Love the One You're With
Page 24

He jumped on that. “You see? You can’t tell me you’re happier now without me, Grace. Before you found out about Maureen, we were happy.”
Grace glanced down at their joined hands, feeling oddly guilty about what she was about to say.
“I wasn’t unhappy,” she said, finally, forcing herself to meet his eyes.
“Right. That’s what I just said.”
Bless him. “No, you said I was happy with you. And I’m not entirely sure that was true toward the end. I think we were just comfortable.”
“And you’re sure that’s not just pride talking?”
“Maybe,” she said with a shrug. “But my point is, even if I could forgive you … even if I could learn to trust you again … I don’t know that I want that.”
“That’s your anger talking.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You know, I’ve actually gotten over my anger, but the more you keep telling me how I’m supposed to be feeling, the ‘mad’ seems like it might be on its way back.”
“I’m doing this wrong,” he said, dipping his head. “I thought … I hoped that you’d have missed me the way I’ve missed you. I’ve stayed away for weeks, knowing I should let you go. Knowing I can’t possibly deserve you …”
Grace sucked in a breath when he looked up, because his eyes looked suspiciously shiny. And even though a small part of her sort of wanted to dismember this man for the pain he’d caused, the other part of her cared about who he’d been once. Who they’d once been.
But she’d meant it when she told him she couldn’t go back. Even if she could somehow forget about those damned red panties, a lifetime with Greg was no longer as appealing as it once was.
She didn’t know what had changed, but …
Bullshit.
She sat up a little straighter, because 2.0 was back.
You know exactly what’s changed. And he’s currently waiting for you with cold Chinese food.
Grace squeezed her eyes shut. She knew 2.0 was right. She couldn’t be with Greg, and not because of Maureen.
Because of Jake.
Jake, who’d shown her what it was to laugh and live and eat chocolate at 8:00 a.m. if she wanted to, and have a glass of wine at 1:00 p.m. if she wanted that too.
He’d shown her that sex wasn’t simply a take-it-or-leave-it bedtime ritual, and that making out in a cramped car could be magical, and that weekdays only had to be boring and routine if you let them be.
Jake was …
Everything.
He’s also going to peace out as soon as you’re done with this article, 2.0 taunted. He’s all that and a bag of chips now, but what happens three months from now when you’re all alone and back to writing tepid stories about horoscopes?
Grace nearly rolled her eyes. Awesome—2.0 was going bipolar on her. Hadn’t 2.0 been on Jake’s side just seconds ago?
But she was right.
Jake was not a long-term investment. Jake was like chocolate. Really freaking good in the moment, but best as a treat to be sneaked here and there.
Grace couldn’t live on chocolate.
She needed …
Her eyes fell on Greg. Greg was like carrots. Nobody’s favorite food, but not a horrible choice to survive on for a lifetime.
All thoughts of chocolate and vegetables fled as Grace realized that Greg was moving. “Greg, what are you doing?”
He was on one knee.
She tried to tug her hand free. “Greg, get up, this is—”
Oh, God. That box. That perfectly robin’s-egg-blue box.
How many times had she dreamed of this moment? Dreamed of Greg looking exactly like he did now?
But she couldn’t say yes. Could she? He was a scumbag.
Everyone makes mistakes, 1.0 whispered.
Plus, she was starting to think she might be halfway in love with someone else.
Who’s not in love with you back, 2.0 said bluntly.
Grace didn’t want this. Did she?
“Grace,” Greg said softly, opening the box and revealing a stunning princess-cut ring. “Marry me.”
Grace felt close to throwing up as she waited for 1.0 and 2.0 to start hollering advice. But there was only silence.
It was the biggest decision of her life.
And she was on her own.
Chapter Twenty-Four
In the end, telling Greg no had been surprisingly easy.
And not just because he’d betrayed her. But because he no longer made her happy.
