Since You Happened by Holly Hall
Chapter 14
The next morning, we retrace our footsteps and pack up our scattered clothing, loading everything into the car so we can depart straight from the farewell brunch. When we arrive at the restaurant, a smiling hostess directs us toward the back deck to meet our group. The deck provides stunning panoramic views of the surrounding mountains, and the tables are interspersed with propane heaters to fight off the chill. A fair amount of close family and about half of the bridal party has already arrived and is sharing pitchers of mimosas and Bloody Marys. When I sit beside Olivia, she pours a mimosa and slides it my way.
“Landon—you like it sunny or bloody?” Tyler asks.
“Bloody,” Landon answers good naturedly. “But make it half a glass, if you don’t mind. I’ve got to drive home.” He accepts the glass Tyler hands to him with a grateful nod.
I feel Scott rather than see him when he rounds the table and sits diagonally across from me, but I keep my gaze directed at everyone but him. Aside from a few sporting sunglasses and appearing slightly green, most of the bridal party is in good spirits after the late night.
“We missed you guys at ‘Club Cabin Twelve’ last night,” Jenna says, leaning across Olivia. When Landon and I return her comment with blank looks, she says, “The after-party was in Kyle and Tyler’s cabin.”
I immediately flush, thinking of everything that happened in cabin four and thinking we didn’t miss “Club Cabin Twelve” at all.
Landon slides his arm around my shoulder. “Can you blame me?” He smiles at me like I’m the most beautiful woman in the world, and for a moment, that look leaves me with no doubt that I am.
“No,” a groomsman named Jared remarks from farther down, eliciting hearty laughs from the majority of the group besides Scott.
“Okay, you guys win. You definitely had a better time than we did, because let’s face it, we did not need to finish that bottle of Crown,” Olivia says with a groan, shaking two pills out of a bottle and swallowing them down with her mimosa. I flush and look at Landon, the smile that’s fighting to escape my lips threatening to ruin my attempt at secrecy.
“So, what is it that you do, Landon? I think I heard you mention last night that you own a bookstore?” Tyler asks.
“Yeah,” Landon says, setting down his Bloody Mary. “A charitable book store.”
“So how does that work—you donate, like, ten percent of the proceeds, and that helps drum up business?” Scott pipes up from farther down the table. He’s leaned back in his chair, one leg propped on his knee and a skeptical look on his face. I prepare myself to interject, hoping this isn’t the start of an interrogation.
“I donate all the proceeds other than what it costs to run.”
Before Scott can ask any further questions, Jenna peers around Olivia and I to make her own inquiries. “Is there one particular organization you donate to, or multiple?”
“I choose a different one every month,” Landon answers.
“How do you ever choose?” Olivia presses further.
“Whichever one speaks to me at the time.” At her imploring look, he continues. “It’s difficult, but I try to keep it local. With the popularity of the internet, and click-bait, there are a lot of charities and stories that receive nationwide attention, endorsements from celebrities, etcetera. And that’s amazing, don’t get me wrong, but you would be surprised how many people in our own neighborhood are in desperate need of some assistance. I have a box at the front desk for customers to submit suggestions, too.” The conversation has captured the attention of much of the table, but if Landon notices, he doesn’t let on. When he answers a question, he gives the person who asked his undivided attention.
“Do people ever try to take advantage of that?” Tyler asks.
Landon nods and shrugs his shoulders. “There are always people out there who exploit the good intentions of others. Because of that reason, I investigate every nomination as thoroughly as possible, often meeting with a representative of the organization face-to-face before making a decision.” I picture all the times I’ve walked in on him working on his computer with that grim, focused expression on his face, and the memories make me smile. He might have been researching his next organization.
“That must be an amazing feeling, but I can’t imagine what it’s like to turn people down.” Blair frowns sympathetically from across the table.
“Fortunately, I have very thick skin. It’s easy to get bogged down emotionally if you let yourself, but I see a lot people who I know will be able to get help elsewhere. I try to stick to the underdogs.”
Olivia nudges me gently in the arm, awakening me from a trance in which I’ve been gazing at Landon adoringly for who knows how long. She gives me a knowing grin and a discreet thumb’s up. I guess we know how to put on a good show, because it appears that the girls are all buying what we’re selling—our fake relationship.
