan, Lauren decided as she picked up her soldering gun and prepared to turn chunks of colored glass into art, was that it gave her too much time alone with her thoughts. Sure, she could join an artisans’ co-op, share a warehouse with painters and sculptors and potters, but she’d never wanted to. She created alone.
However, that meant there was no easy way to distract herself from her thoughts and her memories.
Those memories were hotter than the metal liquefying under her solder iron. She knew exactly how it felt. For the curated show, she’d decided to make a window that paid homage to the impressionists. She always liked the music in her studio to reflect what she was working on so she had Debussy playing in the background.
When she was in the midst of designing, nothing got in her way. Her mind was completely focused. But once she got to the semi-mechanical state of production, it was too easy to drift. And for some insane reason, her thoughts inevitably found their way to That Night.
How was it possible that a guy she couldn’t stand could be the one to have brought her so much intense pleasure? It didn’t make any sense. And, even worse, every