Page 7 of The One I Hate
Chapter 2
Simon
When my best friend Shane called today to ask if I’d tag along to catering appointments for his fake wedding, I was reluctant. And that’s aside from the fact that he and Amelia aren’t really engaged. I think. I’m not sure anymore. I’m not sure they know either.
My immediate thought was to make myself scarce. What kind of support can I be when we’re just seeing whose chicken sucks the least?
Then I thought about it. I was already in Nashville for some business meetings I have to attend to tomorrow. I had originally planned to spend my day on the golf course or scouting potential houses or buildings I could buy. But that doesn’t seem nearly as much fun as going with Shane to the catering company that employs Charlie.
Because yes, I figured out who catered Jake and Whitley’s wedding. Yes, I asked Shane if this was one we were going to. I even called to see if she was working.
She is.
And would you look at this? There she is. Looking as flustered and pissed off as ever.
Good. Now she knows how it feels.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Her voice is clipped, and her face is turning redder by the second. For some reason, that only makes me smile. She was always cute when she was angry.
“Out of all the catering companies in all of Nashville…”
Am I pretending I didn’t know this was going to happen? Yes.
Does that make me a prick? Probably.
“What are you doing here?”
I give her a nonchalant shrug as I pat Shane on the back, his face in utter confusion. “I’m the best man at this guy’s wedding. I’m here to taste the food. Make sure it doesn’t have poison in it.”
“He’s not my best man,” Shane says.
Rude.
“Don’t listen to him,” I say. “So what do we have here today?”
It’s been four months since I’ve seen Charlie. Four months since I’ve had to come to grips with the fact that the one who got away is within my reach. At least geographically. Four months of telling myself every day that she wants nothing to do with me.
Which means I should want nothing to do with her.
There’s only one problem with that: It sucks, and I don’t like it.
I spent fifteen years pushing away the thoughts of Charlie. And I did it. I forgot about the pain she caused when I found out she was gone. I had erased the memory of the last time I saw her. I reluctantly accepted I was never going to know why she left.
Then I saw her, and everything came flooding back. Only this time I haven’t been able to push it back.
And frankly, I don’t want to.
I slowly pull back my chair and sit down, my eyes fixed on Charlie. I make a show of taking my napkin and giving it a snap before draping it across my lap. Judging by the death glare she is giving me, she doesn’t appreciate my show.
Again, rude.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be here.”
Charlie’s voice is shaky, but I push that aside. Because all I’m remembering right now is my begging voice when I saw her in April and how she told me to leave.
“Why not, Bug? Can’t concentrate with me around? It’s a problem for many.”
