You Can't Hurry Love (3 page)

“I think your idea of making a memory and my idea of making a memory are two very different things.”

The waiter interrupted their debate, giving Jamie time to scan the menu and order a lobster scramble and coffee. He motioned to her glass. “Do you want anything else?”

“No, I'm good with this.”

“Green . . . slime?”

“It's healthy. I make smoothies for breakfast most mornings.”

With a final request for extra cream, Jamie turned his attention to Elisabeth again. “So tell me how you met Tori.”

His question seemed to catch Elisabeth off guard. “How I met Tori?”

“Yes. That's simple enough, right? No lyrics involved.”

“We met during college. We were both education majors at Biola and then we ended up student teaching at the same middle school. Now I teach English in the Springs and she teaches math in Wichita, but we're still good friends.” Elisabeth stirred the grass-green smoothie with a long straw. “And you and Peter?”

“We met at basic cadet training and he ended up being my roommate when we were doolies. But he decided not to stay at the Academy after the first year. Like you and Tori, we still remained good friends—”

“I think I remember you mentioning him . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“In my letters?” Jamie snuffed out the memory of reading Elisabeth's letters in his room at the Academy after a long day of classes. “Yeah, I probably did.”

An invisible barrier seemed to rise up between them. Was there any way to ignore the heartbreak that spanned the years? Maybe if things had ended differently, they could have sat here and reminisced with laughter and smiles.

Or they would have been married.

“Hey, Jet!” Peter's voice interrupted the conversation. “I've been looking for you.”

“What? Am I late for something?”

“The guys are going paintballing, remember?” Pete sat in the chair next to him, taking his water glass and drinking from it. “And Tori's looking for you, Lis. She said something about all the ladies getting mani-pedis.”

Elisabeth looked at her phone, her long hair falling forward. “I never heard my phone ring. What kind of maid of honor am I? I completely forgot.”

Jamie sat back as the waiter delivered his plate of food. “Do I have time for breakfast?”

“Sure, if you eat fast. We're leaving in about forty minutes.” Peter motioned for the waiter. “I'll join you.”

Jamie rose as Elisabeth finished scrawling her name and room number on the receipt. “You want to meet up later?”

“Meet later?” Elisabeth looked as startled as if Jamie had suggested they go out for dinner and a movie. “Why?”

“To finish talking about the toast?”

“Oh, that. Sure. I guess.”

He pulled his phone out of his back pocket and offered it to her.

“What?”

“It's my phone.”

“I see that. Why are you giving me your phone?”

“Not to use as a weapon, that's for sure.” He tossed her a wink. “If you put your number in there, I'll text you when I'm done with paintball and we can figure out where to meet.”

“Oh. Fine.” After tapping her number into his phone, she said good-bye and left without a backward glance.

After ordering breakfast, Peter leaned his arms on the table and lasered in on Jamie. “So?”

“We were just talking.”

“Jet, I'm clued in. Lis told Tori that you and Elisabeth used to date, and my fiancée told me. So ‘we were just talking' doesn't cut it.”

“And if I said I don't want to talk about any of it?”

“I'll respect that. But you want to explain why you acted like you didn't know her last night?”

“Tori told you about that, did she?”

“She said she'd told Lis how nice you were and then you went stone cold on her.”

“Yeah, well, I didn't expect to turn around and see my old girlfriend standing there. It was just a knee-jerk reaction. Self-preservation, I guess.”

“Did you think she'd get upset or something when she saw you?”

“Didn't you say something about respecting my not wanting to talk about this?” Jamie shoved his plate away, reaching for his coffee. “How was I supposed to know what she was going to say or do? It happened a long time ago. And it's not like we're going to fix things all these years later.”

Peter ignored his protest. “Everybody has breakups—”

“Elisabeth sent me a Dear John letter the second year I was at the Academy.”

Peter fell back in his chair. “Oh, man . . .”

“Yeah. You missed all that. Now seven years later and she shows up at your wedding.”

