Authors: Stacey Wiedower
But at least he was here, in Utah at a ski resort. At least he had hobbies.
She scooped in bites of broiled fish as fast as reasonably possible, not too tough since this week of skiing left her famished by dinnertime each night. While they ate, she let Christian do most of the talking, and it was his hobbies that monopolized the conversation. He'd didn't care for skiing, but he loved the mountains, so he'd come here the past three winters to "meet new people" and enjoy the views.
"And to read," he said, wiping his mouth with his cloth napkin. "I love westerns. I've read twenty-two books so far this season."
"That's cool," Erin said, thinking it was
so
not as she turned her eyes to the asparagus spears on her plate. She wished a hole would open in the floor that would drop her straight onto the sofa in the comfy, rustic living room of her and Sherri's unit at the lodge.
At least, she thought, this night was
so
dull, so spectacularly, mind-numbingly, disastrously dull, that it would make for an interesting blog post.
Thank God for silver linings.
* * *
"Do you think Ben's going to marry Catherine?"
The question came out of nowhere, catching Erin off guard. She'd been in the midst of lifting her mug to take a drink of creamy hot chocolate spiked with Bailey's. Her hand stopped in mid-air, her neck stretched forward and her lips already pursed in anticipation of the sip.
She looked at Sherri with wide eyes. "Why? Has he said something to you?"
Sherri laughed. "Relax, honey. No. He hasn't said a word—I don't ever really talk to him without you, right?" She studied Erin from the other end of the sofa, blowing on her own mug. "I was just thinking they've been living together for a while now. We're at that age…you know?"
Erin harrumphed. Boy, did she ever know.
She didn't answer, lost in thought. Ben and Cat
had
been together for a long time now, much longer than he might have felt "required" to stay with her after Catherine's family tragedy, Erin thought, and she generally tried to avoid wondering why. It wasn't as if she hadn't considered the idea that Ben might marry Cat, but it somehow seemed more plausible now that she knew someone
else
was considering it.
"I…don't know," Erin said. "I guess I haven't really thought about it."
"Sure you haven't," Sherri said in a dry tone, never one to let pretense fly. She took a sip of hot chocolate, her face thoughtful. "I still can't believe you two have never talked about that night. That isn't healthy, you know." She gave Erin a pointed look.
"It shouldn't have happened," Erin said. "We're friends, end of story. So I guess in that sense, there was nothing to talk about." Her voice contained a "case closed" warning Sherri chose to ignore.
"Bullshit," she said. "Here you are, going to
greeaaat
lengths to meet men"—Erin had just finished filling Sherri in on her date with Christian, who'd had the gall to ask her back to his lodge after dinner, during which he'd eaten agonizingly slow and then ordered a dessert with two spoons—"when you've got this awesome guy who is
perfect
for you, and who's
admitted
he's in love with you, just sitting—"
Erin cut her off. "He's not just sitting there, available, Sher. He is
living with
his girlfriend. And he's not in love with me, either. I…I'm not sure what that was. I think he just said it because he didn't want me to end up raising a baby alone."
She believed Ben's excuse now. There was no other explanation for his behavior toward her since the night he'd spent at her apartment. He was still talking to her as much as ever, but he was treating her more like a friend—no, more like a kid sister—than he ever had before. If he touched her, it was a mock punch on the shoulder or a tousle of her hair. No more casual arm over the shoulders or cuddling on the couch, not that they'd had that opportunity again. The only times she'd seen him in the past two months, either Cat had been with him or they'd met at the park to train—he'd finally started calling her again to run. Once, Catherine had even joined them on a run. To Erin's surprise, Ben had registered for the Austin race too, and to her chagrin, so had Catherine. Cat had signed on for the half even though she claimed she "wasn't much of a runner."
So unless Erin could find a way out of it, it looked like they'd be making a road trip together next month.
What a cozy threesome.
"I don't think he'd do that," Sherri said, and Erin jumped, for one confused second thinking Sherri meant a threesome. Then she realized she hadn't said that out loud. She screwed up her face in disgust, trying not to laugh.