The kicker? He hadn’t even been that upset. When she’d gently closed the gorgeous box and told him he didn’t really want to marry her, he’d protested at first. But when she asked point blank if he was asking out of guilt—out of panic that his once perfect life was a little rocky—he hadn’t been able to look her in the eyes.
Which was answer enough, really.
They’d talked long into the night. About the way they’d been. The way they were. And when he’d finally left, she’d waited for the sense of relief at finally, finally being able to truly move on.
Instead she felt lost.
Because the truth was, although Grace hadn’t wanted Greg, a part of her did want what he was offering. The ring, the wedding, the happily-ever-after.
Something in her gut told her she’d never be getting that from Jake Malone. Hell, that was something she shouldn’t even be thinking about. She’d only known the guy for, what … a couple of months?
Now, on the morning after the failed proposal debacle, Grace was at a standstill.
She debated calling one of her friends. Emma in particular would likely have some rational, talk-her-down-off-the-ledge advice. But for the first time in a long time, Grace wasn’t in the mood for girl talk.
Especially after a disheartening call with her mother. Grace had made the mistake of telling her mom about Greg’s visit, and while Elizabeth Brighton had understood Grace’s reasoning, she’d let slip one of those toxic mom-isms: You aren’t getting any younger.
Thanks, Mom. For a second there I’d forgotten I was in my late twenties and single.
Almost single.
Or was she …?
Then Grace was out the door, determined to get some answers from Jake Malone.
It was raining. And not the overcast kind of gray drizzle. An all-out downpour that required an umbrella.
But Grace, not exactly being in an organized state of mind that morning, had barely remembered a bra, much less an umbrella.
By the time she made it to Jake’s apartment her appearance was somewhere between haggard mermaid and sewer rat. Not exactly the look she wanted when she had to deliver a mea culpa, but after an entirely sleepless night, neither 1.0 or 2.0 could seem to muster the energy to care.
Jake lived in a smaller apartment building. The kind with a lone doorman who looked like he predated World War II and knew everybody by name.
He certainly knew Jake. Or, rather, knew of Jake’s women.
Grace hadn’t even opened her mouth to announce herself before the plump white-haired man gave her a weary look and said, “For Jake Malone?”
“Um, yeah.”
He nodded, moving with no speed whatsoever to reach for the phone. “He expecting you?”
He was expecting me about fifteen hours ago. “Yeah.”
“What’s your name, doll?”
“Grace.”
“Grace. That’s pretty. Haven’t had a Grace yet. Lots of Kimberlys. Katies. Kelly. Lots of K’s, come to think of it.”
She ignored the stab of jealousy at the reminder that she was one in a long line of female visitors.
“None of them come by in the morning, though. He has more of the evening visitors, if you catch my drift.”
Unfortunately, she did.
“He’s not picking up,” the doorman said with a little frown, hanging up his phone. “You’re sure he knows you’re coming by?”
She let her brow furrow, hoping she looked baffled instead of panicked. “Hmm, I guess I am a few minutes earlier than expected. He mentioned he was going to hop in the shower, so I bet … You know, if it’s okay with you, I’ll just wait here in the lobby. I’ll try him again in a few minutes.…”
Grace made a big show of wringing out her rain-soaked hair, throwing in a little shiver for good measure, before she gave him a look that said, I’ll just be over here in the corner, damp and cold.
“You’re the girl, right?” he asked.
“The girl?”
“The nice girl. I asked him the other day where all his lady visitors had been, and he said, ‘Well, Carl, I’ve met a nice girl. And I can’t very well woo her with a bunch of other women in the wings, you know?’ ”
Grace raised an eyebrow. “He said ‘woo’?”
Carl guffawed a little. “Perhaps not. But it was what he meant.”
“Uh-huh,” she said with a skeptical smile.
“I’ll tell ya what, little lady. If you’re really a nice girl, you’ll know something about his family. I even got a scarf from his mom last year. Tell me something about him, and I’ll let you go on up to get warm.”
