Love the One You're With
Page 20
Riley slapped her desk and made a buzzing noise as though they were in a game show. “Try again.”
Camille pushed her way into the already overcrowded office and perched on the edge of Emma’s desk. “Okay, fine. Alex knows somebody who got a bunch of cheap tickets.”
Julie leaned back in her chair and studied their boss. “This whole thing has been a girls-versus-boys war, and you’re seriously suggesting we take the finale on the road to a baseball game?”
Grace discreetly fished out one of the chocolate raspberry truffles that Jake had given her when they’d met in the stairwell that morning. It had become kind of a morning thing for them. The shared elevator ride and the exchanged greetings were for their spectators.
But after all that? When they met in the stairwell at ten every morning?
That was just for them. Chocolate was often involved. Also, kissing.
“Why do we even have to have a finale at all?” Grace asked.
The office abruptly quieted, and Emma finally cleared her throat. “Do you, uh … want it to go on indefinitely?”
Yes.
Grace 2.0 slapped 1.0. Hard.
“I mean, why do we have to make a big spectacle of it? Why not just sort of let it fade out with a ‘Hey, show’s over, who won?’ ”
“Borrrr-rriing,” Riley asserted. “People are invested in you and Jake. We pitched this as two love experts going toe-to-toe. They want to see the final showdown.”
“That sounds really lovely,” Grace said. “Why not just put us in a boxing ring?”
“Too dark,” Camille said. “The lighting would be awful.”
“Well, gosh, if the lighting’s awful, let’s call the whole thing off,” Emma said.
Grace held up her hands to stop all the chatter, her head starting to spin. This was all wrong. After all they’d been through, it would end at a baseball game? Jake was a football guy, and Grace wasn’t any ballgame kind of girl.
Grace 2.0 cleared her throat. Well … there are some balls you wouldn’t mind a closer look at.
At that, 1.0 tittered and blushed.
“You won’t be able to get Jake in the stadium,” she said confidently. “He hates the Yankees.”
“The tickets have already been purchased,” Camille said decisively. “Of course he’ll go. Or he will once Cassidy plays the boss card. And I haven’t even gotten to the best part yet.”
“Oh? Had you gotten to the tolerable part yet?” Grace asked innocently. “I think I missed it.”
Camille ignored her. “This whole website business has really helped put a face on our columnists, and people have taken to it. And what better way to reward them and encourage them to stay engaged than to allow them to meet the objects of their obsession?”
Julie groaned, and Riley made a ruh-roh noise.
“Wait, you mean have random weirdos meet Jake and me?” Grace asked.
“Just a few of them. We only have so many tickets. But we were thinking that we’d pick a few lucky winners from among the commenters on the website. They’ll have to be local, of course. Can’t afford to fly them in. But the market research team says there’s been plenty of New York City IP addresses active on the site, whatever that means … so we thought, why not?”
“Is that a real question?” Grace asked. “Because I have about a dozen reasons.”
“What’s the problem, Grace?” Camille said, her tone signaling that she was rapidly losing patience. “We’re not asking you to dance na**d on TV. Not asking you to have public relations with the guy. We just want you to shake some hands, sit next to Jake, maybe have a beer, and let the people who’ve followed your journey decide once and for all.”
“Decide what, exactly?”
Camille clapped her hands in excitement. “That’s the best part. Alex and I have come up with a perfect way to close out your loop on the website.”
Mayday, mayday, mayday …
“Yesssss?” Julie said, when Camille’s pause for dramatic effect lasted about twenty seconds too long.
“Will they or won’t they?” Camille said with a grand flourish.
“Wait, how is that going to decide who wins?” Riley said. “This is supposed to be a competition. I want to see some girl-power!”
“I don’t think that’s the most important question here, Riley,” Emma said.
“The hell it isn’t,” Riley argued, punching the palm of one hand with her fist, like some sort of tomboy ready to take out all the boys in dodgeball.
But Grace barely heard her. Just what the hell did Camille mean, will they or won’t they?
Will they or won’t they what?
And if the question terrified her, just what would the answer do?
* * *
“I’m guessing you heard Camille and Cassidy’s grand plan?”
Grace took a bite of pizza and washed it down with the soda that Jake held out for her. They’d slipped away to the West Village for his favorite by-the-slice hole in the wall.
“I heard,” she replied. “And I know there’s no way in hell they’ll get you into Yankee Stadium, but I, for one, am delighted. Being on display at a baseball game has always been a big dream of mine, you know?”
