Ready to Wed (12 page)

But all I could focus on was the contact. And how the guy I’d known forever was making me feel things I’d never felt before.

Chapter Fifteen

“Is there something you wanna tell me?” Grant asked as he stood across from my desk.

My brain was still trying to catch up to the way he’d barged unexpectedly into my office, and now he had his arms crossed like he was waiting for me to confess. And suddenly I felt like blurting out,
Okay, you caught me! I had thoughts about another man!

Part of me believed I was moving on so well that I wouldn’t want him anymore, but as I stared at him, old feelings rose to the surface. My heart tugged, and I probably would’ve stood and drifted closer to him out of habit if my ankle wasn’t throbbing. I was rocking ballet flats today, and I’d argued with Brendan for a good ten minutes when he’d insisted I should wear my sneakers. He didn’t seem to care that it was a fashion no-no.

“I thought you were still considering us,” Grant said. “That’s what you told me, and I’ve been sitting around, just waiting for when you were ready.”

“I was. I am. I’m a little lost, honestly. What’s going on?”

“The paper? Phoebe’s column?”

My stomach dropped. I quickly turned to my computer, opened up the
Beacon
’s website, and scanned down to the social column.

According to a source, our very own Dakota Halifax has already bounced back into the dating scene. Runaway grooms need not apply. Not sure if the man she was with last night was her one and only or the first of many, but looks like nothing can keep a good wedding planner down. Will she make another attempt down the aisle? And if so, how soon will it be?

So few words, yet they caused so, so much irritation. On the bright side, there was no mention of piggyback rides, and she did at least call me a good wedding planner. On the dark side, which I was pretty sure was where Phoebe’s allegiance lay, it made it sound like I was about to embark on a dating spree. And that my only goal was another wedding.

“You believe this?” I gestured to the screen.

“Who is he?” The vein in Grant’s forehead stood out. “Is this why you wanted space? To date?”

Knowing he was seconds from losing it, I worked to keep my voice calm instead of yelling back. “I was out last night. Went to the movies at our usual stomping grounds, actually.” I waited to see if
he
wanted to confess, since he was so set on making me. He didn’t say anything, so I went on with mine. “I was out with a friend. Not a date. Just two roommates who wanted to see a zombie flick.”

“Roommates? I thought you were staying with Jillian?”

Shit.
I meant to break my new living situation another way—I knew he’d hate it, and since it involved another guy, I also knew he’d overreact. “Look, this falls under my business, but like I said, I went to a movie with a friend, who happens to be male and is my new roommate. End of story.”

His eyes narrowed. “So nothing’s going on?”

Although my emotions were a bit confused around Brendan, we weren’t even close to dating. “We’re just friends.”

“I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to. But while we’re on the subject, what about you? Are you dating?”

The anger faded from his expression, replaced with something softer, and apprehension crawled across my skin. I wasn’t sure I was ready to hear about the new woman in his life. “Funny enough, I was out last night, too. I met with Amy and Jaden—my son. You should see him, Dakota. He’s smart and funny, and he’s got my eyes and dark hair. I was nervous at first, but now that I’ve spent a little time with him… It’s amazing. He’s amazing.”

I’d seen the woman, but I hadn’t seen a little boy. I tried to remember the scene, but I’d been focused on her, on the way she looked at Grant. From the sounds of it, though, his focus had been on his son.

“I’m sure he’s adorable,” I said, and it was true. The glimpse I’d had of Amy last night, plus Grant’s genes… Jealousy twisted my gut despite my best attempts to hold it back.

Grant rounded my desk and took my hand. “I want you to meet him. Next week I get him to myself. We’re going to go to the park a few streets over. Can I come pick you up beforehand?”

Just when I thought my life was separating from his, he pulled me back in. He brushed his thumb across my knuckles and my skin warmed under his. Maybe I was just a hormonal mess, so deprived of a guy’s touch that any would do.

I knew that wasn’t true, though. Grant was familiar comfort, more than a year of shared togetherness, and getting through ups and downs. Brendan was new yet still familiar, a shared history and a sense of adventure that made me feel like a kid again. All it did was confuse everything again. “If you and I were actually going to work, wouldn’t you have married me?”

