Four Weddings and a Break Up (8 page)

She had fooled herself into remotely thinking that she was healed and okay. She had been in a bad, bad place, but she had wanted to believe she was the same Ginny pre-shooting . . . but she wasn’t the same. She never would be.

She was shattered, those tiny pieces of a vase scattered about, and she knew better than anyone it would be impossible to put her together again. The cracked lines would always be there . . . the memories, the images, the whole
thing
had transformed her into someone else. Someone better, she hoped.

Then, she heard a noise—footsteps?—as if someone was making his way toward her. She glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see another walker.

Except no one was there.

The base of her spine tingled, and not in the good way. She backed away from the pond, and stood in the middle of the path, looking back and forth. She swore she’d heard . . .
something
. She
felt
someone watching her. Yet no one was here. Not to her eyes anyway.

But she wasn’t going to stick around to see if she was right or wrong. She wasn’t stupid. And she’d stuck around too long as it was.

So she did what any smart, single female would do in her position when suspecting someone was following and watching her.

She ran.

S
he never saw
him watching her. Studying her. Following her. Getting her pattern down until he knew it.

He smiled as power coursed through him. Soon that bitch would pay for everything.

He just had to wait for the perfect time.

S
he collied with Wes
.

“Hey.” Wes’ hands came to her arms, steadying her as his steel gray eyes studied her. “You okay?”

“What are you doing here?” Her voice sounded accusatory, even to her ears. With Marie coming into Just Desserts and then her imagination getting the best of her a few moments ago, Ginny was feeling considerably jumpy.

“I was checking on one of the other houses we’re remodeling right now. The white one across the street.”

She winced. “Sorry. It’s been a rough day.”

“I’d say so.”

Before she could blink, his thumb brushed her cheekbone. He swept over her skin again, trying to remove whatever she’d gotten on her face. Even though the world continued to spin on its axis, as if this moment was just a blip in the universe, her world came to a sudden stop. She’d felt as if she’d been turned into stone, yet how was that possible with how her heart raced? One touch by him, and she was gone hook, line, and sinker.

His eyes were focused on that one spot on her cheek. He didn’t seem to notice that her eyes were focused on
him
. Dark, heavy stubble lined his jaw. She had a sudden urge to reach up and rub her hand along that rough surface of his face. But that was going beyond the rules they agreed upon. She had to remember the most important one.

This was all pretend.

As if he’d heard her thoughts, he lifted his hand away and showed her the pad of his thumb, dusted with flour. He smudged it on his dirt-covered jeans. “Bad day at work?”

“It was going okay. Then Marie DePaul came into the bakery.” She let out a heavy sigh. “So I came here.”

“Ah.” He didn’t say anything else. Silence grew and lengthened between them. He looked over her shoulder, his brows furrowing.

Her breath caught in her chest. Perhaps she had been right after all? Maybe there had been someone on the path watching her. But that was so ridiculous.

Still, she couldn’t help glancing in the direction Wes was studying. He was looking at nothing of significance.

She cleared her throat. “Well, I should be heading back.” She really didn’t want to head back on that path. Alone.

His eyes met her. “Do you want a ride?”

A
construction hat
, plans, and tools were in the backseat of his black Ford Explorer. It was an utter display of masculinity, with the power tools and dirt marks on the doors and the overall clutter inside. But the front was fairly devoid of any mess.

She was curious about him. It was only natural for her to be so. She didn’t know him—not enough to get a true handle of his character. Besides, it would be good to know
some
things about him since they were “dating.”

At least that’s the justification she was using to want to know more about him. And it had been Wes who told her that they could be friends that day in the supermarket’s parking lot.

She’d be lying, too, if the idea that Wes hardly knew anything about her or what had happened didn’t have some appeal. Here was someone who said he liked her and wanted to be seen with her—even if it was to suit his own needs and purposes—after people had warned him off.

Sometimes she wondered why she stayed in Cape Hope with all the shit that had happened. It would have been easier to pack up her stuff and start over in a place where no one knew her name or story. Where she could just be Ginny Michaels and not have her past come back to haunt her.

But this was her home.

The ocean, the sand, the Victorian homes, the lighthouse, the storefronts . . . all of this was part of her story, good and bad. Her family was here. And even though sometimes she entertained fantasies of leaving—of course, she also had fantasies of Clive Owen, Hugh Jackman, Daniel Craig, or Richard Armitage (hey, a girl had to have her options)—this town was where she lived.