“Has it?” he asked as they settled onto a park bench to finish eating their pizza. “Funny, we haven’t covered that yet in any of our getting-to-know-you sessions.”
“That’s because our getting-to-know you sessions are really just research for one-upping the other. Speaking of, what did you think about my assertion that only men with small weewees find it necessary to buy the ‘meat lover’s special’ pizza?”
“I took note,” he said, toasting her with the soda cup. “And did you notice my pizza order today?”
Grace nodded and took a bite of her veggie slice. “Plain cheese. Very nice.”
“Very manly, you mean.”
She grinned. “Yes. Very manly.”
“Excellent. Do you have your phone with you? Perhaps you could just make a little update to that blog post, letting the women of New York know that my boring cheese pizza means I have a massive member?”
“Please. You know I never lie,” she said as she used her thumb to wipe a glob of sauce from his lip.
Jake put a wounded hand over his heart. “I believe there’s a solution to this little disagreement. A redo.”
“A redo.”
“Yes. My penis is being unfairly misrepresented. I want a chance to prove to you that it’s absolutely fitting for a man who’s comfortable ordering just cheese.”
“Said by a man who two days ago ordered the meat lover’s super-duper heart attack combo.”
“You’re avoiding the topic.”
She unsuccessfully tried to hide a smile. “Am I?”
“Come on. You miss me.”
Yes. “I thought we agreed that was a one-time thing. Scratching the itch and all that.”
He leaned toward her until his lips were against her ear. “I still have the itch.”
Grace’s throat tightened as her mouth went dry. “Oh.”
Oh, sweet Jesus, Grace 2.0 moaned in despair. Sleeping with him once was a freebie to free you of Greg’s mind games. Two is relationship territory. Beware.
Grace 1.0 fought back. Sexually liberated women are allowed to have sex with whomever they want.
Not when they’re falling for the guy, 2.0 retorted.
Grace nearly choked on her Diet Coke. Where the hell had that come from?
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Of course it’s a good idea,” he replied. “Sex is always a good idea.”
“Says the guy who’s had it with half the women in Manhattan.”
Her voice came out sharper than she intended. Jake had been in the process of putting his arm on the back of the bench, but he stopped, reversing directions and crumpling up his napkin in a fist instead.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” she said quietly.
“Why not? All the society pages do.”
“Since when have you cared about that?”
Jake remained stonily silent, and the easy camaraderie of the afternoon vanished. Suddenly she understood what Emma had meant when she’d said Grace was playing with fire by “going off the grid” instead of having lunch near the office, where they could at least pretend it was only for the sake of work.
But on an overcast day in the park where there was nobody to track their every movement, she had to face the truth.
She was here because she wanted to be.
“So, you know my nephews?” he asked, not looking at her. “The ones in the broken picture frame?”
“Sure. Jackson and Matt.”
His face had the oddest expression. “You remembered their names.”
“And?” This non-flirty Jake was always so weird.
“It’s their birthday next week. They’re two years and two days apart.”
Grace sat up straighter, clapping her hands together in excitement before she could stop herself. “And you want me to help shop for their gifts? I’m so in. My cousin Charlotte has five boys, and I always buy the best—”
Jake looked both exasperated and nervous. “No, I don’t want you to help shop, Grace. I mean, yeah, actually, that’d be great, but that’s not what I’m asking.”
She frowned. “I’m confused.”
He ran a hand over his jaw, looking half amused, half nervous. “You know, if I weren’t so damn terrified of this, this would put me in the lead in the competition. You’re being wildly dense right now.”
“Or you’re being wildly vague.”
He took a deep breath. “Ever been to Wisconsin?”
Understanding began to tickle at the base of her spine. Surely he wasn’t …
“No,” she said, relieved that she didn’t sound as breathless as she felt.
“Want to?”
Noooooooooo. Grace 2.0 was having a heart attack.
So was Grace 1.0, but for different, swoony reasons.
“What are you asking, Jake?”
His hand moved just slightly on the bench so his fingertips touched hers. The move was straight out of eighth grade, and all the sweeter for it. “I want you to come back home with me.”
“Why?”
It slipped out. Grace 2.0 wasn’t going down without a fight.
“Because I don’t think I can take another weekend of my sisters and mothers harping on me to ‘find a nice girl already.’ And … because I want you to.”
“For the website?” she asked quietly.
He swallowed. “I don’t know. Can we just see what happens?”
Grace 2.0 shook her head in resignation and went to make herself a drink. A stiff one.