“I couldn’t go out and marry you without telling you about Amy and the possibility I was a dad—it wouldn’t have been fair to you. But I’d waited too long. I’ve wished a hundred times I’d told you sooner. All I need is a little more time to get this part of my life figured out.” His grip on my hand tightened. “Then I’ll marry you. I will. In a big ceremony if that’s what you want.”

Longing wrapped itself around my heart. I could see me, Grant, and a little Grant look-alike sitting in his house. Running around in the backyard with Cupid. Secure. Stable. What I’d thought about several times in the months leading up to our wedding, even if the circumstances were slightly different than I’d originally imagined. It was still everything I’d wanted, offered up on a platter if I held out a little longer.

But would more time really make someone ready for marriage? I got waiting until you knew if you could stand the person for long stretches at a time, and dating to make sure you were compatible and that the chemistry didn’t fizzle out after the lust phase—of course all of that was important. But Grant and I had already passed all those milestones and then some. What would make him decide he was suddenly ready and excited about it?

Then again, if he asked me to get married today, I couldn’t say I was ready. Not after the past few weeks with Brendan and being unable to shake the lust phase feelings I got whenever he was around. I was starting to wonder if not getting married was a blessing in disguise. The kind of blessing that smothers you, then makes you feel grateful for air.

Like a Stockholm syndrome blessing.
I laughed at my own joke, which was totally inappropriate right now. That was when I did my best laughing, really—I’d had to remove myself from a ceremony when the bride’s grandmother started swearing in what I was sure she thought was under her breath. Of course thinking about that made me laugh more.

Grant’s eyebrows scrunched together. “Dakota? Are you okay?”

I wasn’t sure. But when I looked up into his eyes, I thought that a little more time might do us both good. “I’m willing to start talking again and see where it goes. I’m not sure meeting your son is a good idea, though. Seems like a big step.”

“We’ll keep it super casual. Just hanging out at the park, totally low-key, and I’ll even introduce you as a friend—not that he’ll pay much attention. He’s two, so really his most pressing concern will be the slide and if I remembered the crackers and juice.”

I rapped my fingernails on my desk, going back and forth.

“Honestly, I’m a little lost on the whole kid thing,” he said. “Our few visits have gone well, but Amy’s always been there. This is the first time I’ll have him without her supervision, and I’m nervous I’ll screw it up. You’re good at this kind of thing, and I could use your help.” He squeezed my hand. “No matter what happens between us, I hope I haven’t lost you as a friend. That means you’ll still be in my life, even if we can’t work out our other problems.”

When he put it that way, how could I refuse? “Okay. I’ll go with you to the park, and at least help you with your first outing with him. After that…we can see how it goes.”

Relief flooded Grant’s features, and then he leaned down and kissed me. I meant to tell him to slow down, but instead, I closed my eyes and focused on how I really felt. Underneath the pleasant sensation of his lips on mine, did I get that tingly hope? Did he feel like the guy for me again?

I couldn’t be sure, but hope was definitely not working its way through me.

…

When questioning your entire life, I don’t advise walking into a community center that smells like moldy feet. Especially if you have to limp in there. Trust me, it only makes your life situation seem that much more dire. The fact that I was required to be here thanks to a glorified gossip communist who subsisted on carrot sticks and cocktails wasn’t helping, either.

As I looked for room 105, irritation pulsed through my veins. You know how going to anger management class made me feel? It made me feel angry. Seemed counterintuitive to their goal, if you asked me.

As I stepped inside the room, I glanced around at all the mostly normal-looking people who were probably also here because of annoying coworkers. Whether you controlled your anger or not, some people needed smacked upside the head. I considered saying so, sure I’d get a few
Amens!
but the last thing I wanted to be known as was the anger management class troublemaker.

The tatted-up guy in the back with the goatee, scowl, and leather biker jacket looked like he might rip someone’s head off if given the tiniest excuse, and I assumed he had a little more reason to be here than the rest of us. Hopefully they had happy pills on hand in case of an anger emergency.