"I think it's the only explanation," Erin argued once she'd regained control of her expression. "Besides, he said it himself."
"I know he did," Sherri said. "Because he's just as hard-headed as you are."
Erin glared at her and reached forward to set her drink on a coaster on the rough-hewn coffee table. The condo looked the part for its woodsy setting, with exposed log walls and natural wood finishes. The kitchen was modern, with granite countertops and sleek cabinetry, but appliances were tucked behind rustic wood panels. In the living room where Erin and Sherri sat, a stone fireplace extended from the floor to a two-story cathedral ceiling. Massive plate glass windows on either side offered a breathtaking view of the mountains, barely visible now in the moonlit haze.
"Tell me about that guy you met at breakfast this morning," Erin said in a bright voice, pointedly changing the subject. "Does he give Alex a run for his money?" Sherri had broken up with Brandon after Alex, the musician they'd met in France, texted her to hook up just before Christmas. They'd had a long-distance thing going ever since.
Sherri stared at Erin for a few seconds and then slowly shook her head.
"Just call you Cleopatra," she sang in a mock-country twang. "'Cause you're the queen of denial."
Occupational Hazards
The following Tuesday, Erin gave a final, quick proofread to her latest feature story for the magazine and clicked "send." Her editors had been so pleased with her first couple of pieces that they'd continued assigning her articles, eventually taking her off The Ledger and putting it in the hands of other interns.
Her status had changed from intern to "contributing editor," a contract position Kyle offered when her official internship period ended. In her new role, she worked from home and only went into the office for monthly editorial meetings.
She loved the flexibility of working for herself. She'd thought she loved the structure and security her teaching job had offered—and with summers off, it
had
come with its perks. But now she could take days off any time she wanted, which was even better.
She rolled back in her newly acquired desk chair, which she'd bought at Ikea along with a desk she'd squeezed into a corner of her room, and stared off into space for a couple minutes, reveling in the relief of meeting a deadline. Her next assignment was a piece about late-twenties career changers for an online pub that targeted Millennials. Apparently she wasn't alone—one-third life crises were becoming quite the trend.
She snickered to herself. Thanks to her blog and newfound writing career, she was considered a "success story." That's what the editor who'd granted the assignment had called her, but Erin knew "work in progress" was closer to the truth.
At least she was feeling good about work these days, which was a big improvement from where she'd been six months earlier. She pushed up to her laptop and opened a new document, jotting down some of these thoughts for her article.
About an hour later, she was heavily into her work when she heard a knock at her front door. Erin glanced at the clock in the corner of her screen…1:42 p.m. "Mmm, weird," she muttered, feeling annoyed as she stood and stretched. She padded into the living room and peeked through the keyhole. She vaguely wondered if someone was sending her flowers again, but she didn't know who it could be this time.
She swung the door open. "Devon!" She stared up at him. "What are you doing here?"
He held up a brown paper sack. "Bringing reinforcements?" he said. "I figured you were so busy you weren't making time to eat." He grinned. "Plus, I'd almost forgotten what you look like."
He gave her a once-over, and Erin felt the fingers of his gaze brush along her body. She smiled sheepishly. "I'm sorry I haven't called lately. Work, the list, you know. The usual suspects."
That, and she still didn't trust herself when he was around. She opened the door wider, ushering him into the room along with her misgivings. She took the bag from his outstretched hands. "What'd you bring?"
She started opening the bag as she headed into the kitchen, Devon just behind her. He shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned into the countertop as she busied herself taking down plates and glasses from the cabinets. She decided to use Sherri's blue Fiesta dishes, the nicest of their dinnerware options.
"I picked up some wraps and soup from The Daily Organic," he said, shrugging. "I remembered you saying last time we talked that you hadn't done the vegetarian thing yet from your list. Thought maybe this could kick things off?"
Erin laughed. She'd been saving that list item up for a couple of reasons. One, she was a firm member of the carnivore category. She didn't know how she'd give up burgers for any significant period of time, plus she'd never been a big veggie lover. Two, she wanted to use the item for a blog date—although eating a veggie wrap now didn't mean she couldn't do that.
