Chocolate for Two (9 page)

“What did you think? They’re not
that
bad, right?” It was a few hours later, and Jake and I were lying on the bed in our hotel room watching TV.

I looked over at him. “Your dad? He’s a teddy bear. Brett and Michele? I love them. Your mom? I’m taking the Fifth.”

He laughed and squeezed my knee. “She’s warming up to you. I can tell.”

“Please. She hates me. She didn’t even laugh at my jokes.”

“You can’t hold
that
against her. Besides, I think she cracked a smile somewhere in there.”

I laughed weakly. “Okay, true. I guess that’s a good sign, right?”

“That’s definitely a good sign.”

I sighed. “I wish I could make her like me.”

He pulled me toward him and put his arms around me. “I have the utmost confidence that in the near future she won’t just
like
you, she will fall madly in
love
with you, just like I did.”

I leaned my forehead against his chest. “I wouldn’t bet on that. You promise you won’t ditch me if she never warms up to me?”

He laughed. “I’m not going anywhere.”

I untangled myself from him and sat up on the bed. “That reminds me. I have another joke for you.”

“Oh no. Do you really?”

“Shut up. So are you ready?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Of course not. You might not remember this, but when we were flying home from my dad’s wedding in February, you warned me not to tell any more jokes about animals with no legs.”

He scratched his eyebrow. “So I’m guessing I’m about to hear a joke about an animal with no legs?”

“You are.”

He laughed. “Okay, let’s hear it. Which animal?”

“You choose.”

“Okay, let’s go with…platypus.”

“
What?
”

“You said I could choose.”

I laughed. “Okay, fine. Where do you find him?”

“A platypus with no legs?”

“Yes. Where do you find him?”

“I have no idea. Where
do
I find a platypus with no legs?”

I leaned over and kissed him on the forehead.

“Right where you left him.”

Later, as we were falling asleep, I lay on my back and stared up at the ceiling. The dinner conversation kept replaying itself in my head…as well as the memories it had stirred up. I could hear Jake’s steady breathing and wondered if he was already out.

After a few minutes I finally spoke, though it was more of a whisper.

“I don’t want to get married in a church,” I said softy.

He stroked my hair. “We don’t have to get married in a church.”

“I don’t even think I want to get married in Florida.”

He kept stroking my hair. “We don’t have to get married in Florida.”

I sighed. “Your mom would
love
that.”

He shrugged. “It isn’t her wedding, Waverly.”

“And I’m not getting married on a holiday weekend.” I’d had enough long weekends ruined by having to attend someone else’s wedding. I wasn’t about to be
that
bride.

“No holiday weekends…” He was almost asleep.

“Plus McKenna couldn’t even make it in February. That’s right when her baby is due.”

“Mmm.”

Finally I sat up. I knew what was
really
bothering me.

I took a deep breath, then looked at him. “I don’t want a big wedding, Jake. I don’t want…I don’t want to do that again.” I hated to go there, but it was true.

He kept petting my hair but kept his eyes closed and didn’t say anything. I wondered what he was thinking. Despite her chilly demeanor, I knew how much he loved his mom. This had to be prickly for him.

After an uncomfortable silence, I got up and walked toward the bathroom. “I just don’t want this to be stressful, Jake.”

“I don’t want it to be either.”

I stood by the door. “I’d love to do something small, something small and intimate with just our closest friends, you know?”

He didn’t reply, so I disappeared into the bathroom. I washed my face and brushed my teeth, and when I came back to the bed a few minutes later, Jake looked asleep.

I laid my head against his shoulder and sighed. “I just want it all to be…fun,” I whispered. Planning my first wedding had been a long, nerve-racking process that had proved to be about as enjoyable as trying on swimsuits under fluorescent lights, even
before
the wedding got called off. One of the reasons it had been such a nightmare was the overinvolvement of Aaron’s mother.

“You know my take on it, Waverly,” he said.

I looked up at him, surprised that he’d heard me. “Your take on it?”

He gave me a sleepy smile. “As long as I get to be your husband, I’m good.”

I felt the tension in my shoulders melt away at his words.

“Really?”

He nodded, his eyes closed now. “If you’re happy, I’m happy.”

I smiled at him and felt a little teary eyed. “I love you. Have I told you that enough today?”

“I could never hear that enough.”

We turned out the light and climbed under the covers, and he wrapped his arms around me spoon-style. I loved being the little spoon.

“So, hey, who was the little bird?” I whispered over my shoulder.

“The little bird?”

“You said you talked to a little bird about what kind of ring to buy. Who was it?”

“Actually, it was your dad.”

“My dad?”

“We talked about it when I called him to ask permission to propose.”

I smiled into the darkness. “I love that you did that. Have I ever told you how much I love that you did that?”

“Of course I’d ask his permission to marry you. How could I not?”

“I still love it. So he really helped with the ring?”

“Yes. During our conversation, he mentioned that your mom had a cushion cut with pavé for her engagement ring, and we both thought it would be nice for me to get the same style for you.”

I turned around to face him. “My dad knew the cut of my mom’s ring?”

“Mmm.”

“But he doesn’t know the difference between a tank top and a tube top. How would he know anything about the cut of a diamond?”

