When Girlfriends Chase Dreams (42 page)

“But it was fun,” he says. “And, yeah, Conner probably should have told you.” He becomes more serious. “That’s why I kind of leaked the story to Sophie.”

I tear at the edges of my cocktail napkin. “Thanks for that, by the way.”

“Hey, I may be an ass now and then, but I know when there’s potential destruction ahead in a relationship. Conner shouldn’t have just left. But you two really just need to talk.” He pushes his half-full glass towards the edge of the bar and pulls out his weathered leather wallet.

“Come on, time to go home,” he says. “You’ve got a man there waiting for you who loves you like you’d never believe.” He leaves a twenty on the bar, waves goodbye to the bartender, and leads me out the door.

“Hey,” I say, stopping on the way to my car. “How’d you know to find me here, anyway?”

Chad kicks a flip-flop-clad foot around, trying to shake a pebble loose. “Jackie. She called me and said you’d be here. She said you had more important things to do than toss a few back with her.”

“That girl,” I say.

I wave goodbye to Chad after thanking him for, despite his obvious flaws, being an upstanding guy. Conner is his best friend, after all, and I don’t really know how the guy world and guy rules work, but I’m pretty sure that when one is upset with his girlfriend and asks to jet off to Vegas with him for some fun, the other
must
oblige. It’s the good guys who can see through the trouble and lend a helping hand in the end.

After I try to start my car a bunch of times, failing to turn it to life, I poke my head out the car door. “Chad?” I call out.

He’s already started to make his way over to me.

“Come on,” he says, opening my car door. “I’ll give you a ride and call this baby in to the shop.”

“Thanks,” I say meekly, following his long strides to his massive truck parked across the way.

“You’ve got some making up to do with that man of yours. No time to waste with a car that won’t start. Hop in.” He opens his truck door and I climb aboard using the step for assistance.
 

Once we pull up in front of the house, Chad wishes me good luck. I’m going to need it. “And tell him I say hi,” he adds.

I thank him again, then awkwardly walk up my own drive. I’ve never been scared of coming to my own home. I’ve never really felt intimidated or at odds or something with the prospect of seeing and talking to Conner. It’s all so…strange.

Conner’s truck is parked in the drive, so that means he’s home. He’s not off gallivanting with Chad, that much I know. He’s probably sitting in front of the TV playing a video game…or he might be working on his comic strip…maybe sitting there and worrying if I’ll come home…

I take a deep gulp and push open the front door once the lock clicks open. I peer around the living room. Empty.

“Hello?”

I don’t bother setting down my keys or purse. I walk straight into the kitchen, but there’s no Conner to be found. I wander down the low-lit hallway and peek into the guest room and office. Not here, not there.
That’s odd,
I think.
Maybe the back?

I quickly check the bedroom and bathroom, but there’s still no sign of Conner. I step onto the deck out back, but he’s not to be seen there either. Hmph.

Schnickerdoodle,
I think.
That’s it! The dog’s not here, Conner’s not here. They must be on a walk together!

I make a beeline for the front door, dumping my purse on the way out. They’re probably out doing the usual loop around the neighborhood. Now all I have to do is figure out where best to hopefully intersect them. I could wait at the house, but that’d be like waiting on pins and needles. Besides, I’m ready to talk to Conner right now. We’ve been silent and awkward and argumentative long enough. Now’s the time, and I can’t lose the nerve.

Uncertain if I’ll be able to intersect them soon, I pick up my pace and start jogging. I’ve nearly jogged half the usual route, and I’ve yet to spot them. Either they’re nearly finished with their loop and I’ll have to circle all the way back around to catch them, or they’ve gone somewhere else. Judging by the time, there’s no way they could already have completed the loop. Conner can’t have been home from work longer than—

There’s whistling from far off. Familiar whistling. It’s Conner! He’s doing that rapid and high, then really low-pitched whistle he does to get Schnicker to hop up and down wildly. I look over the hill that eventually spills into the park that’s adjacent to the Broadmoor Golf Club.

Precisely! Conner’s taken Schnicker to play at the park. The weather’s perfect, there’s no Claire at home (which means no dinner on the table soon), and he’s probably feeling bad that neither of us has been giving the dog his much-deserved attention or lengthy walks.