Hell, maybe I'll start this week
. She had a date Saturday with another set-up whose friend had sent her a message through the blog. She hadn't figured out what list item she could do with him yet, so dinner at a vegan restaurant might work out nicely.
"You knew I needed to be forced into it," she said. "Thanks for that."
His mouth curved in a slow smile. "I've watched you enjoy food a few times," he said. "I like it best watching you eat
my
food, but I figured if I invited you over you'd turn me down."
Erin flushed. Boy, had he called her on that one. On all of it, actually. She started mentally figuring out ways to keep the afternoon from getting out of hand and paused in setting the kitchen table.
"You want to take this stuff to the park?" she asked. "I can grab a blanket and some Cokes. Just let me shut down my computer and we can go—"
"You're afraid to be alone with me," Devon said, his smile twisting into a smirk.
"Oh, hell yeah, I am." She narrowed her eyes. "You set a seduction scene like nobody's business." She swept a hand across the kitchen, toward the food she'd spread over the countertop. "And you know the best way to get to me, too."
He chuckled. "Guilty."
Devon walked over to stand beside her, reaching into the bag and pulling out their sandwiches. He began removing the wrappers and busied himself putting them on plates. "I promise to behave myself," he said, raising the hairs on Erin's arm as his hand brushed hers.
She opened the silverware drawer and pulled out spoons for the soup, then gave him a sideways look. "Now why do I have trouble believing that?"
He laughed.
When they sat down with their food, Erin realized they had a lot to catch up on—she hadn't seen him since a few weeks before her ski trip. She wasn't keeping her distance on purpose, necessarily, but ever since her night with Ben, she'd been avoiding situations that would put her alone with any man. If she'd learned anything in the past nine months, it was that sex complicated everything, and she didn't have room for complications right now.
"How was U2?" he asked right as she took a bite of her sandwich.
"Amazing," she said with her mouth full, and they both laughed.
"Sounded like it," he said, giving her a pointed look.
"Yeah, well, I'm sorry I had to take a stranger," she said. "Story of my life right now, I'm afraid."
"So you say." He winked at her. "How much longer do you have with these thirty dates, anyway?" His voice was casual.
Too casual.
"Why? You waiting around on me?" Her tone was also light, but Devon shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
Erin looked at him with mild alarm.
Is he jealous?
Was Devon doing the same thing as Paul—waiting for her to "finish" her experiment—just being more patient about it?
He raised his eyebrows but didn't answer.
"You know my birthday's in June," Erin said. "So what is that? Like, four and half more months?" The thought startled her. She was on track to finish her list before the deadline, but watching the calendar creep toward June 14 was still unnerving.
"Are you still seeing any of the other guys you've met from the blog?" he asked.
Okay, he's definitely jealous.
"Actually, no," she said. "Except you. And Ben, of course."
When her mind strayed to Ben, a faraway look came into her eyes. She'd talked to him that morning—he'd called on his way to work and asked her to run with him the next afternoon. The race was a little more than four weeks away, and for
that
, she felt far less prepared.
"And how is Ben doing these days?" Devon asked, breaking into her thoughts. His voice sounded tight.
"Fine, I guess," Erin answered dully. "He's still playing house with Dr. Catherine Thackery." She made her voice deep as she said Catherine's name, wrinkling her nose.
"You don't like her?" Devon guessed. "I guess that shouldn't come as a surprise."
"Why?" she asked, and her breath caught in her throat. Did Devon suspect what had happened between her and Ben? Did anybody else?
He paused for a few seconds before answering. "Because he's your best friend," he said finally. "That's bound to make you critical."
Erin relaxed slightly, relieved. "Right," she answered. "I guess that's true."
She paused, thinking over his statement. "It's not that I don't like her. I don't really know her." She felt a new stab of pain from the place where she'd buried her guilt about the night she'd spent with Ben—the night she'd lost the right to dislike Catherine. "She just…moved in kind of fast. I worry about him." That, at least, was the full truth.