“Weird, huh?”

“Worse than that. Seeing her again takes me back to some of the worst times in my life. So many things I've tried to put behind me. The breakup. My reaction. The ski trip that winter. That year changed my life.”

“You don't think this is a chance to talk it all out with her?”

“No. I rented a tux to be your best man, not to dress up while I rehashed past mistakes with Elisabeth Straker.”

“If you say so.”

“I can handle this. Other than work out this toast-duet you and Tori want us to do, I barely have to talk to her, right?”

“Right.”

“Believe me, I won't let this create any tension for you and Tori. I'm a big boy now. And Elisabeth has already had her opportunity to hurt me. I'm over it.”

“So you're good, then?”

“I'm good.” The more he said it, the more he'd believe it. And why shouldn't he? It was the truth. “Enough talking. Let's go play some paintball.”

THREE

I
didn't expect to hear from you this weekend, Lis.” Bellamy's voice was a comforting bit of familiarity. “I thought you'd be too busy with the wedding.”

Elisabeth slipped on a sparkly gold chandelier earring, raising her voice to be heard through her phone's speaker. “To be honest, I wasn't planning on calling you.”

“O-kay. What's going on? Is Tori getting cold feet?”

“I can handle a nervous bride. I can handle controlling mothers of the bride. I can deal with having to wear dresses that don't look good on me, no matter how much the bride insists they do. But this! This is not something I expected to deal with.”

“Please tell me some rich, devastatingly handsome groomsman is sweeping you off your feet.”

“You're the one who lived out the rich-and-handsome story line. What if the guy I met was poor and average looking?”

“Poor and average looking works for me, too, so long as he treats you right—meaning he thinks you're the most wonderful woman in the world.”

Like that was going to happen.

“Jamie Travers is here.”

“Jamie Travers . . .” Bellamy murmured the name. “Oh, Lis, no!”

“Yes.” Elisabeth claimed her matching earring from her travel jewelry case. “My high school boyfriend—”

“Why is he there?”

“He's the best man.”

“That's crazy. I mean, what are the odds?”

“I'm an English teacher, Belle. Tori is the math whiz. But she's a bit preoccupied for me to ask her to run the calculations—”

“What did you do when you saw him?”

“Well, Jamie acted like we'd never met. I don't know if he was so shocked that he didn't know what to do or if he was wishing I were someone else. But I followed his lead. We did the ‘nice to meet you' routine.”

“Wait. You didn't tell Tori that you have a romantic past with the man?”

“She caught on pretty quickly that something was going on, so of course I told her. We only acted like complete strangers around everyone else. Oh, and Jamie goes by ‘Jet' now. And then Tori announced she wants us to do some sort of tandem toast at the wedding reception.”

“What does that mean?”

“I'm still not sure, but I absolutely refuse to sing.”

“Excuse me?” Bellamy's quick burst of laughter almost lifted Elisabeth's spirits. Almost. Her friend would probably go into nonstop giggles if Elisabeth told her about Jamie showing up in her hotel room last night.

She didn't have time for that.

“The idea of Jamie and I doing some sort of duet was tossed around, but it's not happening.” With both earrings in place, she stepped into her glittery gold heels. Little black dress and touches of bling. After so many rehearsal dinners, she'd learned to keep it simple. “Jamie wants to do something memorable.”

“And you're having none of it?”

“Like I told him, it's a toast, not some sort of contest.”

“So that's the only point of tension between you two? The toast?”

“I didn't say that.” Elisabeth began transferring items from her large leather purse to a smaller gold envelope clutch. Lipstick. Driver's license. Perfume atomizer. Breath mints. “But there's nothing I can do about being uncomfortable.”

“What do you mean?”

“I'm here to help Tori, not go walking down some soap opera version of memory lane with Jamie Travers. We've gone this long without talking about all that stuff, right?”

“But now you're right there with each other. Don't you want to get things out in the open? Clear the air?”