I’ve just gotta get through this, and then I can move on with my life.
I took a seat in the middle—not too brownnose-y, not rebel without a cause like Skull Crusher back there.

Another handful of people filtered in and then a small man with a comb-over and yellow pit stains under the arms of his white shirt stood at the front of the room. “Welcome. My name is Ron, and I’ll be teaching you for the next two weeks. We all know what anger is, and we’ve all felt it…” He droned on and on about the heat, clenching your fists, your body tensing up, nearly losing your temper. But he was so monotone, it sounded pretty mild to me. I tried to pay attention, though admittedly I was rearranging floral displays for Valentina’s wedding in my head.

Relaxing was the first anger-control strategy. Breathing, meditation, and the like. Here’s the thing. I’ve been in yoga classes, with all the breathe in and out—hell, I even advise my brides to do it. But the only thing that ever helped calm me down was being in control. And not in a breathing in and out kind of way.

Great. I guess I do have some issues. Maybe I do belong here with Skull Crusher.
I glanced back at him and he gave me a large grin, no malice but more a sense of solidarity. He rolled his eyes at Ron, and I decided Skull Crusher and I were going to be BFFs by the end of the course.

We were instructed to close our eyes and visualize a relaxing experience, also known as going to a happy place. I started to visualize a perfectly done wedding, only then it morphed into
my
wedding and sitting in my dress crying on the beach, that crippling sense of abandonment stealing my breath.

He doesn’t want me.
Talk about ruining happy place chi.

The intensity I’d felt that day was more than that moment, though. I wasn’t sure why it ached so deeply, to the point that it was still there when I thought about it. It shattered my trust—the trust I’d fully put in Grant—that was for sure. But I shouldn’t be feeling that. We’d made up. I’d agreed to meet his son.

I tried to picture us all together. Grant, me, and his son. But it felt like staring at one of the stock photos that comes in the frame when you buy it in the store. Pretty, but not yours. No memories attached.

Okay, anger management class is messing with my head.
If sorrow put out anger, I was there. Anger-free and wanting to cry.
Damn emotions.

“Great. I’m getting a really good vibe off this group,” Ron said from the front, proof that his vibe-o-meter was missing a couple rainbows.

Changing the way we thought was next on the list of tips to ridding ourselves of anger.

“Silly humor”—Ron actually chuckled—“can help with rage in a number of ways. It helps you gain perspective. When you get angry and call someone a name or refer to them in some derogatory term, stop and picture what that word would literally look like. If you’re at work and you think of a coworker as ‘scum’ or an ‘unimaginative ape’ for example, picture a piece of scum or an ape in place of your colleague, taking a call or typing on the computer.”

Scum? Unimaginative ape? Talk about unimaginative. I can think of
way
better insults.

“You might even want to draw it,” Ron continued. “It will help take the edge off of your wrath.”

I pictured myself drawing Phoebe as a villain—a comic book type that had an accident with nuclear waste so that her face resembled a Picasso. I’ll admit it actually was calming.

“One word of caution: don’t give in to cruel, sarcastic humor,” Ron said. “That’s just another form of an unhealthy way to express your anger.”

I wasn’t sure if my deformed image would count as cruel, sarcastic humor. Probably. And just when I was borderline having fun, too.

We did another calming exercise involving counting, and during our short recess, I made friends with Skull Crusher—real name Wild Bill. Anyway, it was the name he gave me, although I doubted it was the one his mama used. He told me he’d give me a discount on a tattoo if I was interested, and I told him I’d refer my clients to him if any of them asked about ink. A lot got tattoos for each other pre-wedding. A romantic gesture, but something I’d probably advise against now. How awful would it be if Grant’s name were somewhere on my person on top of having all the other fallout? Then again, if I had the tattoo, I’d probably feel more pressure to make it work now.

Either way, if my peeps wanted tattoos of any kind, I’d be referring them to Wild Bill, anger management co-conspirator. Although I’d probably leave off that last part.

Part two of the class covered changing your environment and habits. Getting rid of triggers, and recognizing when you were about to lose it.