Waiters appear, serving platters of eggs, crepes, and assorted meats and fruits to the tables, and we all help ourselves. Throughout the meal, Tyler peppers Landon with questions about all the aspects of running the bookstore, to which Landon deftly answers, skirting the explanations that would lead to more prying questions with the expertise of a professional. He doesn’t use the same amount of sharpness that he once used with me, but I recognize his tactics.
About an hour later, Scott’s checking his watch impatiently every few minutes, and the rest of the table has long since finished eating. I hug Mallory’s parents and thank them for the lovely evening before saying my farewells to those of the bridal party I plan on seeing again. Then, I zig-zag back through the restaurant with Landon’s hand on the small of my back and what I feel is a permanent glow.
I’ve never attended a wedding with a significant other—or the closest thing to it—so I’m unfamiliar with the rush of pride I felt each time I introduced him to someone he instantly dazzled. During the times in the night when we were apart, he always seemed to reappear at the right moment to give me a kiss on the check, hand me a drink, or rest a hand on my skin. I felt special and wanted and cherished. God, it would be so easy to get used to that.
I give myself a swift kick in the ass mentally. I may be wanted, but Landon is not the man to cherish anyone. Maybe one day, but not now. And not me. I am not the woman to change people’s hearts and mold them to mine. I can’t allow myself to think otherwise.
I hide my surprise behind a thankful smile when he opens the car door for me, sliding into the seat. Once he’s behind the steering wheel, Landon puts on his Wayfarers and pulls out onto the winding mountain road toward the highway. I like the way he looks driving my car. I shouldn’t, but I do. He has good, strong fingers, and just now, they’re wrapped around the wheel and resting on the shifter. I never realized how important fingers and hands are until I got a closer look at his. Seeing those fingers is enough to make my head swim with memories of the magic they can work.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks, as though he can hear my thoughts practically begging to escape my head.
I flush instantly, thankful my sunglasses are hiding my eyes. “How good it was to see everyone. I had a really good time.”
He glances at me, one side of his mouth quirked up in a smile. “So did I. Thanks for letting me come.” The hand holding the shifter comes to rest on my thigh and squeezes gently a few times before it returns back to its resting place. I could get used to that. I redirect my focus somewhere far beyond the glass of the window. Any girl could lose herself in those sweet, unexpected idiosyncrasies, but I can’t afford to get lost. Not again.
“The night was not without its wins, either. Scott looked like he shit his pants more than once,” Landon says, with such triumph that a stream of laughter bubbles out of me.
“Maybe that’s why he was giving me strange looks all night.”
He looks over at me for a second, his tongue grazing his lower lip. “No. That was pure ol’ jealousy. I’d say your mission was successful, even without Doctor Jake.”
“I think Charitable Landon was the better choice,” I say, vividly recalling everyone’s praise.
“It was the haircut, I’m telling you.” He gestures toward his hair, and his dimple makes a reappearance when his true smile does. He has his snarky smile, his snide smile, his rueful smile, his unprepared smile, and his bitter smile. But this one’s my favorite.
Goddammit.
We pull into the parking garage of my apartment, and an inadvertent sigh escapes me at the prospect of another long week. Once we passed beneath the gate, it was like the clock striking midnight in Cinderella. The festive weekend full of love, alcohol, vacation, and great food is over, and my “boyfriend” has turned back into the guy I just have sex with sometimes. I knew it all would end, but that doesn’t make it any easier.
Landon transfers his weekend bag over to his own car, and while I’m waiting to hug him goodbye, he turns and rests one arm on the top of it and one on the open door. “You have plans today?” I automatically shake my head. After a weekend like that, he should know my social quota has been met. “Want to do nothing with me?”
I watch him skeptically. I had assumed he would be dying to return to his cave after spending a weekend doing such couple-y things, but he looks completely serious.
“Sure.” I shrug one shoulder, pretending not to be too interested, before walking toward the doors that lead to my building.
