The Good Widow(19)
I pick at my fingernail. Because that is why I came here. But now, sitting here on his stark white barstool, drinking out of a beveled glass she might have once pressed to her lips too, I’m not so sure.
“But I’ll also understand if you came here to tell me no. I would never want you to do something you’re not ready for. If you would rather not know, I’ll respect your decision.”
But the thing is, despite my fears, I do want to know more. Nick is saying all the things I’d been thinking long before he showed up on my doorstep. I’ll take the emails, and I’ll read them. I’ll probably be up all night going through them. But there’s something I’m not sure I can discover unless I go to Hawaii. Had it been the old James, the one I’d fallen in love with, who’d taken her there?
I look out the kitchen window at the Irvine skyline and watch a plane descend, slow and steady, into John Wayne Airport. “Give me twenty-four hours to take care of a few things,” I say.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
DYLAN—BEFORE
Dylan, Dylly, Dyl, D,
What will my secret nickname be for you? I think it should be belleza, which means beautiful in Spanish. Because everything about you is—especially those eyes. God, I can’t stop thinking about those vibrant blue gems. They belong in a painting, or on a doll; they’re almost ethereal. I know how I must sound, but there’s something about you that makes me into a guy who would describe a woman like that. A girl who consumes me, who makes me throw caution to the wind. Who makes me not care what happens next as long as it’s happening beside you.
James,
You’re the one with the eyes. So green. I’m not a master of words like you. I could never describe how they jump out at me when I see them (in a good way), but they are gorgeous. Just like you.
Belleza,
I miss you. It’s killing me that I had to cancel on you this week. I’m sorry. I will try again soon. I know it’s been a long time. But I promise to make it up to you.
Belleza,
Did you get my texts today? I’m sorry. You don’t deserve to be kept waiting. It’s just hard to get away after I’m already gone so much. You know?
James,
I did get your texts, but wanted to think. Maybe it’s just too much. Too hard. Maybe we should stop.
Belleza,
Don’t say that. Let me take you out tomorrow night. I’ll figure it out. But I promise you I’ll make it happen. It’s this Mexican place that’s way out of the way and has the best margaritas you’ve ever had. Please say yes.
James,
God, why is it always so hard to say no to you? Of course I’ll go—and I’ll wear that dress . . .
Belleza,
I thought about you all night. How much I can’t wait for our trip to Maui. I can’t believe I hadn’t thought of it before—going away on vacation together! I’ve decided I’ll tell her I’m going on a work trip. Kansas or somewhere lame like that. LOL. Not that she cares where I’m going anyway. And don’t stress—I’ll take care of everything. Just bring your skimpiest suit and those eyes as payment. xo
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
JACKS—AFTER
I glance sideways at Nick as he stares out the window, the Pacific Ocean and coastline disappearing behind the fluffy white clouds as we ascend. When he arrived in a cab to take us to LAX this morning, he looked different—less I’m a biker dude and more I’m a biker dude going on a job interview. He’d shaved, a small cut on his chin showing where he’d nicked himself. His dark wavy hair was neatly combed and still wet from the shower. Gone was his leather jacket, replaced with a chocolate-brown blazer. Only his worn leather cowboy boots seemed to have made the cut. I shift awkwardly in my pale-green sundress, wishing I’d worn something less I’m going on a tropical vacation! and more I’m a grieving widow looking for answers.
“You okay?” He turns toward me, opening and closing the safety instruction card while never bothering to look at it.
For a moment, the timing of his question makes me wonder if I’ve said my thoughts out loud. “Yes, are you?” I counter, glancing at the card in his lap, the word Emergency in bold red letters, a picture of a woman with a yellow oxygen mask over her face below it.
“Just nervous, I guess,” he says, running his hand through his thick hair.
“Hate to fly?”
He gives me a confused look, then realizes I’m looking at the safety instructions he’s holding and returns them to the seat pocket in front of him. “No. About the trip.”
“You seemed so confident yesterday,” I say, then backpedal after I see the hurt look in his eyes. “Sorry. I know this is a roller coaster. And now it’s about to get very real.”
He turns toward me, his face so close I can smell the coffee on his breath. “I’m just scared.”
“I know. Me too.”
“She was going to be my future,” he says quietly. “I don’t know who I am without her.” He pauses when the flight attendant stops next to us with a drink cart. We both shake our heads no when she asks if we’d like a beverage. “I bought these matching T-shirts for us once. Mine said I’m hers with one of those arrows so if she stood next to me . . .” He doesn’t finish his thought, and I say that I’ve seen them. He finally continues. “And hers said—”