Page 6

RYAN

After this horrible fucking joke of a weekend, I’m happy to be back at work on Monday.

I knew I’d be seeing Blair soon. I mean, obviously, since I’m attending her wedding and all.

It’s not like it’s the first time I’ve seen her since our breakup.

She’s engaged to my stepbrother, so I’ve seen her at every holiday dinner and family gathering for the past two years.

And honestly, I’m over her, so it doesn’t even phase me.

But running into her here in Gatlinburg was a reminder of the life we used to share.

There was something unsettling about it.

Maybe because it’s proof that she’s moved on to bigger and better things, and I’m just doing the same old shit here in Tennessee.

Don’t get me wrong – I’m happy with the life I’ve built here.

I love my job and my house and my friends.

But for the first time in years, I wondered if I should be striving for a little bit more.

My thoughts are interrupted by a gentle knock on my office door, although it’s already wide open. When I glance up, Marlow is standing there.

She looks different today. I’ve never seen her with her hair pinned back before. I’ve also never seen her look so nervous. She’s wringing her hands together in front of her and looking everywhere but straight at me.

“Can I come in?” she asks gently.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

Marlow steps inside my office. I see the slow roll of her throat as she stares down at her hands. She’s embarrassed about what happened at the bar. I get it. I feel bad for her even. But I don’t think we need to rehash the whole thing.

“I just wondered if you wanted to grab some lunch?” Her voice is strained, and she cringes as the words hang between us.

“With you?”

“Yes.”

I chew this over for a minute. On one hand, it would be sort of entertaining to watch Marlow squirm through an apology, but on the other, we’d have to get through an hour-long lunch together. Alone. That doesn’t sound very promising.

“Listen,” I say with a sigh, “I know where you’re going with this, and you don’t need to worry about it. We can just forget about it, okay? No hard feelings.”

Something flashes across her face. Guilt, maybe? Or frustration? She’s so hard to read. Her shoulders slump and I think she’s about to turn and leave, but she takes another step forward instead.

“I appreciate you saying that, but I really think we need to talk, and the office isn’t the most appropriate place.”

My four least favorite words in the English language: We need to talk .

Marlow’s expression hardens as she stares down at me. I can tell that she isn’t going to back down. Leave it to her to be a pain in the ass even when it comes to apologizing for her fuck-ups.

“You’re not going to drop this, are you?”

She shakes her head.

“Alright, let’s go then.”

I stand up and grab my keys. Marlow follows me down the hallway and out to my truck. When I open the passenger door for her, I can tell that she is fighting the urge to ask where we’re going. She’s a picky eater – just another one of her pain-in-the-ass traits.

The rain picks up again as we make our way off the main drag through town. Neither of us makes any attempt to talk over the sound of the rain on the windshield.

Gatlinburg is a whole other world once you get out of downtown. There’s still the occasional obnoxious resort or attraction, but it’s mostly quiet forests with sporadic cabins and great views of the Smokies.

When I pull up to the Little Smoky Grill, Marlow shifts in her seat uncomfortably. It’s not the prettiest place; just a prefab cabin with a dirt parking lot and a hand-painted sign.

“Have you been here before?” Marlow asks tentatively. Her hand hovers over the buckle of her seatbelt.

“All the time. I live right down the road.”

I hop out of the truck. Marlow is still glancing around as if a Ritz Carlton might appear out of thin air.

Finally, she exits the truck and starts up the walkway.

When I hold the door open for her, she steps inside the building like she’s half expecting a landmine to detonate beneath her.

When she glances around, she looks sort of disappointed that she wasn’t blown up upon entry.

It’s pretty basic in here. The chairs don’t match, and the single-use red and white plaid tablecloths have outlived their prime.

But the food is good, and the owners are friends of mine.

“Hey, Ryan,” the hostess says. “Your usual table?”

I nod and we follow the hostess to a table in the far corner next to the window.

Once she walks back to the hostess stand, Marlow and I are faced with the reality that there are no distractions left.

To get through this lunch, we’re actually going to have to talk to one another.

And since she’s the one that insisted on doing this, I’m waiting for her to go first.

But Marlow is stalling, too.

She flips the menu open and starts reading it as if she’s determined to commit the entire thing to memory.

“Oh, they have vegetarian options,” she says. Her eyebrows are raised in surprise as her eyes flick up to meet mine.

“Yeah, one of the owners is vegan.”

I may not be thrilled to be eating lunch with Marlow, but I’m not such an asshole that I’d choose a place where she can’t eat anything.

After ordering our food, there’s no more stalling.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” I prod, even though I already know. Might as well get this over with. If we keep delaying, this lunch will last the rest of the day.

Marlow clears her throat and looks up at me.

“Well, I want to start by apologizing to you for how I acted on Friday night. I was just trying to play a joke on you, but it obviously backfired. It isn’t a good excuse, but I was pretty drunk and I just wasn’t thinking clearly.

I feel terrible for creating an awkward situation for you and your… friend.”

It’s the most rehearsed apology I’ve ever heard.

“It’s fine. Like I said, we can just pretend it never happened.”

“Okay,” she says. “So, that’s…it?”

“What else do you want me to say, Marlow?”

“I don’t know. I just figured you would be a little more upset than this.”

I shrug.

Marlow watches me for a long minute. I know what she’s trying to do. She’d rather I lose my temper with her than just forgive her. It fits better with the version of me that Marlow has created in her head.

The rest of lunch is tense and awkward. We mostly listen to each other chew. On the drive back to the office, we listen to radio commercials for insurance companies on full blast.

Pretty sure Marlow Stephens will not be asking me to lunch again anytime soon. And that suits me just fine.

Without a word, we both retreat to our offices for the rest of the afternoon.