When Landon makes a pallet on the floor, I end up taking over the couch—because who would choose the floor over my super comfortable couch?—and we begin watching a supernatural, thriller-type show neither of us have seen. By episode two, our takeout has been delivered and we dig in. By episode four, I feel something in my hair, and I glance down, surprised to see that his fingers are absentmindedly twirling the strands that are draped over the edge of the couch. For a fake boyfriend, he’s pretty damn good.
Halfway through episode five, Landon yawns and stretches. “I think I should shower before I pass out.” He stands, clad only in the basketball shorts he snagged from his bag, and holds out a hand. “Want to keep me company?”
“Hmm,” I say, pretending to weigh my options.
“Are you having trouble remembering last night? I can remind you, if you want.” He lifts an eyebrow, and that’s all it takes for me to accept his hand. He pulls me toward him and tosses me over his shoulder in one swift move, carrying me laughing all the way to the bathroom.
I roll over in my bed the next morning and withdraw my hand in surprise when I feel something warm and solid. What the . . .? When my eyes focus on the muscular, bare back, now four inches from my face, I see that it’s Landon. Landon, the guy who never stays the night. I’ve grown so used to waking up without him, even though he’s often with me when I fall asleep, that it doesn’t even faze me when he leaves after sex.
My hands immediately go to my face to rub the sleep from my eyes and any possible drool trails from my cheek. Then I check my hair, which is always a disaster in the morning. I haven’t had to worry about my appearance in bed on the morning after for so long that I’m instantly mortified. I slide from the bed, grabbing a t-shirt from my desk chair on the way to the bathroom. When I pull it over my head and switch on the light, I emit a sigh of relief when I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror. Not as bad as I thought.
I fluff my hair a bit where it’s flattened on the side of my head, then grab my toothbrush and toothpaste from my overnight bag to brush my teeth. I’m so lost in thought about the man just on the other side of the door that when that door swings open, I nearly jump out of my skin.
“Jesus,” I say, and it comes out garbled around a mouthful of toothpaste foam.
“Not quite, but good morning to you, too.” Landon’s voice is husky with sleep, and he’s clad in only boxer briefs that look carelessly pulled on, low on his hips. I can’t help but admire the V of muscle that flexes in his lower back when he leans closer to the mirror, trying to tame his tousled bed-head. My eyes dart back to a spot on the mirror so he doesn’t see me staring. If I act any way other than casual, it might weird him out.
I wordlessly hand over the tube of toothpaste, and he accepts it, squeezing some out onto his finger and using it to brush his teeth. We stand side by side—me in my t-shirt, scrubbing away, him with one hand tucked under his armpit while he brushes with his finger—in silence. I don’t have to think for long to remember how long it’s been since I last brushed my teeth next to a man. Four years.
It’s kind of nice sharing something so routine. It was also nice to have a stand-in boyfriend the entire weekend who complimented me regularly and saved me from spending the occasion having an “I hate love” fest, but I can’t let myself dwell on those things. Besides, seeing the look on Scott’s face at the reception was worth every false hope I might’ve allowed into my heart.
I have to bite back the smile that threatens to show, rinsing my mouth and stepping aside so Landon can do the same. “You didn’t have to tell Scott you were my boyfriend at the wedding. I appreciate it, but I was willing to settle for close friend.”
He dries his hands on a towel and folds it over before placing it back through the towel ring, just as I’d had it. “I wanted to,” he says, leaning a hip against the countertop. The words jolt me like an unexpected speedbump. What is that supposed to mean? I realize that my brows have been furrowed for a few seconds before my expression slips into something more nondescript.
“Did you mind?” he asks, scrutinizing the look that’s just slipped across my face.
I shake my head slowly. “No. And I was rewarded richly by people singing your praises. Someone even said you were a ‘lovely man.’ We must have played our parts well.”
The corners of his mouth turn down slightly, and he focuses his gaze somewhere near the baseboards. “Somewhere along the way, it stopped being a part,” he says, the slight frown still on his face. Here we go. He’s going to tell me we crossed a line somewhere and that we shouldn’t have. “I . . . enjoyed it.”
My heart thuds in my chest. Don’t overthink it. Don’t overthink it. “You enjoyed it?”