Grace was careful not to let her surprise and relief show. “Well, he’s from Green Bay, Wisconsin. His parents—lovely, by the way—are Nancy and Bob. He has four sisters. Jill, Jessica and Jennifer, who are twins, and the baby, Jamie. She’s a redhead. He went to high school at—”
Carl held up a hand. “You pass. Go on up. Just have Jake give me a call when he’s out of the shower so I don’t fret about it.”
Woo. Fret. Really, the man was too cute.
“Thanks, Carl,” she called over her shoulder as she headed toward the elevator. “I swear I’m not a psycho!”
Once in the elevator she quickly pulled out her phone to check the number of Jake’s unit. She really hoped he was alone in that shower and didn’t have … company.
Her stomach twisted at the thought. What if her no-show last night had had him reaching for the proverbial black book? What if he’d spent the evening with a woman who hadn’t stood him up? A woman who wasn’t so busy being proposed to by her ex-boyfriend, and then breaking down afterward, that she hadn’t even managed a simple text message?
She took a deep breath and knocked on his door.
Please be alone, please be alone, please—
He was wearing a towel. Only a towel.
His expression wasn’t quite ice-cold. But it was close.
“Hey,” she said nervously.
He looked at her for several seconds, leaning against the door jamb like it was the most natural thing in the world to be half na**d with his front door wide open.
Finally he slowly moved aside and allowed her to enter. “I see I’m paying good money for a doorman.”
“Oh, you mean Carl?” she asked, keeping her voice chipper. “He’s a real sweetie. Just had to give him the password and he let me right up.”
“The password?”
“The names of your family members,” she said, glancing around curiously at his apartment. “I nailed it.”
Jake grunted as Grace picked up a picture of said family members. It was one of several framed photos of his family, as well as a handful of exotic-looking landscapes.
The apartment was definitely lived in. The piles of magazines and stacks of books leaned toward cluttered. But it wasn’t unclean. There weren’t the clichéd pizza boxes and empty beer bottles she’d envisioned in the typical bachelor pad.
“Did you take these?” she asked, leaning down to get a closer look at what looked like a picture of some sort of ruins amid a jungle.
He came up behind her, and the smell of clean man washed over her.
Don’t swoon. Don’t you dare swoon, 2.0 ordered.
“Yeah, a few years ago. Spent three months in South America bouncing around.”
“Three months? What about work?”
“That was work. I was freelancing for a travel magazine.”
“That must have been hard,” she said, setting the picture down and picking up another of a spectacular waterfall.
“Hard?”
“Yeah. Not having a home base,” she said. “I’d go crazy not having a familiar place to come home to every night.”
Something bleak flashed across his face before the indifferent mask fell back into place.
“I like it, actually. Keeps things interesting.”
“Right. I forget that what I see as routine, you probably see as mundane,” she said, keeping her voice light even as her heart felt heavy.
As if she needed another reminder that her ideal future was one of stability and predictability and his was one of constant change. At least as it pertained to his women.
But she hadn’t come here to mope or snoop. She’d come to apologize.
“Jake,” she said, turning around. “I—”
He’d disappeared.
“Hello?” she called.
He emerged from the bathroom, a folded towel in hand.
“Ever heard of an umbrella?” he muttered softly.
He approached her slowly, but instead of handing her the towel, he unfolded it and hesitantly raised it to her damp hair, dabbing at her soaked ponytail. Wordlessly he pulled the band out of her hair, letting the damp strands fall around her shoulders as he gently rubbed the excess water out.
It was a strange, intimate moment with nothing but the patter of rain on the window to disrupt the tense silence.
“I’m sorry I didn’t show up last night,” she said quietly when he finally stepped back. He said nothing.
“And I’m sorry I didn’t call,” she pressed on. “Or text … or do any of the things a decent person would do when they stand someone up.”