Page 71 of My Ex-Best Friend's Wedding

“I’m coming to New York next Tuesday. For a writers’ conference.”

“Oh.” To my knowledge Bree has never been in New York. Not even for BookExpo or other bookseller-related events. I think of the fences we’d started mending before my mother’s bombshell. The comfort of being with the one person I used to be able to say anything to. The not-so-nice way we ended. For all I know she’s coming up to plead my mother’s case. This doesn’t horrify me as much as it should. “Do you need a place to stay?”

“No. I’m saying at the conference hotel. I don’t want to intrude on your writing time or anything. But I’d like to see you. If you have the time.”

Her voice breaks and I hear the tears in her voice. Bree’s put herself on the line, risked being rejected. She needs me.

“Of course. Once you see your schedule let me know when you’re free.” I’m careful not to mention that I don’t really need much warning. When you’re not really working or living your life the one thing you have plenty of is time.

Kendra

The Sandcastle

The smell of frying bacon hangs in the air. I imagine I hear its sizzle.

Groggy, I assume I’m dreaming until I hear what sounds like the clatter of pots and pans coming from the kitchen. The refrigerator door opens and closes. Which makes no more sense than the smell of coffee that accompanies it.

Assuring myself there is not a serial killer in my kitchen who’s decided to make me breakfast before dispatching me, I throw my legs over the side of the bed and stand. I go into my closet to pull on shorts and a T-shirt then hurriedly brush myteeth. Just in case I’m wrong about the serial killer/cook, I pick up a piece of driftwood that doubles as a walking stick that I keep near the door and move quietly toward the kitchen.

Where I find Jake whistling and cooking.

“Good morning.”

“Morning. The door was unlocked so I let myself in.” He smiles. “I’m kind of hoping you’re not planning to call the police to report an entering and cooking.” He motions me to sit at my own kitchen table then pours me a cup of coffee and sets it in front of me.

“I guess that depends on how good the breakfast is.”

“Ah, no pressure there.” His smile is wide and warm and makes me remember the way his lips felt on mine. Not that I need reminding. “Fortunately for both of us, this is my best meal.”

“That is fortunate.” I haven’t heard from him since our cookout three nights ago. The cookout filled with kisses that left me wanting more. I am ridiculously glad to see him.

“I got called out of town unexpectedly. Just got back last night.”

Relieved by the answer to my unasked question, I sip my coffee and watch him stir the eggs. His biceps strain against the short sleeves of his T-shirt.

“I don’t cook anything fancy,” he continues. “I’m more of an assembler than a true cook, but I have a repertoire of never-fails. It’s a good thing the boys weren’t picky eaters.”

I’m thinking about all the reasons he became the cook in his family as he fills two plates with scrambled cheese eggs, bacon, sliced tomatoes, and fresh croissants. A bowl of cut fruit lands next to the sunflowers. Which I think may have perked up at his arrival. Almost as much as I have.

He sits across from me and we begin to eat. Breakfast tastes even better than it smells. The eggs are soft and fluffy and I savor the Havarti, cheddar, and Muenster melted and folded inside them. The bacon is just the way I like it—crispy but not burnt. “Wow. This is good.”

The smile spreads across his face. “Glad to hear it. The day’s way too beautiful to spend it alone.” He’s looking at me as he says this, and I feel a shiver of excitement. We eat in silence for a time. Whenever I glance up his eyes are on my face.

“What?”

“I’ve been thinking,” he says. “About this not-really-dating thing we’re doing.”

I almost choke on the piece of croissant I just put in my mouth and have to take a sip of coffee to make sure it goes down.

“How do you feel about it?”

I force myself to continue to meet his gaze. His gives away nothing. He could be asking for more. Or he could be looking for a way to tell me we’re wasting our time. It’s possible that all he really wants is what he came here for in the first place—access to Lauren and all the blanks of our story filled in.

It’s not as if Jake and I need to share parenting. It’s not even clear whether my relationship with Lauren is going to be anything close to what it once was. It might not survive at all if I wait much longer to act.

The safest thing would be to back off now. To say that I hope we’ll always be friends. That sharing a few kisses doesn’t make a relationship. That being attracted to each other doesn’t mean we’re meant to be together.

I’ve lived without this man for the last forty years. I can live without him for the next forty.

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