He nods, and his eyes finally meet mine. “I forgot what it was like to have someone to brag about. To talk up someone else’s accomplishments. It was nice.”
I bite my lip, running my thumbnail over the hem of my shirt. “I guess it’s always easier to talk about someone else.”
His quick exhalation of air draws my attention. He’s gazing at me and shaking his head in disbelief. “You really don’t make things easy on me, do you?”
“What do you mean? You’re not exactly an open book,” I point out, feeling like I’ve lost the path of our conversation. He is so obscure.
“I’m telling you I liked being there with you. That I like you. I just haven’t said that to anyone in a really long time.”
The warmth begins in my cheeks, spreading down my neck and chest. I might have fantasized about hearing him say those words, but I never believed he would. No matter how much I try, I can’t keep the satisfied smile from my face. “What does that mean to you, Landon?” I study my pale pink toenail polish, sure that if I look into his eyes, this fragile moment will disintegrate.
“I don’t know. I’m sorry if that answer isn’t satisfying . . . but I’m not even sure what this means, yet. The feelings seem so new after all this time. What I do know is I’m finding it harder and harder to leave after we . . .” I look up at him and he quirks his head to the side, so I understand the insinuation.
“Hence why you stayed last night?”
“Hence why I stayed last night,” he agrees.
I’m torn between keeping my lips pressed tightly together to hold everything in, or spilling every thought I’ve had since meeting him a little over a month ago. It’s a battle between self-preservation and my inner fifteen-year-old. I settle for somewhere in between. “I’ve wanted you to stay, I just wasn’t going to tell you that.”
Landon grins slyly at me. “I know. And I know I’m to blame.” He reaches out and runs his thumb down the back of my arm, making goosebumps arise on my sensitive skin. “As you could guess, I’m not the fondest of labels, but what do you think about agreeing not to date anyone else?”
I sag against the counter, squeezing my eyes shut. He’s telling me all the things I’ve, at some point along the way, begun to want to hear. I want to say yes without questioning it, but I’m scared of what it would do to me if I do and this ends up crashing and burning. I only open my eyes when I feel him draw closer and tug a strand of my hair.
“You can’t say those things to me if you don’t mean them. If you’re having second thoughts, any at all, this is your chance to turn away now and I’ll forget this happened.”
His eyes hold mine, liquefied topaz swirling beneath the surface, and for once, they are unguarded. Disarmed.
“I mean what I’m saying, Blake. It’s not like this is some rash decision. I’ve had time to think about it.”
It’s difficult to ignore the leaping of my insides as every part of me struggles against my will to jump for joy. All this time I thought he couldn’t see how great we could be, but he does. He wants this.
“It’s been years since I’ve done this. I’m not sure how good I am at it.”
“I’ll try not to judge your less-than-perfect relationship skills, then,” I tease, then add more seriously, “All I want is for you to be honest with me. No false promises.”
He nods seriously. “I can do that.”
I raise a finger. “And for you to stop telling me what’s good for me. If we’re going to do this, you need to stop questioning me, and you damn sure need to stop questioning yourself.”
His eyebrows raise, but he nods again. “Deal.”
I finally turn fully toward him and tilt my head to the side. “So you really want to do this, Farrar?”
“I want to do this,” he answers firmly, with just a hint of a smile behind his eyes.
I pretend to think about it for a few moments while a grin steals over my features. “It’s a tough decision, but okay.”
He laughs at me, shaking his head incredulously, and his arm encircles my shoulders to pull me against his chest. He smells like my coconut body wash mixed with something more enticing and all male. I like it. When his hand runs down my back and reaches the hem of my shirt, sliding beneath it to pull my hips closer to his, he stills, squeezing my butt cheek a few times.
“Are you not wearing panties again?”
I laugh and hide my face in his chest. “I woke up and you were next to me! I was flustered! I didn’t know what to do.”
“So you grabbed a shirt and ran away?” He pulls back just far enough to where he can look down at my face.
“Yeah.” I shrug one shoulder.
“I’d say this relationship is off to an excellent start,” he says sarcastically against my mouth when he kisses me, walking me backward into the bedroom.