At the end of the day, she couldn’t imagine leaving Cape Hope behind. So she would stay and hope things turned around. Or she’d just continue to be the odd duck out.

She sighed. She really hoped that wouldn’t be the case. The day at Just Desserts was still fresh in her mind. Running into Marie DePaul again after careful avoidance on Ginny’s part had been utterly miserable. And Julie was right. Marie usually never came into Just Desserts. So why today? Why now?

She tapped her fingers on her seatbelt.

“Everything okay?”

Ginny glanced at Wes. He kept his attention on the road, but his whole driving stance was a pose of utter ease and confidence. Everything about him was so self-assured, and he didn’t seem to give a damn what people thought. She wished she had an ounce of his devil-may-care attitude, and that she didn’t care so much. Or, rather, that she didn’t let what people think bother her. And she wished that—

She needed to stop wishing. Wishing never made anything came true. This was the hand of cards she’d been dealt, so she might as well start learning to live with them.

It wouldn’t be easy to tell Wes everything. He’d look at her differently. When he found out she’d been shot, he had wanted to know more. And he’d treat her more carefully. Like her family had.

Look at how things had changed with her family. Her sister worried about her. Her mother had been trying to set her up on more dates after the shooting, as if dinner and dessert would make everything better. Wes might treat her with kid gloves if he knew everything.

Even now, she worried what he would think of her if she unloaded to him. However, it was a truth universally acknowledged that no one wanted to hang around someone who complained and whined all the time. More importantly, she didn’t trust him. And sharing that part of herself would make her vulnerable and open to him. He could hurt her, and the possibility of that coming to fruition already had her putting up safeguards.

“I’m fine.” She fidgeted in her seat at her obvious lie. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“You know how we’re pretending and all to be a couple?”

His lips curved into a smile. “You want to practice kissing, don’t you?”

“No!” He was teasing her, she realized, as his smile widened. And she’d fallen straight into his trap. He was going to keep her on her toes, trying to parry him back and forth. Ginny found herself wanting to rise to the challenge. And pretending with him helped her pretend everything in her life was better than what it was.

“Wes, if we’re going to do this and be good at it—and I don’t mean the kissing because we have that down pat—we should know
some
basic facts about the other. Like a real couple would. Or we should even just figure out stuff people will ask us, couple-wise. How we met and that sort of thing.”

“I know that when you get flustered or are nervous, like you are now, you talk fast and your fingers play with the ends of your hair.”

She blushed and stopped toying with her hair. “I just think we should know how we met and that sort of thing. I know you said the bar to Lois, but I think we need more details.”

“Couldn’t agree more.”

“Let me think . . .” She placed her fingers to her temples. “I can always say I drove up to Atlantic City for the weekend because I wanted to shop for a dress for Deb’s wedding, and that I went to the bar for a light meal.”

“Are you still teaching?” he asked abruptly.

She gave him a look. “Resigned, remember?”

“I mean, do you want to teach?”

“No. I don’t.”

“Because of the shooting?”

“Yes.”

He shot her a glance. “Are you going to say anything more about that? Like what happened?”

“Why do you want to know so badly? Lois gave you the full scoop. You don’t need to hear it from me.”

“I like getting the whole story—from the source.”

“There’s nothing else to it,” she lied.

“If you say so.”

“How long have we been ‘dating?’”

“Maybe a few weeks? Or should we just stick to a week? That I saw you at the bar, and it was love at first sight. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and it made my temporary move to Cape Hope that much easier.”

His words struck a nerve in her—the falsehood of it didn’t sit well with her. “I wouldn’t go so far to say it was love at first sight. Just that we clicked.”

“Oh, we definitely clicked.” After a long moment, he asked, “So we’re definitely going to that thing together this weekend?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t sound so enthusiastic.”

“It’s just that . . . I’m not sure exactly what I’m getting myself into. You seem to live in a different world than I.”

“Is this
Men Are from Mars, Women Are from Venus
crap?”

“No. I don’t know how to explain it.” She grappled for words. “You’re so together. You have tons of money, and your lifestyle is probably just much different from mine.”

“What’s yours like?”

