Do I Know You?(24)

David, I realize, is a huge romantic.

“So, random question,” I start genially, “but, uh, how many times have you been in love, David?”

David looks up, unperturbed. “Twenty times.”

My eyes widen. I haven’t even been on dates with twenty different women. I keep my voice even while David presses his palms together, looking tense. “This is twenty-one, then. Blackjack,” I joke weakly. When David seems unamused, I go on seriously. “That’s a lot of heartbreak, man.”

His expression drawn, David nods solemnly. “Yeah, it hurts every time a relationship falls apart. But . . .” He regains his boyish enthusiasm. “I’m pumped for the next one no matter what.”

I smile. I can’t help being charmed by David’s love of love, even if it sounds exhausting to me. “Okay, then,” I venture. “Let’s figure out how you can get to know this woman—your soul mate—better. You said you saw her on a hike this afternoon and now a run. So, she’s outdoorsy?” I reach for the Treeline Resort schedule on the nightstand. “Maybe we can find her at one of tomorrow’s outdoor events.” I remember the brochures from the receptionist and posters in the lobby—guided hikes, wildlife experiences.

David looks once more struck by lightning. “Yes! You’re a genius.” Before I can start reading the schedule, David speaks again. “How many times have you been in love?”

I pause. I know what I would say if I were playing my usual part, how the investment banker David knows would boast of his expansive romantic history. I could cleave to my playboy-ish part the way I’ve done this entire night.

But I can’t. Not on this. “Only once,” I say. “My wife.” I can’t help sounding sad, remembering how she won’t even spend our anniversary in the same bed with me at the end of the week.

“Seems like Eliza might change that, though?” David says encouragingly.

I blink, trying to reconcile reality with performance. It’s confusing, remembering how the Eliza David’s referring to isn’t the wife he thinks I mean—or she is, but not to him.

When I look up from the floor, guilt hits me. David’s watching me with such earnestness, right on the heels of having bared the secrets of his heart to me. In fact, in the twenty-four hours we’ve known each other, David’s been nothing but honest, openhearted, and generous with his friendship.

Folding the brochure in my hands, I decide right then— I can’t keep deceiving him. Even if it’s harmless, I don’t want to lie to David. I like the guy. What’s more, I’m starting to realize how nice it might be to have one real, uncomplicated friend here. I breathe in slowly, meeting his inquisitive gaze.

“Eliza is my wife,” I say.

David’s brows understandably furrow in confusion. “Eliza . . .” he repeats. “The woman you met yesterday?”

Part of me wishes we hadn’t left the bar. A drink would very much help me divulge what I need to. “Yes,” I say. “We’ve been married for five years, but things haven’t been great between us recently. When we got here, one thing led to another, and now we’re staying in separate rooms and pretending we’re different people who’ve never met.” I rush the ending, knowing the confession is ridiculous, like I’m telling him I time-traveled from the future.

Despite my expectations, David only grins. “Oh, I get it,” he replies, not goading, but genuinely enthusiastic. “This is like role-playing, right? Spicing things up in the bedroom?”

“We’d have to share a bedroom for that,” I mutter miserably. I shift in my seat, suddenly feeling like my every muscle is pulled tight. “Eliza thinks it’ll get us out of our rut, help us reconnect. Maybe it will, I don’t know.” I stare out the window of David’s suite, into the formless dark. “I still feel in way over my head.”

Reclining on the chair, one leg crossed over his knee, David nods. He’s really considering this, pensive like the senior partners when I bring them my questions on case strategy. I have to recognize what a good guy he is for rolling with the reveal I just dropped on him without laughing or judging me.

His eyes return to me, clear and decisive. “I know what you have to do.” My hopes lift, even while I half expect David to pitch some rom-com-ready grand gesture. He goes on. “You love her, right? You want to fix your marriage?”

“Yes, and more than anything,” I say. Finally, easy questions.

“Then it’s simple.” He stands, looking renewed. Pulling the brochure deftly out of my hands, he unfolds the pages and nods once. “We’re going to go on tomorrow’s hike down to the beach, where we will hopefully encounter my soul mate,” he informs me, decisively, like a general giving out battle plans. “And you need to ask your wife out on a date.”





13


    Eliza


I LIE UNDER the crisp sheets of my bed, trying to position my feet somewhere cool. Usually, I love hotel beds. The heavy plush of the comforter, the calming uniformity of the white sheets, the piles of pillows. Tonight, however, everything is wrong. I’ve turned over three times, stuck my elbows out in strange directions, shifted my feet like I’m treading water. Nothing works. I’m hopelessly uncomfortable for one very frustrating reason.