Not Your Match (6 page)

Rachel pointed to the gift certificate. “Call this number and set up an appointment with one of their matchmakers. You go in, answer their questions, and then they match you up on dates. I’m so excited for you.”

Andi grimaced. That made one of them.

Christmas Day. Ben had been dreading it for a month, worried he’d be swallowed up by a hollow emptiness. But when he woke up that morning, he felt anything but depressed. He hopped out of bed, eager to see the condo—and Andi. She was a much-needed ray of sunshine. After he and Adam came back upstairs last night, Rachel and Andi seemed to have worked out the weirdness between them, and the rest of the evening had been more enjoyable than Ben had anticipated.

Ben hummed
Jingle Bells
as he gelled his hair. He turned his head, twisting a strand with his gel-coated fingers. He wasn’t usually so worried about his appearance. But there was something about Andi that made him want to look his best.

Ben let out a growl and shut off the bathroom light. He was falling back into old habits from high school. He’d had a crush on Andi, and the fact that she was dating Mark hadn’t kept him from obsessing about his appearance every day before leaving for school. But he wasn’t seventeen anymore. Andi was showing him a condo. Nothing more.

Ben dropped his wallet and cell phone in his pocket, then headed downstairs.

“Merry Christmas.”

Ben froze. Rachel sat at the barstool in pajamas, a mug between her hands. After her speech last night, he’d hoped to slip out without seeing her. Ben forced a smile. “Merry Christmas.”

“You look nice.” Her tone was almost accusing.

“It’s Christmas. I don’t want to spend the day looking like a slob.”

Rachel frowned and took a sip of her drink. “Maybe I should go with you to look at the condo.”

Ben walked backward toward the front door. “No need. It’s yours and Adam’s first Christmas as a married couple—enjoy the alone time. I’m not sure when I’ll be back. I’ll text you.” He quickly opened the door and escaped into the cool December air before Rachel could protest.

Ben climbed into his ancient Honda and followed the GPS directions to Andi’s condo complex. He was surprised at how close it was, only a twenty minute drive on the freeway.

He parked in a parking spot marked visitor, his heart sinking. The gray stucco on the four-story building was new, not yet cracked or fading. The flowerbeds were tidy, with green plants even in December. The arched windows with white-painted trim said this place wasn’t very old.

No way he’d be able to afford to live here. Right now, his price range seemed to be somewhere between “old” and “run down.”

It would’ve been fun to live across the hall from Andi. She’d been compassionate and kind in high school, but also direct and honest. Fun but driven. Hilarious. He could use that right now.

Ben pulled the keys out of the car’s ignition. Maybe the condo was trashed enough he could afford the rent. Miracles happened, right?

He tugged on the front door, then noticed a buzzer. Yeah, if someone had to be buzzed into this building, it was definitely out of his price range, even with the substantial raise he’d be getting at his new job. He’d forgotten how expensive California could be. He pushed the buzzer for 221, and a few seconds later Andi said, “Hello?”

“It’s Ben,” he said.

“You’re supposed to say ‘ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas.’”

“I’m the Grinch, remember? Santa’s long gone.”

Andi laughed, and the door buzzed opened.

The lobby wasn’t anything special—industrial strength carpet in a neutral gray, chrome elevators on either side, and a wall lined with mail cubbies straight ahead. He took a deep breath and walked into the elevator. It rose silently to the second floor. Ben stepped out and looked around. The same carpet from downstairs, walls painted a complimentary gray, and black doors spread out along both walls. Whitney would’ve hated it. She’d never liked small spaces.

Good thing he didn’t have to worry about her opinion anymore.

He found door 221, took a deep breath, and knocked. The door swung open moments later, and the scent of cinnamon rolls filled his nostrils. Ben inhaled deeply, and for the first time since waking up, it truly felt like Christmas.

“You don’t look like the Grinch,” Andi said. She looked adorable in jeans and an ugly Christmas sweater with snowmen all over it, like cotton balls pasted to red paper by a kindergartener. So carefree and fun.

“Nice sweater,” Ben said, shutting the door behind him.

“Ugly sweaters are a Christmas tradition.”

“It looks good on you.”

“Thanks. I found it at a thrift store.” She spread out her arms and twirled, the dimple in her cheek calling to be caressed.

He shook his head, struggling to clear it. The last thing he needed was a rebound relationship, especially with a childhood friend.

“Have you had breakfast yet?” Andi asked. “I couldn’t sleep last night, so I got up early and made cinnamon rolls. It doesn’t feel like Christmas without the smell of baked goods. I thought we could eat, then go look at the condo.” She walked into the kitchen and picked up a butter knife. She dipped it into frosting—he hoped it was cream cheese—and spread it on a cinnamon roll.

“I didn’t know you could bake.”

“Hey now.” Andi brandished the knife at him. “Be nice, or I won’t give you any. I don’t usually have time for it, but I can follow a recipe.”

Ben held up his hands. “I’m not complaining. But I am starving, so this is great. What can I do to help?”