“I’m not filthy rich, and I don’t have satellite offices around the country. Or tons of pictures of me at fancy events.” Her cheeks heated as she realized she’d inadvertently let it slipped that she’d been Googling him. There had been many photos of him with a gorgeous, tall, skinny, raven-haired woman; in the most recent ones, there was a new woman on his arm. She didn’t know what he saw in her—or what he’d seen in her that night at the bar. Because if she was to go on history alone, then there was no way in the world they should have hooked up.

Except she had been tipsy, bordering on drunk. And he had been drinking, too. A classic case of SWI. Sex while intoxicated.

He wanted to fake date her was because he didn’t want any distractions. Fine by her. She didn’t want any distractions either, and there was nothing to risk by pretending to be with him. It wasn’t like there were ever going to be any real emotions between them.

So why did she care about his past and who he’d dated? It was just insecurity on her end. Ginny had never been the type to think highly of her looks or her weight; her dad had often remarked that she could be her own worst enemy. But Ginny’s philosophy had always been laugh at herself before others could laugh at her.

“Ginny?”

Her gaze met his. “Sorry. Woolgathering.”

And with that she shut that closet door and locked all those skeletons away. There was no sense in worrying about Wes and whom he had dated or what his lifestyle was like. It wasn’t like they were actually
together
-together.

“You didn’t answer my question. What’s your life like, if it’s so different from mine?”

“I’ve pretty much lived in Cape Hope all my life. I went to a small liberal arts college in Massachusetts, then grad school. I got a job at my old high school. I’m quiet. I read books.”

“I read books, too.” Wes stopped at a red light. “What sort do you like?”

“A little bit of everything. Romance the most.”

Wes hid a smile. “I can’t say I’ve read those.”

“I figured.” Ginny stared at her clasped hands. “But I’m not like you. You seem like you have it all, and you’re used to Las Vegas life. Cape Hope is as different as they come.”

“And here I thought Cape Hope was a mini-Vegas. I’m shocked.” Wes looked at her. “How do I get to your place?”

“Oh. Sorry. Turn left at the next light and keep going straight until you see a sign for Victorian Square on your right.”

Wes was silent for a long moment. “I think you worry too much.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. I do. You should just sit back and enjoy these next few months. It’s not going to be anything hard—the fake dating, I mean. We don’t need to have the same interests.”

“I don’t know. I’ve never dated—well, pretend dated someone—who has been so different.”

“Not safe, you mean.” He shook his head. “Like I said, this is all pretend, Ginny. Sure, I might not be like the other guys you’ve dated. You’re not like the other women I’ve dated.”

She glanced out the window, as they passed by rows of gingerbread houses. In a few miles, they would reach the turn-off for her apartment complex. “Yeah. I know that.”

“But this is why we’re together. We have nothing to lose. We’re just helping each other out. Like friends do.”

A sense of disquiet grew in her, wrapping itself into a coil of tension. She heard the message loud and clear:
Don’t expect anything
. Which was fine by her. She didn’t want to expect anything. She knew that Wes wasn’t a guy to stick around—in addition to the restless energy about him, she had read the many articles about his business, his parade of arm candy. He was the type of guy that was only committed to work, work, and more work. He wasn’t the settling down kind.

The only wrench in her assumptions about him was that he had left Las Vegas to help out his family. That was some type of commitment.

“Do you want to get married?” she blurted out, surprising both herself and him.

His hands clenched around the steering wheel. “Nope.”

“Oh.” She fell silent as he made the turn into Victorian Square. Cream-colored buildings were lined around a circle; she directed him down the street that branched off from the circle. Her place was a lone white building, with trees in the back, at the end of the street. She unhooked her seatbelt and started to open the door.

“You do?” His question stopped her.

“Not right now. Eventually.” Despite all her protests and fears that she would never find the right one, Ginny believed in the possibility of love. She’d seen her parents’ marriage—the love, the fights, the togetherness. Marriage wasn’t a constant honeymoon, and true, most did end up in divorce. But there was a kernel of hope that perhaps she’d meet a guy, get swept away, and have a happily ever after.

“Well, if you meet someone while we’re ‘dating,’ we can always break it off.”

She got out of his Ford Explorer and just stared at him. His tone had been matter-of-fact and cool, his body posture relaxed. She really didn’t mean anything to him. It hurt to realize that. Even though she knew what he was about, it still hurt that he could so easily discard her. But if he was going to be so cavalier, she wasn’t going to act like it bothered her. It was just another signal to her to keep her emotions in check, to not let things get out of hand, and to not let down her barriers around him.