He nodded and touched my cheek. “I suspect he’s a little more sophisticated than you think he is.” My ex–baseball player dad was undeniably bright, but he lacked a college degree, had
a sketchy employment history, and was far from what I’d call…
refined
.

He never forgot my birthday, though.

Ah, Dad.

I smiled and was about to speak again when I realized that I’d never seen my mom’s ring. I wondered where it was. My dad was remarried now, but he clearly kept his first wife’s ring in a special place, physically and emotionally.

I reached under the covers to touch my own ring, which suddenly took on a new meaning.

“Hey I have good news. I—whoa—what happened to your face?” Jake opened our hotel room door and froze mid-sentence when he saw me.

I touched my cheek. “I fell asleep by the pool. Am I totally fried?”

“Define
fried
.”

“Do I look like John Boehner?”

“That super tan guy in Congress who cries a lot?”

I nodded.

“A little. You’re more on the red side, though. He’s sort of orange.”

“Oh, frick.” I pushed by him and ran into the bathroom to inspect the damage.

Total tomato.

A fried red tomato.

Lovely.

Jake followed me into the bathroom.

“So, as I was saying, little red one, I have good news.”

I looked at him. “Good news? Do tell.”

“I got us courtside seats to the Heat game tomorrow afternoon. They’re playing the Lakers.”

“Courtside seats? Nice!” I wasn’t much of a basketball fan, but there was no denying the allure of courtside seats to a Heat-Lakers game. Although now any mention of the Lakers made
me think of how Jake’s mom wished he had chosen LA over Brooklyn…and me.

Blech.

She clearly thought he was out of my league. What made it worse was that part of me secretly thought the same thing.

Jake nodded. “My buddy on the medical staff there hooked us up. It’ll be fun.”

I put my hands over my cheeks. “You think your buddy can hook me up with some ointment?”

He put his hands over mine. “I’m sure it will calm down by the party. You’ll just have a healthy Florida glow.”

I looked up him. “You mean like from a nuclear reactor?”

A few hours later we left the hotel and turned off US 1, after traveling north toward Jupiter Island, where Jake’s parents lived. Soon we came to a small bridge. As we slowed to cross it, I noticed a tall lighthouse to one side.

“What’s that?”

“That’s the Jupiter Inlet Lighthouse. It’s sort of
the
landmark down here.”

I looked out at the structure, which was the color of the Golden Gate Bridge. “It’s beautiful, Jake, so serene and elegant, don’t you think?” I loved being so far away from the chaos of New York City.

He reached over and interlaced my hand with his. “Yep.”

After crossing the bridge, we passed a marina and soon were on a one-lane road. “Now we’re on the island,” he said. “It’s pretty tiny.”

“How tiny?”

“Tiny as in this is the only road.”

I raised my eyebrows. “For real?”

He nodded. “They don’t even have a post office. The population is less than seven hundred.”

“
What?
I’ve eaten at restaurants in New York with more people than that.” No wonder Jake’s mom was uncomfortable in a big city.

We drove by several high-rise condos, which were soon replaced by progressively larger—and more beautiful—properties. The narrow street was lined with banyan trees, low shrubbery, and flowers of every color—each leaf and petal perfectly manicured, trimmed, and landscaped.

Soon we passed a golf cart cruising down the street just like a regular car. The man inside waved to Jake, who waved back.

“What was that?” I asked.

Jake shrugged. “That’s what people on the island do.”

“They drive golf carts down the street?”

He nodded.

“Do you know that guy?”

He shook his head. “People also wave at strangers here.”

I laughed. “We are
definitely
not in New York.”

As the island narrowed, the houses grew bigger and more lavish. Eventually the street became so tapered that the staggered estates on either side had views of both the Atlantic Ocean
and
Hobe Sound, on the other side.

Jake finally pulled up to the entrance of a secluded driveway and turned off the car.

I looked at him.

“Why are we stopping?”

He gave me a strange look. “Because we’re here.”

“We’re here?”

He nodded.

“Your parents live
here
?”

He nodded again.

“
This
is your parents’ house?”

He laughed and unbuckled his seat belt. “Yes.”

I’d enjoyed the scenery but had assumed we were just passing through the chic part of town and would eventually arrive in a regular neighborhood. I peered down the driveway at the enormous Mediterranean-style “house” at the end. I’m not sure that’s even the right word, because it looked more like a hotel.

“You grew
up
here?”

He took my hand. “I grew up in Miami. My parents moved here when my dad retired.” He looked a bit uncomfortable. I’d never seen Jake look uncomfortable.

As we walked up the driveway, which was already lined with cars, I slowly took in my surroundings, still in a state of wide-eyed disbelief.

His parents
live
here?

What?

Suddenly his mother’s comment from last night about Beverly Hills made sense.

Jake’s family is wealthy?

In nearly three years of knowing him, I had somehow never learned that. Had he deliberately hidden that detail because I’d told him how my ex-fiancé’s parents had made me feel?

Aaron Vaughn III was an attorney whose parents were regular fixtures in the San Francisco social circuit, and while they had generally been pretty nice to me, I’d always felt a bit like a fish out of water, as though I were faking a level of sophistication that would forever be beyond my grasp. I almost felt as if…as if they knew something I didn’t…and never would.