Page 8 of Rematch

“What did you name your fish?” she asked, enthralled by everything this guy said.

“My dynamic duo are Johnny and June.”

“Perfect names, Romeo.”

He shook his head. “Uh, uh, uh. That’s BFG to you.”

Chelsea tried to restrain a shiver as he drew the tip of one finger along the side of her neck. “You know, now that you mentioned it, I have to admit, Walk the Line is another favorite movie.”

“A great flick,” he agreed, and they spent a good twenty minutes listing their top five movies each, debating their merits. He had great taste in films.

“I think it’s cool that you’re romantic,” she said. “Not many men would admit that.”

He chuckled, even as he shrugged. “Never really seen much use in hiding who I am from others or pretending to be something I’m not. I have no problem confessing to my romantic nature, though lately, I’m wondering if I should throw the word ‘hopeless’ in front of it.”

Chelsea tilted her head. “Why hopeless?”

“Because I’m thirty-five years old and haven’t met the woman of my dreams yet. Starting to feel like I’m never going to manage to make that magical trip down the aisle.”

“That’s not a bad thing.” Even Chelsea could hear the outright bitterness in her tone.

BFG frowned, confused. “It’s not?”

“Oh my God. Ignore me. I didn’t mean to sound so jaded. It’s just…” She shut up because this conversation was hard enough to have with people who’d been there and witnessed her mortification.

“It’s just what?” he prodded.

Chelsea bit her lip, then surprised herself when she replied. “I was supposed to get married last June.”

She saw the faint look of confusion on his face. “But you didn’t?”

She shook her head. “No. My fiancé…well, my ex is the more accurate term now…didn’t show up.”

BFG scowled. “What do you mean, he didn’t show up? To the wedding?”

Chelsea grinned at his vehemence, wondering what it was about this man that made him so easy to talk to.

Perhaps it was because she didn’t know him—not even his name.

Or because she didn’t live in Philadelphia, so the chances they’d run into each other again were practically nil.

Or maybe it was because of this undeniable, unexpected connection she felt to him.

Despite the fact they were strangers, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew him on some instinctual level.

“He sent a text to his best man a few minutes before the ceremony was supposed to start and said he couldn’t do it. He’d fallen in love with someone else.”

“What the fuck? Are you kidding me?! Who does something like that to someone? He couldn’t tell you that before the wedding day?”

Chelsea was touched by his anger on her behalf. “It was a dick move,” she agreed.

“Jesus, Joy. I’m sorry. That must have been so rough on you.”

She tried to brush it off with a casual shrug and self-effacing grin. “I’ve had better years.”

“Yeah, well, anyone who would do that…” He shook his head, still fired up. “He’s a fucking douchebag. You’re better off without him.”

Chelsea had heard that comment no less than a million times from countless well-meaning friends, but she’d never really felt like she was. Not really. She’d been in love with Rick since ninth grade, and when she saw her future, it was always with him. It probably didn’t help that his mother and hers had joked from the time they were kids right up until that failed wedding that they’d been “betrothed” since birth. Trying to reconfigure her life without him had been one of the hardest things she’d ever done, even after the hurt he caused.