“Okay,” Grace said herself softly.
The surprised relief on his face was enough to convince her she wasn’t making a mistake for which her heart would pay an awful price.
Almost.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The Malone house in Green Bay, Wisconsin, was charming. There was no other word for it.
Grace wasn’t ashamed to admit that her exposure to residences was limited to old-money mansions and variations of Manhattan tiny. Most of her childhood friends had lived in enormous homes with pool houses, and most of her adult friends lived in apartments of under a thousand square feet where in-home washers and dryers were about as common as polar bear sightings.
But this? This was almost clichéd in its adorableness. There were shutters and a handmade mailbox, and a fat cat lounged in the middle of the driveway, moving only when Jake honked rudely.
Even the Malone front yard was delightful. The lawn was perfectly groomed, the cheeky “Beware of Tiny Dog” sign was proudly placed, and the flower beds were overgrown and gorgeous.
In other words, the Malone house was big, and a little messy, and wonderful.
Even more wonderful was Jake when he saw his family home. He’d refused to tell any of his family members when his flight arrived, to save them the hassle of coming to the airport to pick him up, so instead he and Grace had rented a car.
He claimed this was also to give them a quick-getaway option, but she knew better.
He loved his family. Loved this home.
It had been clear the second he’d pulled into the driveway and she’d seen all the tension leave his shoulders. Seen the “city Jake” disappear from his face. Suddenly she could see the boy he must have been, running around the city, interviewing the neighbors, critiquing the lemonade stands and writing it up in the school paper …
“They’ll eat you alive, you know,” he said in response to her gushing as he wheeled their suitcases to the front door. “I thought I told you to lose the high heels. Between the kids, the dog, and my sisters, the shoes will never make it out of the house.”
“I thought you said your youngest sister was twenty-seven,” she said.
“Exactly.” He turned back to her, his expression unusually anxious. “So, um … Overall, my family’s great—a little overwhelming, but great.”
She smiled patiently and waited for whatever was coming next. Everyone had some kind of warning when it came to the parents. With hers it was not to mention politics. With Greg’s, it was don’t criticize the Pope. With Riley’s, you had to eat everything on your plate or else.
“My parents pretty much think I walk on water,” he said hesitantly.
As far as family warnings went, this one was tame, and she patted his arm. “That’s a good thing, Jake.”
Camille pushed her way into the already overcrowded office and perched on the edge of Emma’s desk. “Okay, fine. Alex knows somebody who got a bunch of cheap tickets.”
Julie leaned back in her chair and studied their boss. “This whole thing has been a girls-versus-boys war, and you’re seriously suggesting we take the finale on the road to a baseball game?”
Grace discreetly fished out one of the chocolate raspberry truffles that Jake had given her when they’d met in the stairwell that morning. It had become kind of a morning thing for them. The shared elevator ride and the exchanged greetings were for their spectators.
But after all that? When they met in the stairwell at ten every morning?
That was just for them. Chocolate was often involved. Also, kissing.
“Why do we even have to have a finale at all?” Grace asked.
The office abruptly quieted, and Emma finally cleared her throat. “Do you, uh … want it to go on indefinitely?”
Yes.
Grace 2.0 slapped 1.0. Hard.
“I mean, why do we have to make a big spectacle of it? Why not just sort of let it fade out with a ‘Hey, show’s over, who won?’ ”
“Borrrr-rriing,” Riley asserted. “People are invested in you and Jake. We pitched this as two love experts going toe-to-toe. They want to see the final showdown.”
“That sounds really lovely,” Grace said. “Why not just put us in a boxing ring?”
“Too dark,” Camille said. “The lighting would be awful.”
“Well, gosh, if the lighting’s awful, let’s call the whole thing off,” Emma said.
Grace held up her hands to stop all the chatter, her head starting to spin. This was all wrong. After all they’d been through, it would end at a baseball game? Jake was a football guy, and Grace wasn’t any ballgame kind of girl.
Grace 2.0 cleared her throat. Well … there are some balls you wouldn’t mind a closer look at.
At that, 1.0 tittered and blushed.
“You won’t be able to get Jake in the stadium,” she said confidently. “He hates the Yankees.”
“The tickets have already been purchased,” Camille said decisively. “Of course he’ll go. Or he will once Cassidy plays the boss card. And I haven’t even gotten to the best part yet.”
“Oh? Had you gotten to the tolerable part yet?” Grace asked innocently. “I think I missed it.”
