Not Quite Married

“Was it...?”

“Awful. It was awful. He was like some stranger. It was so bizarre. I kept wanting to ask him what he’d done with the man I knew—or thought I knew.”

Rory pushed back her chair and circled the table to kneel at Clara’s feet. “Give me your hands.” She took them and gave Clara’s fingers a comforting squeeze. “You are not only my favorite cousin in the whole world—you are the kindest, warmest, most supportive, loving friend around. Plus, you’re totally hot.”

Clara let out a laugh that sounded a lot like a sob. “Right. Just look at me. A human beach ball. Smokin’.”

“Pregnant or not, doesn’t matter. Either way, you are hot. If he treated you badly, it’s his loss. You have a big family and they all love you, not to mention a large number of good friends. You need to remember that you are not alone, that you only have to call, anytime, day or night, and I’m here—and so is everyone else who adores you.”

Clara shut her eyes for a minute. When she felt reasonably certain she wasn’t going to burst into tears, she said, “I love you.”

Rory squeezed her fingers again. “Love you, too. A lot.”

“Now, go finish your ice cream before it’s all melted.”

Rory rose and went back to her chair. They both ate more of the to-die-for dessert. Finally, Rory said, softly, “I have to ask...”

“Go ahead.” Clara gave her a wobbly little smile.

“I mean, is this it, then? Am I here because you’re finally going to tell me how it all happened?”

Clara pushed her bowl away. “Yeah. This is it.”

“Dear Lord. I need more ice cream. You?”

“I’ve had enough. But help yourself.”

So Rory got up and got more—including another giant scoop for Clara, who insisted she didn’t want it, but then picked up her spoon again and dug right in.

Rory said, “All right. I’m ready.”

Where to even begin? “Remember when I went on that two-week Caribbean vacation last August?”

Rory was nodding. “Of course. Your thirtieth birthday getaway. I kind of suspected it might have happened then.”

“You know how I was feeling then...”

“I remember. You were talking about burnout, that all you did was work. You really needed that vacation.”

Clara had opened her restaurant, the Library Café, almost six years before. The café was a success by any standards. And she’d put in a whole bunch of seven-day workweeks to make it so. “I wanted a little glamour and pampering, you know? I wanted to reward myself for a job well done.”

Rory suggested softly, “And maybe a little romance, too?”

“Oh, yeah. I had this fantasy that I might end up meeting someone amazing.”

“And indulging in a crazy, fabulous tropical affair?”

“Exactly.”

“And so your fantasy came true.”

Clara smiled, feeling wistful. “That’s right. I met him the first night. His name is Dalton. Dalton Ames. And just the sight of him—he’s tall and fit, with black hair and piercing blue eyes. I felt like the heroine of the juiciest romance novel you ever read. I mean, you know how I am. You joke that I’m hot and all. But come on.”

“Clara.” Rory licked her spoon. “You are hot. Accept it.”

Clara pulled her bowl back in front of her and took another melty, chocolaty, amazing bite. “ I don’t feel hot. I feel like I’m the solid one, the level-headed one. The family peacemaker. Guys tend to like me as a friend.”

“A hot friend.”

A snort of laughter escaped her. “Stop.”

“Seriously, Clara. I know whereof I speak.”

Clara purposely did not roll her eyes. “Anyway, when Dalton looked at me...I cannot tell you. It was like a sizzling shiver went all through me. He saw me as hot, I could see it in those heart-stopping baby blues of his. The sexual chemistry was immediate, unexpected—and like nothing in my life before. We danced and flirted. He said he was from Denver.”

“Ah. Both of you from Colorado.”

“Yeah.” Seriously, what an idiot she’d been. She ladled on a little irony. “Like it was meant to be.”

“Don’t make less of it,” Rory chided. “I can tell from the way you talk about him that it was beautiful and special, that you felt a real connection with him.”

“Ha.”

“Tell me the story, Clara—and stop judging yourself.”

Clara sighed. “He told me the trip was a getaway for him, that his work was demanding and he wanted a chance to live in the moment for a change.”

“Just like you.”

“Um-hmm. I told him that I was ready for an adventure, to live out a fantasy, to forget reality for a while. He said that sounded great to him.”

“Okay, now I’m wondering...”

‘What?”

“You weren’t suspicious that it was all just a little too perfect?”

Clara shrugged. “Yeah. But only a little. The resort was like a tropical fairy tale, the beaches pristine, miles and miles of gleaming white sands. Not a cloud in the sky and the ocean went on forever. It all seemed so magical. And then I met this dreamboat of a man. I was kind of swept away—but at least I did have sense enough to ask him if he had a wife at home.”

“Good for you. And?”

“He said he was recently divorced—and then he wanted to know if I had someone special. I told him there was no one. And then, feeling beautiful and wanted and thrilled to be getting a taste of exactly what I’d been dreaming of, I went to his suite with him and spent the night.”

“Bold.”

Even with all that had happened since then, the memory of that first night—of all the nights on the island—remained wonderfully sweet. “I thought so, yes. And it was the best, that night with him, better than anyone or any time before. In the morning, we agreed to spend the next two weeks together. We decided we would live completely in the now and not talk about our ‘real’ lives. And when the fantasy was over, we would go our separate ways.”

Rory was chewing her lower lip. “Reality always intrudes, though, doesn’t it?”