I take off at my jogging pace for the park, certain with each step that the whistling sound belongs to Conner. With each step I can feel my stomach churn a little more, then some more, anxious and a tiny bit excited about having this long-delayed heart-to-heart.

Panting, I stop some yards up over the hill and I spot him. He’s tossing a tennis ball across the wide open green, and the dog’s attacking it with gusto that I haven’t seen in several weeks.

As if by magic or fate or fairytale dust, Conner turns around. I shiver a little with goosebumps. He’s so handsome. He’s wearing a pair of plaid shorts that I picked up for him in some end-of-summer sale pile a few years ago. A blind purchase, but one that suits him quite well. His hair is tousled and, as always, in need of a cut, but no matter. The olive-colored skin of his legs and arms are sun-kissed. And when his eyes lock on mine, a hint of a smile begins to form on his lips.

I approach slowly, both enamored with his looks and his growing smile. At the sheer sight of seeing him right now, I’m also feeling worried about what will happen. Oh dear. What will happen now that I’m ready to talk? Is he even ready? What will either of us say to each other?

“Claire,” he says as I near him.

“Conner.”

There’s a brief moment of silence. I’m taking in his beautiful blue eyes that make me go weak at the knees. That silly and sweet grin of his that he’s still wearing, and the way he’s standing, with confidence, but also with slight vulnerability.

I swallow hard and say a quick prayer that he’s feeling what I’m feeling, that he’s ready to repair and move ahead. I take one small step closer, my face so close to his chest I can barely catch a whiff of his familiar scent. “I miss you, Conner.”

His smile breaks as he slowly licks his plump bottom lip. And then, “I miss
you
, Claire.”

I heave a loud sigh and fall into his arms. “Oh, I’ve missed you so much.” I breathe in his comforting aroma. This feels so good, so right.

His strong arms wrap around me, and I can feel his lips kiss the top of my head. He pulls me in tightly and tells me again how much he’s missed me.

“I don’t want to fight anymore, Claire. Not anymore.” He kisses me, and I pull back from his embrace momentarily to look up into his eyes. His gaze is reassuring. It’s telling. Oh, it’s telling me everything I know deep down, and everything that I want and need to hear. Everything will be all right. Everything
is
all right.

I hug him tighter and smile through the tears that can no longer be held back. I tried. I really tried to hold them back as long as I could.

“I love you, Claire,” he says as we pull back, yet still in each other’s embrace. “I love you and never want to hurt you. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too,” I cry, rubbing my shoulder against my tear-stained cheek. “I’m sorry for being so bossy and aggravating.”

Just then Schnickerdoodle approaches, a ratty old tennis ball in his mouth. I laugh happily at the warming scene—Conner and I, together, and with our sweet puppy.

“I’m sorry for not being more attentive, Claire,” Conner says. He takes a second to rub at his eyes; they’re getting glossy. “You’re working so hard on our wedding, and I know I could try a little harder. Help out more.”
 

I nod, pressing my lips firmly together, trying to hold back the thick and wet tears that I can feel building up. “

“And I totally acted like an asshole about your makeup. You’re pretty with a bag over your head.”

“Huh?” I scrunch my brow.

“Sorry. You know what I mean.” He looks down feebly. “I mean to say you look pretty no matter what. With or without makeup.” He tilts my chin upward so our eyes are locked once again. “Even with globs of makeup.”

I giggle and he kisses the tip of my nose.

“And I never should have blown off my fitting appointment,” he says. “I should never have gone to Las Vegas like I did. That was completely selfish.”

I shrug and say, “I ‘spose it’s not so bad so long as there weren’t skanky strippers involved… Because then you’re in real trouble, mister.” I poke a stiff finger in his chest.

He gives me another kiss on the nose before saying, “Some beers, some pool time, and, hey! You know I won a little over two hundred bucks at Blackjack?” He’s smiling just like he does when he’s guilty after putting an empty milk carton back into the fridge. “Isn’t that awesome?” he asks, looking like a silly dope.

“Yeah, Chad told me. He also told me what you spent it on.”

“Well…” He looks off in the distance and rubs at the back of his neck.

