Had To Be You Page 2

  “I ordered some food from that place down the street,” he said. “It should be here any minute, if you’re hungry.”

  “No, thanks anyway,” Rory said, smiling absently as she rubbed her arms.

  The apartment had an open floor plan, with hints of expensive designer touches blended into a sleek urban loft space. All around, floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the cement-and-steel structures of the city skyline. Rory always imagined she felt a draft even though the windows were sealed shut. Of course, that might be because she was more used to the cozy, cramped clutter of her shoebox-sized apartment, furnished in the early contemporary design of IKEA.

  “Did you get dinner with your friend?”

  “We picked at some appetizers.”

  “Well, that was just one of my producers on the phone. He was telling me about some great spa resort in the Berkshires, less than an hour away from the theatre. I’ve actually been wishing I could take some time off and recharge my batteries.” He smiled, resting his hands on her shoulders. “How amazing would that be? Spend a long summer weekend in the country, go hiking, soak in a hot tub, or never leave the privacy of our own luxury suite. You’re from Massachusetts. Have you ever been?”

  Rory shook her head. It was true she was from Massachusetts, but one of the easternmost points of the state, with the vivid blue ocean instead of rolling green hills as her backyard.

  “So let’s go.”

  “Hmm…” she said with a small, uncertain smile. “Well, of course it sounds nice, but my schedule isn’t quite as flexible as yours.”

  “You do get such a thing as vacation time—don’t you?”

  Her head was beginning to throb slightly with the flow of leftover tequila, and she lifted her hand to rub at her temple.

  “I suppose.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah…just getting a headache, I think.”

  “Are you sure you aren’t coming down with something?” He took a step back. “Because you know I can’t afford to get sick right now.”

  She lifted her long hair from the nape of her neck. Now she was feeling something else; a creeping sense of claustrophobia setting her on edge.

  “There’s aspirin in the medicine cabinet if you need it,” he offered, frowning in concern.

  She nodded in acknowledgement, but rather than head down the hall to the bathroom, she turned towards his bedroom. Her large canvas-and-leather tote still sat on his dresser, full of temporary things. She grabbed it and came back out to the living room.

  “You know what? I think I’m just going to go.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, I’m tired. It’s been a long week. I can’t even remember the last time I slept in my own bed.” She tried to justify. “All I really want to do is just curl up under the covers, you know?”

  “And you can’t do that here?”

  “You steal all the covers, remember?”

  “All right, I guess.” He sighed dubiously, and then reached out to pull her closer. “But we’re okay?”

  “Of course,” Rory assured him before stepping lightly out of his arms and heading towards the door. “I’ll just talk to you tomorrow.”

  “Okay, tomorrow then,” Jonathan called after her.

  ***

  It was only after she changed out of her work clothes and into boxers and an old baseball jersey, hair pulled off her face in a high ponytail and cheeks scrubbed clean, that Rory could even think about her mail.

  The envelopes were all piled atop the old pinewood chest that served as a bench in her apartment’s front hallway. As promised, Sarah had been emptying it from her box downstairs and delivering it here. For a long moment, Rory could only regard it all with a baleful stare.

  Now she was ready. Or almost ready, that is.

  Carrying it all with her to the kitchen counter, Rory first poured a big glass of wine. Then, with that securely in hand, she began the daunting task of sorting through.

  Bill, sales flyer, magazine, bill, takeout menu, appointment reminder, credit card offer, bill, bill—oh, no.

  Hiding behind a long gulp, Rory eyed the corner of the offending cream-colored envelope jutting from the pile. Then, in gradual increments, she slid it out, grabbed the entire bottle of wine, and wandered out to the tiny living room area. Curling up on the edge of the short sofa, she placed the wine on the floor and tucked her feet up.

  Her own name looked strange to her eyes, foreign somehow, in the fanciful, chocolate brown calligraphy script. Maybe it wasn’t even her name. Maybe Sarah inadvertently picked up someone else’s mail. Perhaps this was all just a big mistake.