“Um, scramble some eggs? You do know how to do that, right?” Andi winked.

Ben laughed and opened the fridge, removing a carton of eggs. Andi set a frying pan on one of the burners, and a few minutes later he had four eggs scrambling.

“Not bad,” Andi said, peering over his shoulder. One of her curls tickled his neck, and the sensation nearly undid Ben’s careful composure. He caught a whiff of coconut—her lip gloss, maybe?

“I’m an expert egg scrambler,” Ben said.

“Humble too. Food’s ready as soon as the eggs are.”

Andi moved away, and Ben slowly exhaled. He fluffed the eggs one last time, then moved them off the burner. His phone buzzed against his thigh, and Ben fished it out. Rachel better not be coming over here to bug him.

The name on the screen made his blood run cold.

Whitney.

Ben slowly slid his finger over the phone screen and read the message.
Merry Christmas. I miss you. Can we please talk?

“Everything okay?”

Ben fumbled, nearly dropping his phone. He caught it just before it tumbled from his fingers.

Andi raised an eyebrow. “Someone’s jumpy.”

“Sorry.” Ben shoved his phone back in his pocket and grabbed the frying pan of eggs. He carried them over to the table and set them on a hot pad.

Andi gave him a
want to elaborate?
look, but he ignored it. She shrugged and handed him a spatula for the cinnamon rolls, then dished herself up some eggs.

“This looks delicious,” Ben said. “You really didn’t have to cook.”

“I know. Oh!” Andi jumped up and ran into the kitchen. When she returned a moment later, Christmas music softly floated into the breakfast nook.

“Very nice,” Ben said.

“Merry Christmas.” Andi lifted her glass of orange juice in a toast, and Ben clinked his glass against it. She placed the cup against her soft, pink lips, and drank deeply. He swallowed and looked away. He shouldn’t be thinking of Andi like that. Especially not when his ex-fiancée had just texted him.

What does Whitney want?
Ben hated that his stomach flipped when he saw that text. Whitney had burned her bridges, and he wasn’t about to let her rebuild them. But did the fact that she was texting him mean she was seeking help for her mental illness? Or was she heading into a manic episode? That’s usually when she decided she wanted him back.

“I thought after we looked at the condo, maybe you’d want to go to a movie,” Andi said. “You mentioned yesterday you wanted to give the newlyweds their space.”

“Sounds fun. I’m in.” Ben took a bite of cinnamon roll and allowed his eyes to roll back in his head. He pointed his fork at his plate. “These are amazing. You should bake more often.”

“I think I’ve exhausted my culinary skills until next Christmas.”

Maybe she was back on her meds. But then why was Barbara so worried?

“I thought we could see
Fatalistic
,” Andi said. “Have you seen the trailer for that one?”

He tried to push Whitney out of his mind. “I think so. It’s an action thriller, right? As long as it’s not a chick flick, I’m happy.” Not that he’d say no if Andi wanted to go to some cheesy romantic comedy.

“I like those too, but I thought I’d pick something we’d both enjoy. Besides, I like the old black-and-white chick flicks, not the new ones where the only reason the guy and girl like each other is because they’re physically attracted. I see up close and personal how those relationships end.”

“I can respect that.” It was a relief after Whitney. That girl had been chick flick obsessed, and he’d spent more nights than he cared to remember sitting in a dark theater, watching some ripped guy proclaim his undying lust to the buxom leading lady.

Andi placed her hand over his. Her fingers were long and delicate, her nails manicured but not fake like Whitney’s.

“Seriously, Ben. Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Ben swallowed, then decided to come clean. “Whitney texted me, that’s all. It surprised me.”

Andi leaned back in her chair, moving her hand off his. “Wow. Are you okay?”

“I will be.”

“What did she want?”

“To talk.”

Andi nodded and looked away. “Are you going to call her?”

“No.”

She nodded again, but her lips had softened into a smile. “Should we clean up and go see the condo?”

“Yeah.” Ben pushed Whitney out of his mind and gave Andi a real smile. It was Christmas, and he was determined to enjoy it.

Ben stood behind Andi as she paused outside door 215. She pulled a keyring out of her pocket and a moment later pushed the door open. “Here we are,” she said. “I haven’t been inside in a while.”

Here it was—the moment where his hopes of renting this place could be permanently dashed. Ben stepped onto a small tiled entrance and looked around. The place was empty, all the furniture gone and the walls bare. It looked like it hadn’t seen a fresh coat of paint in about fifteen years, and the carpet was matted from use. From the outside, he never would’ve guessed the building was that old. Relief flooded through him.

A fixer-upper. It was perfect. Hopefully the price would be right.

“It needs a good scrubbing,” Andi said, her nose wrinkling. “And the carpets could stand to be cleaned.”

Ben stepped from the tiled entryway into the living room. A large window showed a view of the Los Angeles skyline. Without any furniture the room looked small, but he thought it’d fit his recliner and couch. Whitney would’ve loved the natural light that streamed in through the window and filled the entire room.