Elisabeth closed her small purse with a click, stashing her other purse in the hotel safe. “No, actually, I don't. Leave well enough alone, right?”

“I'm not sure I agree—”

“Bellamy, maybe if you were here, if this was your past staring you in the face, you'd handle it differently. But I . . . I can't think about Jamie Travers right now. I'm here to be Tori's maid of honor, not talk about what I did and what Jamie did. It's just not the point.”

“But maybe it is. Maybe that's what the restless feeling was all about—some sort of spiritual foreshadowing about seeing Jamie again. Maybe God's giving you a chance to resolve things with him.”

Elisabeth paused, her hand on the doorknob. Could that be it? “But then wouldn't there be more peace surrounding this whole surprise meeting? A sense of ‘Okay, I know what I'm supposed to do now'?”

“Not necessarily. Sometimes God wants us to do the hard thing—”

“That's easy for you to say. You're in San Diego with your husband, telling me what to do. I'm the one trying to be a maid of honor after running into her old boyfriend.”

“Okay. Backing off. I may not agree with you—”

“You don't have to. But will you pray for me? I've got to head out or I'm going to be late for the rehearsal. Knowing you're praying will help. A lot.”

“Absolutely. You go ahead. I've got you covered.”

“Thanks. And tell Reid I said hi.”

“Will do.”

• • •

Peter's wedding was turning out to be the most memorable one Jamie had ever attended.

He'd have some insurance paperwork to deal with once he got back to Ohio, but sometimes a little fun came with unexpected consequences.

“You could have sat out this part of tonight, you know.” Pete pulled his car into a parking place in front of the church.

“I'm the best man.” Jamie shifted his position where he sat with his left leg stretched out on the backseat, managing to bite back a groan. “I'm supposed to be at the wedding rehearsal.”

“Everyone would have understood if you just met us at the restaurant.” Tori twisted around in the front passenger seat to face him.

“And make your fiancé drop me there and then bring you here? Too much driving around. And let's remember not everyone knows about what happened earlier today.” Jamie remained still. Once he exited the car, the charade began. “Besides, I hate starting a party by myself.”

“How's the air cast working for you, buddy?”

“No mentioning my ankle, remember? I agreed to go to the urgent care only if we did not talk about all this tonight.”

“But that doc said it's a good thing you did have your ankle looked at—”

“I'm not arguing with you. You know my ankle has been memorized by legions of surgeons and physical therapists. The last thing I wanted to do this weekend is introduce my overanalyzed ankle to some unknown doctor.” He rapped on the window. “Enough chitchat about something we are not supposed to talk about. Open the door and help me up the sidewalk so we can rehearse and then go to dinner. I'm starving.”

He slung his arm over Peter's shoulders, waving away Tori's offer to help. “Remember, once we get to the door, I'm good, okay?”

“The guys know you got hurt.”

“And they know not to mention it, too. How many times do I have to say that this weekend is about you and Tori, not my sore ankle? So . . .” He struggled to manage the steps up to the front of the church, the wintery air biting at his neck and face. “Here we go.”

Thanks to their running late, everyone had gathered at the front of the church, requiring him to plaster a smile on his face and walk farther into the church. Of course, he would have to walk the length of the aisle at some point. Jamie palmed another Motrin from his coat pocket and popped it into his mouth, chewing it like a piece of candy.

Why hadn't he thought to grab a bottle of water from his hotel room?

While the minister talked through the order of the ceremony, Jamie leaned against the side of the pew, easing the weight from his ankle. Tori's and Pete's family members mingled among the wedding party. Chloe, the bridesmaid who'd demanded so much of his attention last night, offered him a small wave and a playful smile, but his eyes skimmed past her to Elisabeth.

In a sleeveless black dress that ignored the December weather, she looked nothing like the stereotypical schoolteacher.

She stood in a small semicircle with Tori and the other bridesmaids, her legs accentuated by shiny gold high heels. Her brown hair, which she wore much longer than she had in high school, hung past her shoulders.