  Rory grabbed her phone, never without it in close proximity. Sarah had been her upstairs neighbor for the past year, moving to New York right after college just as Rory had done. Finding themselves both in the same position, facing a brand new life in the big city, they’d formed a quick bond.

  She was relieved to hear her answer on the second ring.

  “Hey. It’s me.”

  “Hello, stranger!” Sarah’s proper British accent lilted up in happy surprise. “How’ve you been?”

  “Right now?” Rory narrowed her eyes in consideration. “I’m feeling a little bit like yesterday’s crap, served-up cold.”

  “Graphic, to the point, I like it,” Sarah replied without missing a beat. “You want to feel better? I’m currently watching my DVDs of ER whilst eating a half a tube of chocolate chip cookie dough straight from the plastic wrapper.”

  “That’s not so bad.”

  “Ten minutes ago this tube of cookie dough was lying in my kitchen trash barrel.”

  Rory grimaced. “Okay, you might have me there.”

  “Mm-hmm. So, I’m sitting here right now watching Doug Ross valiantly attempt to convince Carol Hathaway that he’s changed and therefore now worthy of her affection. I mean, she has George Clooney—George bloody Clooney, no less—bending over backwards because she makes him want to be a better man. I couldn’t inspire my two-timing ex-boyfriend to even want to be merely adequate.”

  “First of all,” Rory pointed out, the phone balanced in the crook of her neck as she held the envelope up to the lamp as if it might reveal some secret code. “I’m well aware of your ongoing education in American serialized television, all that relevant pop culture you missed in your formative years, but I think you may be starting to mistake it for real life.”

  “Oh, how could it possibly get any realer than Real Housewives, I ask!”

  “Second of all,” she continued, “Philip never deserved you when you were with him, so he certainly doesn’t deserve your time or thoughts now.”

  “I suppose,” Sarah conceded. “So, not staying at Jonathan’s tonight?”

  “No, I feel like I’ve been living out of my bag too long. It’s more convenient to work, and his place is probably four times the size of mine, but it gets kind of close there, you know?”

  “Uh-oh.”

  Rory hesitated, and her frown deepened. “What?”

  “You tell me. Feeling a bit crowded, like those walls are closing in? You have to admit, these are some classic signs.”

  “Signs of what?”

  “That you might be getting ready to bolt.”

  “That’s not true. I’m very happy with Jonathan.”

  If that were really true, however, Rory suspected the contents of this envelope wouldn’t matter quite this much.

  “As was I, with Philip,” Sarah concurred wryly. “But that didn’t magically turn him into a prince. Nor did it give him anything resembling George Clooney’s ass, circa season three.”

  Rory smiled. “On that note, I think I’m going to say goodnight.”

  “And I should head to bed, too. I’ve just about wrapped up the nineties medical dramas here. Soon I can transfer from Cook County General to Seattle Grace and watch the first season of Grey’s Anatomy on Netflix.”

  “Thanks again for getting my mail.”

  “Not at all. And if you
feel like heading out to the gym on Saturday morning, give me a ring. I’ll promptly dissuade you of that idea, and we can go out to breakfast and shopping instead.”

  “Okay. Goodnight.”

  “Wish me sweet McDreamys.”

  Although she originally intended to ask her friend to come downstairs, in need of some moral support, now Rory only felt a little foolish and kind of sad. No one could help her avoid the inevitable.

  Her smile slowly faded once she placed the phone down, eyes drawn back to the envelope. Taking a deep, shaky breath, she finally slid her thumbnail under the flap, tearing it open right along with her heart.

  TWO

  Sucking in a soft, shaky breath, she listened as the phone rang again and again. Finally, someone picked up.

  “Trevor?”

  “Yeah.” His voice was low and groggy, tangled up in sleepy confusion. “Is this Rory?”

  “Yes,” she said and sniffed, wiping the hot tears that leaked out onto her cheeks. “Is Jill there?”