Camille ignored her. “This whole website business has really helped put a face on our columnists, and people have taken to it. And what better way to reward them and encourage them to stay engaged than to allow them to meet the objects of their obsession?”
Julie groaned, and Riley made a ruh-roh noise.
“Wait, you mean have random weirdos meet Jake and me?” Grace asked.
“Just a few of them. We only have so many tickets. But we were thinking that we’d pick a few lucky winners from among the commenters on the website. They’ll have to be local, of course. Can’t afford to fly them in. But the market research team says there’s been plenty of New York City IP addresses active on the site, whatever that means … so we thought, why not?”
“Is that a real question?” Grace asked. “Because I have about a dozen reasons.”
“What’s the problem, Grace?” Camille said, her tone signaling that she was rapidly losing patience. “We’re not asking you to dance na**d on TV. Not asking you to have public relations with the guy. We just want you to shake some hands, sit next to Jake, maybe have a beer, and let the people who’ve followed your journey decide once and for all.”
“Decide what, exactly?”
Camille clapped her hands in excitement. “That’s the best part. Alex and I have come up with a perfect way to close out your loop on the website.”
Mayday, mayday, mayday …
“Yesssss?” Julie said, when Camille’s pause for dramatic effect lasted about twenty seconds too long.
“Will they or won’t they?” Camille said with a grand flourish.
“Wait, how is that going to decide who wins?” Riley said. “This is supposed to be a competition. I want to see some girl-power!”
“I don’t think that’s the most important question here, Riley,” Emma said.
“The hell it isn’t,” Riley argued, punching the palm of one hand with her fist, like some sort of tomboy ready to take out all the boys in dodgeball.
But Grace barely heard her. Just what the hell did Camille mean, will they or won’t they?
Will they or won’t they what?
And if the question terrified her, just what would the answer do?
* * *
“I’m guessing you heard Camille and Cassidy’s grand plan?”
Grace took a bite of pizza and washed it down with the soda that Jake held out for her. They’d slipped away to the West Village for his favorite by-the-slice hole in the wall.
“I heard,” she replied. “And I know there’s no way in hell they’ll get you into Yankee Stadium, but I, for one, am delighted. Being on display at a baseball game has always been a big dream of mine, you know?”
“Has it?” he asked as they settled onto a park bench to finish eating their pizza. “Funny, we haven’t covered that yet in any of our getting-to-know-you sessions.”
“That’s because our getting-to-know you sessions are really just research for one-upping the other. Speaking of, what did you think about my assertion that only men with small weewees find it necessary to buy the ‘meat lover’s special’ pizza?”
“I took note,” he said, toasting her with the soda cup. “And did you notice my pizza order today?”
Grace nodded and took a bite of her veggie slice. “Plain cheese. Very nice.”
“Very manly, you mean.”
She grinned. “Yes. Very manly.”
“Excellent. Do you have your phone with you? Perhaps you could just make a little update to that blog post, letting the women of New York know that my boring cheese pizza means I have a massive member?”
“Please. You know I never lie,” she said as she used her thumb to wipe a glob of sauce from his lip.
Jake put a wounded hand over his heart. “I believe there’s a solution to this little disagreement. A redo.”
“A redo.”
“Yes. My penis is being unfairly misrepresented. I want a chance to prove to you that it’s absolutely fitting for a man who’s comfortable ordering just cheese.”
“Said by a man who two days ago ordered the meat lover’s super-duper heart attack combo.”
“You’re avoiding the topic.”
She unsuccessfully tried to hide a smile. “Am I?”
“Come on. You miss me.”
Yes. “I thought we agreed that was a one-time thing. Scratching the itch and all that.”
He leaned toward her until his lips were against her ear. “I still have the itch.”
Grace’s throat tightened as her mouth went dry. “Oh.”
Oh, sweet Jesus, Grace 2.0 moaned in despair. Sleeping with him once was a freebie to free you of Greg’s mind games. Two is relationship territory. Beware.
Grace 1.0 fought back. Sexually liberated women are allowed to have sex with whomever they want.
Not when they’re falling for the guy, 2.0 retorted.
Grace nearly choked on her Diet Coke. Where the hell had that come from?
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Of course it’s a good idea,” he replied. “Sex is always a good idea.”
“Says the guy who’s had it with half the women in Manhattan.”
Her voice came out sharper than she intended. Jake had been in the process of putting his arm on the back of the bench, but he stopped, reversing directions and crumpling up his napkin in a fist instead.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” she said quietly.
“Why not? All the society pages do.”