He and Elisabeth hadn't ended up where they'd planned . . . where they'd imagined being when they were young and in love. And except for a one-and-a-half-page letter with a lot of vague nonreasons, he didn't even know why she'd broken up with him.

When her glance connected with his, Jamie couldn't look away. He knew by the slight tilt of Elisabeth's head that his “why?” had shown in his eyes.

“All right, then. Best man and groomsmen, assemble up here with Peter.” The minister motioned them forward. “Maid of honor, bridesmaids, and parents of the bride and groom, follow Tori and the wedding coordinator to the back of the sanctuary.”

Jamie moved too quickly, causing him to smother a sharp gasp as Elisabeth passed him.

“Are you okay?”

“Never better.” She didn't need to know any differently. He'd make it through this wedding rehearsal and dinner without limping. How many times would they run through the drill? Probably just once.

• • •

This was the first time Elisabeth was ever thankful for tight shoes. By concentrating on how her glitzy heels pinched her toes, she was able to ignore the man walking next to her down the church aisle.

“You're not doing it right.” Jamie's comment was the rasp of a stage whisper.

“This is our third time through—and my ninth wedding in two years. Believe me, I know what I'm doing.”

“Then you should know you're supposed to put your hand on my arm.” As he spoke, Jamie took her hand and placed it on his forearm, drawing her closer. Elisabeth's steps never faltered, but her posture stiffened ever so slightly.

“I did it the first two times. I'll remember to do it tomorrow.”

“I've never understood the whole purpose of a wedding rehearsal. And this wedding coordinator is a bit of a control freak, making us practice the whole rigmarole three times. Wait a minute.” Jamie paused just outside the sanctuary. “How many weddings have you been in?”

“You heard me. Tori and Peter's wedding is my ninth wedding in two years.”

“What are you, some sort of professional maid of honor?”

“No. I've just had a lot of friends, coworkers, and family members get married in the past twenty-four months. And I wasn't always a maid of honor. Sometimes I was a bridesmaid.”

The wedding coordinator interrupted them as Tori and Peter joined the rest of the group in the vestibule.

“Everyone needs to be at the church two hours early, dressed and ready to go, so the photographer can take photos before guests start arriving. The florist is delivering the flowers here—bouquets, boutonnieres—so no one needs to worry about that.”

“Now that we're ready for tomorrow—” Peter raised his voice to be heard above the various conversations. “—let's go enjoy dinner at Ruth's Chris Steak House.”

“So I thought I'd see about riding with you to the restaurant.” Jamie remained beside Elisabeth as she pulled her car keys out of her purse.

“Ride with me? Why?”

“The wedding's tomorrow night and we still haven't chosen our song for the toast tomorrow night.” Jamie held up his hands in mock surrender. “Kidding. I thought we could brainstorm some more on the way over.”

“That's probably a good idea. My car's right out front.”

“Perfect. It looks like Tori needs to talk with you about something. Why don't you let me have the keys and I'll wait for you in the car?”

“Fine. I'll be right there.”

By the time she made it to the car, Jamie was settled in the front passenger seat, leaning back against the headrest with his eyes closed.

“You know where we're going?” He spoke without opening his eyes.

“Don't worry, I plugged the address into Google Maps in my phone.”

“Never did develop a sense of direction, did you?” He didn't even try to hide the hint of a smile.

“I hate to admit it, but no. I've been a huge fan of GPS from the beginning.” Elisabeth maneuvered her car out of the parking lot. “Did the guys have fun this afternoon?”

“Absolutely. A good game of paintball is the perfect way to celebrate the day before you get married.”

“It's different, I'll grant you that.”

“Good, clean fun.”

“I don't know if ‘clean' is the proper word. So you had so much fun that you didn't have time to call me when you got back from paintball?”

“Sorry about that. Things took a little longer than I . . . than we expected.”

“That's what I figured. And I guess you had to doctor up your injury.”

“My injury? Who told you that I got hurt?”

“Nobody. I can see it.”