  “Ah, yeah.” He coughed as if to clear the drowsiness from his throat. “I hope she is, anyway. Everything okay?”

  Rory’s bottom lip trembled. “I just really need to talk to her.”

  “Oh, here she is, on the couch.” Trevor sounded relieved. Then his tone shifted, softening as he addressed his girlfriend. “Babe? You okay?”

  Rory could hear Jill say something about being uncomfortable and unable to sleep.

  “You should’ve woken me. Is there anything I can do?” Trevor asked her.

  This time Jill’s reply carried through more clearly.

  “If you could grow a uterus and take over here for these last couple of months, that would be great, thanks.”

  Rory might have been able to smile at this, but his next words caused her eyes to fill with tears again.

  “Hey—Rory’s on the phone.” He neglected to mute the volume on his whisper. “She sounds upset. And maybe a little drunk.”

  “Rory?” Jill was immediately on the line. “Is everything okay?”

  “No.” She sniffed again, empty bottle of wine on the floor at her feet, a tissue clutched in her phone hand and the ripped, cream-colored envelope crumpled in the opposite fist. She gulped back a choked sob. “It’s here!”

  “What’s here?”

  “The invitation!” Rory cried, and then tried to compose herself. “I never thought he was really going to marry her!”

  Jill’s reply held a slight touch of dismay. “Oh, dear.”

  “I can’t let him do it.” She swallowed back her tears, shaking her head defiantly. “I can’t let him go.”

  “Aw, sweetie…” Jill sighed. “You already kinda did. A long time ago.”

  “No. No, I have to tell him.” Rory straightened, taking a deep breath. “I have to tell him he can’t—that I still—I can’t let him get married! I’m going back home tomorrow.”

  “Look, I know you’re upset, but let’s not break with reality here. The last thing you ever want to do is turn your life into a Julia Roberts movie. You cannot do that to him. Matt has always respected your happiness, Rory. And, I know this is hard, but you’re really going to have to try to do the same. If you care about him at all, you need to think very carefully before you do something that could be devastating to both of you. Don’t let an overly emotional moment—not that I’m saying you’re not entitled to one, by the way—ruin a whole lifetime of friendship.”

  Rory closed her burning, achy eyes with a shaky sigh of resignation.

  “Do you want me to come over?” Jill asked.

  “No…it’s okay.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, really,” she said. “I feel bad enough right now that I even woke you up. And please tell Trevor I’m sorry for calling so late. Let’s just forget this ever happened, okay?”

  “Already forgotten,” Jill assured her. “It will go right in the vault along with the time our washing machine broke down and Trevor had to wear a pair of my maternity panties to work.”

  Rory managed to laugh a little at this, but the effort was exhausting. Her chest ached with a strange, dull pain, and she was suddenly very, very tired.

  “Thanks, Jill. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Okay. Good night.”

  ***

  Jill clicked off the phone and exhaled loudly, shaking her head.

  “What was that all about?” Trevor came back into the room and dropped into the chair across from her. He had a pint of ice cream in his hand. “Is she upset because Matt is marrying Amanda? Doesn’t she like her?”

  “No, it’s not that, really,” Jill replied, gazing out the window. A smudge of moonlight was barely visible in the nighttime sky above the buildings across the street. “Rory doesn’t even know Amanda. They’ve never met. She’s just upset Matt is getting married, period. There’s a long history there, you know. Once upon a time…well, they were pretty close. They were best friends, each other’s first loves, you name it.”

  Trevor always tried to play it off like he was barely interested in gossip, above it all even, but when they were alone he definitely took a sort of conspiratorial delight in getting the scoop on Jill’s small hometown crowd. He himself had never experienced just how tight some childhood ties could bind.

  “I guess I recall you telling me that.” Swallowing a mouthful of ice cream, he frowned. “So, is she just jealous he found someone else? Or does she still have feelings for him?”