“Since when have you cared about that?”
Jake remained stonily silent, and the easy camaraderie of the afternoon vanished. Suddenly she understood what Emma had meant when she’d said Grace was playing with fire by “going off the grid” instead of having lunch near the office, where they could at least pretend it was only for the sake of work.
But on an overcast day in the park where there was nobody to track their every movement, she had to face the truth.
She was here because she wanted to be.
“So, you know my nephews?” he asked, not looking at her. “The ones in the broken picture frame?”
“Sure. Jackson and Matt.”
His face had the oddest expression. “You remembered their names.”
“And?” This non-flirty Jake was always so weird.
“It’s their birthday next week. They’re two years and two days apart.”
Grace sat up straighter, clapping her hands together in excitement before she could stop herself. “And you want me to help shop for their gifts? I’m so in. My cousin Charlotte has five boys, and I always buy the best—”
Jake looked both exasperated and nervous. “No, I don’t want you to help shop, Grace. I mean, yeah, actually, that’d be great, but that’s not what I’m asking.”
She frowned. “I’m confused.”
He ran a hand over his jaw, looking half amused, half nervous. “You know, if I weren’t so damn terrified of this, this would put me in the lead in the competition. You’re being wildly dense right now.”
“Or you’re being wildly vague.”
He took a deep breath. “Ever been to Wisconsin?”
Understanding began to tickle at the base of her spine. Surely he wasn’t …
“No,” she said, relieved that she didn’t sound as breathless as she felt.
“Want to?”
Noooooooooo. Grace 2.0 was having a heart attack.
So was Grace 1.0, but for different, swoony reasons.
“What are you asking, Jake?”
His hand moved just slightly on the bench so his fingertips touched hers. The move was straight out of eighth grade, and all the sweeter for it. “I want you to come back home with me.”
“Why?”
It slipped out. Grace 2.0 wasn’t going down without a fight.
“Because I don’t think I can take another weekend of my sisters and mothers harping on me to ‘find a nice girl already.’ And … because I want you to.”
“For the website?” she asked quietly.
He swallowed. “I don’t know. Can we just see what happens?”
Grace 2.0 shook her head in resignation and went to make herself a drink. A stiff one.
“Okay,” Grace said herself softly.
The surprised relief on his face was enough to convince her she wasn’t making a mistake for which her heart would pay an awful price.
Almost.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The Malone house in Green Bay, Wisconsin, was charming. There was no other word for it.
Grace wasn’t ashamed to admit that her exposure to residences was limited to old-money mansions and variations of Manhattan tiny. Most of her childhood friends had lived in enormous homes with pool houses, and most of her adult friends lived in apartments of under a thousand square feet where in-home washers and dryers were about as common as polar bear sightings.
But this? This was almost clichéd in its adorableness. There were shutters and a handmade mailbox, and a fat cat lounged in the middle of the driveway, moving only when Jake honked rudely.
Even the Malone front yard was delightful. The lawn was perfectly groomed, the cheeky “Beware of Tiny Dog” sign was proudly placed, and the flower beds were overgrown and gorgeous.
In other words, the Malone house was big, and a little messy, and wonderful.
Even more wonderful was Jake when he saw his family home. He’d refused to tell any of his family members when his flight arrived, to save them the hassle of coming to the airport to pick him up, so instead he and Grace had rented a car.
He claimed this was also to give them a quick-getaway option, but she knew better.
He loved his family. Loved this home.
It had been clear the second he’d pulled into the driveway and she’d seen all the tension leave his shoulders. Seen the “city Jake” disappear from his face. Suddenly she could see the boy he must have been, running around the city, interviewing the neighbors, critiquing the lemonade stands and writing it up in the school paper …
“They’ll eat you alive, you know,” he said in response to her gushing as he wheeled their suitcases to the front door. “I thought I told you to lose the high heels. Between the kids, the dog, and my sisters, the shoes will never make it out of the house.”
“I thought you said your youngest sister was twenty-seven,” she said.
“Exactly.” He turned back to her, his expression unusually anxious. “So, um … Overall, my family’s great—a little overwhelming, but great.”
She smiled patiently and waited for whatever was coming next. Everyone had some kind of warning when it came to the parents. With hers it was not to mention politics. With Greg’s, it was don’t criticize the Pope. With Riley’s, you had to eat everything on your plate or else.
“My parents pretty much think I walk on water,” he said hesitantly.
As far as family warnings went, this one was tame, and she patted his arm. “That’s a good thing, Jake.”