“Anyway,” I say, catching his gaze. “You’re not the only guilty party. I’m sorry, too, Conner.” I rest my hands on his waist and glimpse down at Schnicker. He’s given up on trying to get us to play fetch; he’s rolling on his back in the grass.

I look back up at Conner—at my fiancé. “I
do
need to calm down,” I say. “Sure, this wedding is stressful, but it’s not an excuse to treat you badly or bite your head off over stupid things like you playing video games…or working on your comic when, let’s face it, you’re not going to be able to sit down and sew some drapes to help out.” I laugh nervously. “And I shouldn’t chew you out like I have been. I mean, so you don’t do the load of laundry I ask. So what?”

“Hey now,” he says playfully. “If I recall I was pretty good about that last load.”

“Like last month!” I look at him, head tilted sideways.

He pulls me in for another tantalizing kiss, and this, like I’ve said before and I’ll say again and like I plan on saying forever and always, is a reminder of exactly why I am in love with this man so much. We connect on every level imaginable, even after arguments. It feels like I’m melting in his arms, his grip around my waist pulling me closer, as if we’re one person. I know it sounds a little corny, maybe, but it’s like we’re in tune again. We’re back on track and in sync like we used to be, where everything just fits, even the little spats or tiffs.

The girls always joke that they can tell it’s Conner and me from miles away, whether we’re teasing one another, laughing together, or even having some dumb discussion that we’re not seeing eye to eye on. It’s, well, as Chad says: two peas in a pod.

“Let’s promise to both be better about being nicer to each other,” Conner says when we break our kiss. “Let’s promise we’ll help each other more, not be so quick to get into an argument, and just enjoy each other’s company.”

“Sounds nice.”

“Not that every day can be all frills and stuff,” he says. He takes my hand in his and starts to walk without any particular direction on the lawn, swerving and swaying around the lush park. He kicks at a dandelion, its feathering plumes floating away, “Let’s try to go back to the way things were.”

“I’d like that,” I say, feeling the butterflies flit about my stomach the way they do when Conner tells me, out of the blue, that my hair looks really nice like that or when he says that my expression while watching something intriguing on TV is a reminder of why he loves me, or when he randomly tells me that he can’t wait to marry me. That’s one of my favorites, and it gives me butterflies every time.

“So we’re good?” he asks, pausing mid-stride.

“Good? No,” I say. “Better than good.”

“How about…great?” He starts walking again, and the sight of two golfers stuck in a sandpit across the way comes into view.

“Definitely great.” I lean in to him, and we share another kiss, Schnickerdoodle hot on our heels, the tennis ball in his mouth. “I love you, Conner.”

“I love
you
,” he says.

“Of course,” I steal the ball from Schnickerdoodle, “we still have a huge wedding to deal with. I’ll try my best to stay stress-free, but it’s still a huge deal.” I toss the ball as far as I can, and the dog goes charging after it.

Conner looks pensive, his arms akimbo, as he surveys the vast expanse of lawn. He scratches at the back of his neck after a relatively long period of silence, and says, “I’ve got an idea.” He looks at me, and there’s a glint of suspicion in his gaze. “Now hear me out…”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“What do you think?” I ask the girls, twirling around inside the large dressing room.

Robin and Lara both give me enthusiastic thumbs up.

“It’s perfect,” Robin says. She picks Rose up from the floor and sets her on her lap. Rose fusses for a second, but once Robin produces a musical toy from her bag she’s appeased.

Lara glances up from her BlackBerry. “Perfect,” she chimes in, then tucks the device into the back pocket of her black slacks. “The best wedding dress.”

“In addition to your Vera Wang gown, of course,” Robin adds with a hand motion.

“Yes.” Lara nods. “Of course!”

“Sold,” I say, undoing the lone pearl button at the nape of the dress…of
my
wedding dress. My second wedding dress, I should clarify. Or, actually, my first one. Depends on how you look at it.

See, I’m getting married this coming weekend. That’s right—five days, to be exact! July twenty-fifth! And no, Conner and I haven’t changed our wedding date
yet again
, nor have we made invitations for the wrong date (also, yet again), nor has Blizzard Melissa or Allison caused a flub with the venues.

Conner and I are still getting married on August sixteenth at the little church upon which my ridiculous dad is so insistent, and we’re still having our reception at the dreamy Chanfield Manor.