  “Who knows?” Jill replied with another yawn, propping her elbow on the back of the couch to rest her head in her hand. “Rory Finn is a very complicated girl. Believe me, she makes me look easy.”

  “Maybe we shouldn’t talk about how easy you look, love,” he murmured as he dug his spoon in, trying to hide a grin, “when you’re sitting there all knocked-up.”

  “Give me that ice cream and I might just forget you said that.”

  ***

  Matt stepped out of his office, his gaze quickly scanning the polished brass fixtures as he made his way out to the front. He took note of how close they were to being ready to open.

  This would only be his second summer in operation, actually his first full summer, since they didn’t open until almost July of the previous year. He threw a huge opening night bash back then, inviting all investors, local merchants, members of his family and friends far and wide. He hoped to do the same this summer on the bar’s first anniversary, but now he had a party of a whole different kind coming up and it required his full attention.

  As if on cue, he spotted the lovely brunette making her way up the bright and sunny boardwalk out front. Her hair was smoothed into a loose twist at the nape of her neck and her short dress enhanced her graceful legs; everything about her cool and elegant.

  “Hi, hon.”

  “Hey,” he greeted her with a grin, bowing his head for a kiss. “I didn’t know you were coming by this morning.”

  She reached into her tote to pull out her slim, pink phone. Her fingertip lightly glided across the screen.

  “This will be quick and painless, I promise,” Amanda assured him. “It’s the final selections for the appetizer menu and I just wanted to make sure you thought the prices they quoted here are all reasonable before I send it back to the caterers.”

  His fiancée came from a very conservative family with old-fashioned values, and her father was insisting on paying for the entire wedding. Matt felt sort of guilty about this, but that was not to say Mr. Benson couldn’t afford it. They lived in a small mansion in Long Island, and their second home here was twice the size of the one in which Matt grew up with a family of six.

  Taking her phone, he perused the tiny copy of the priced menu—sea scallops wrapped in bacon, truffled lobster ancini, pan-seared crab cakes with remoulade, beef en brochette, artisan cheese table. “Yeah, I’d say this was okay.” A sly grin snuck in. “But I’m not seeing the burritos and Buffalo wings I requested.”

  Something close to horror marred her beautiful
features for a flickering second before it dissolved into an amused smile of relief.

  “Very funny,” she said, tucking the phone safely away in her bag.

  He laughed and rubbed her arm. “So what are your plans for the rest of the day?”

  “Well, I have tennis at three and then we have second fittings for the bridesmaid dresses at five. I was planning on taking the girls out to dinner after that.”

  Slipping his hand around to the small of her back, he lowered his voice intimately. “You could always come by my place later for your very own personal fitting.”

  “Matt!” she chided him softly and shook her head with a smile. “I thought you had to close tonight?”

  “Yeah, that’s true,” he agreed, furrowing his brow. “I’m probably going to be late, too. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

  “Yes, you will.” She leaned up for a kiss before pulling back. “How about coming to brunch with my parents? My dad is making his famous Eggs Benedict.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  She blew a final kiss over her shoulder and Matt watched her walk away, the sunshine bouncing off her shiny hair as she stepped out onto the sidewalk.

  Spurred by a sudden nagging urge, he frowned and hurried out after her.

  “Hey, Amanda?”

  She turned with an expectant smile.

  “Yes?”

  He placed his hands on her shoulders, smoothing them up her neck to gently hold her face in place. “I love you,” he said.

  “Love you, too,” she replied. Lifting her hand to pat his cheek, she kissed him one last time before turning to go.

  He returned inside, his eyes landing on the stunning blonde in a low-cut top now standing by the board, listing the daily drink specials.

  “Casey, I didn’t know you were coming in today.”

  They had known each other in high school and reconnected in the last couple of years, both settling into that sort of townie life without ever actually admitting it was what they had become. She worked on and off while taking classes, and Matt was more than happy to let her make her own schedule. He actually felt like he was one getting the better end of the deal, since it certainly didn’t hurt business to have a gorgeous female behind the bar.