A little while later, my phone chimes in my pocket. When I pull it out, Blair’s name pops up on the screen. Just what I fucking need today.

I click on the message, which reads: “I need your date’s full name for the place cards.”

Shit.

I could give her a different name, tell her that Marlow and I broke up.

I’m sure Blair would get a kick out of that.

She seems to think that my preference for single-night relationships is a testament to the fact that I’ve never found anyone else as amazing as her.

In reality, it’s a testament to the fact that our relationship was so bad that it scared me off from getting caught up in another one, at least for the foreseeable future.

Maybe I can find someone who bears a passing resemblance to Marlow and take her instead. Another leggy redhead who will agree to be my date to an out-of-town wedding in less than a week and to be called the wrong name the entire time.

So, basically Nicole Kidman with amnesia.

I’m so fucked.

Even if I could find someone else who vaguely resembled Marlow in this small town in the next few days, Blair would never buy it. I saw the way she glared at Marlow at the bar, taking stock of every perfection and every flaw. She’s already committed Marlow’s face to memory.

Admittedly, I sort of enjoyed that part. There was something satisfying about the look on Blair’s face as she assessed the woman on my arm that night. As much as I hate to admit it, Marlow doesn’t have a lot of flaws. Physically, at least. Her personality is another story.

The real question is: Will it be more annoying to spend one evening with Marlow, or a lifetime getting shit from my family for showing up to the wedding with a different woman?

I already know the answer, and I hate it.

On the short walk to Marlow’s office, I almost talk myself out of this a hundred times. The door to her office is open, but the room is empty. Maybe it’s a sign that this is a bad idea.

Just when I’m about to go back to my office and rethink this whole thing, a rustling noise catches my attention. At the end of the far hallway, Marlow is pulling boxes off the shelf in the storage room.

She’s too caught up in whatever she’s doing to notice me walking down the long hallway toward her. She has a box pulled halfway off the shelf and braced against her hip as she sifts through the contents.

“Hey, Marlow,” I say as I step into the doorway.

She jumps a little before glancing over at me. There’s a flash of confusion on her face before she returns my greeting with a simple, flat ‘Hey.’

Suddenly it occurs to me that she might say no. Even if Marlow feels guilty about the situation, she’s not obligated to help me fix it. Why would she want to? We aren’t even friends, and I wasn’t particularly nice to her at lunch. For the first time in years, I’m nervous to ask a woman out.

“Need help finding something?” I ask instead.

Marlow keeps digging through the box, not looking up at me as she answers, “Yeah, I’m looking for blank name tags for the interns that are starting next week.”

“Top shelf.”

I take a step forward and reach for a box on the highest shelf. This puts us a little too close for comfort. We each take a step back as I hand the box to her.

“Thanks,” she says quietly. Obviously, lunch didn’t do much to clear the air between us. In fact, she seems tenser than ever around me. We both stand there for a second, glancing anywhere but at each other. “Did you need something? Am I in your way?”

Marlow tries to step aside, but there’s nowhere to go in the cramped room.

“No, I just-”

I just came here to ask you on a fake date .

I close the supply closet door, effectively trapping us both inside. No one needs to overhear this. Marlow’s eyes widen with confusion. She glances around like she might need to make an emergency escape through the air duct.

Yeah, she’s definitely going to say no. Might as well get it over with.

“I just need to ask you something,” I finally say.

“Okay…”

“It’s going to be really awkward for us both.”

“Seems like that’s the theme of the day,” she laughs half-heartedly.

I laugh too, but it comes out weird and strained so I clear my throat as if that will somehow cancel out the other noise. Marlow pulls her eyebrows down, clearly trying to discern if I’m choking.

I am, but not in the way that requires the Heimlich maneuver.

What the hell is wrong with me right now? Blair must have really gotten in my head.

“So, my family thinks you’re my date to the wedding…”

“Right, and I’m very sorry about that, as I mentioned during lunch.”

“It’s fine, but I think it would just be easier if you…would be.”

“Would be what?” she asks.

It’s like she’s trying to make this as painful as possible.

Marlow shifts the weight of the large box in her hands. It’s like a timer – I know that my time’s up once she decides that she needs to go set it down somewhere. I reach out and grab the box from her to buy myself more time. She looks surprised and irritated by this gesture.

“My date,” I sigh. “To the wedding.”

“Oh,” she says with her eyebrows raised in obvious horror.

She’s mulling over a way to turn me down. I see it in the way her face softens and her lip catches between her teeth. Before she can launch into all the reasons that this is a bad idea (which would easily take the rest of the afternoon), I interject.

“It wouldn’t be a real date, of course. I’m just asking you to pretend for a few hours.” When she still looks like she is about to object, I add, “The way you did on Friday night. It didn’t seem to be a problem then.”

It’s a low blow. I know how bad she feels about Friday night, and I feel guilty for bringing it up again…but it’s my only hope of convincing her to go with me.

Marlow recognizes this tactic immediately. I see it in the way her gaze hardens and her lips purse together. Just when I think she might slap me, she forces a single word past her teeth: “Fine.”

“Really?”

“Yes, but under one condition,” she says.

“Anything.”

“If I do this, we’re even. I’ve atoned for my drunken mistake, and we never speak of it again.”

“Not a problem,” I say.

Marlow breaks our mutual stare by rolling her eyes and shifting her attention back to the boxes.

“Where do you want this?” I ask, nodding down at the box.

“My office.”

I balance the box in one arm while opening the door with the other. As I trot down the hall, Marlow lingers in the supply closet. I don’t look back to see what she’s doing.

After dropping the box off in her office, I head back to my own and pull my phone out of my pocket.

I type out a text message to Blair: Her name is Marlow Stephens .