The Worst Wedding Date

I’m supposed to be at a late lunch with Emma and Sabrina, but instead, I’m helping Theo check out of the urgent care clinic across town from the resort after getting his eyes washed out.

And he’s flirting shamelessly with the receptionist.

There are grins. Swollen winks. Leaning on the desk to be closer to her, but acting like he needs it for support.

Just like he was flirting with Claire yesterday, and just like he was laughing with the triplets after I put the fire out on his costume.

“Point again where I need to sign?” he says to the receptionist. “Can’t see all that well yet.”

I throw up in my mouth.

She steers his hand to the line he needs to sign on, studies his tattooed forearm longer than necessary, then beams at him like he’s the love child of Pele the Volcano Goddess and Ryan Reynolds. “Are you sure you’ve never been here?”

“First time on the island.”

She looks at his arm again. “You just seem so familiar.”

Is he—is Theo blushing?

Does he like her?

Of course he does. Theo likes everyone. Everyone except me. And no matter how many times I try to tell myself I don’t care, I do.

I’m not mean. I don’t burn down people’s houses or steal their animals or cheat at board games.

Good god, I’m boring.

No wonder Mr. Fun doesn’t like me.

“Must have one of those faces,” he says.

She squints at him. “I don’t think I recognize you, but I feel like we’ve talked before. Is that weird?”

“If you’re done, honey, we really need to get to dinner,” I interject perkily. I fake a smile at the receptionist. “Wedding plans.”

“Not our wedding, and she only calls me honey because she’s my sister,” Theo says to the receptionist.

I hate him.

Officially.

I hate him. If I never see Theo Monroe again after this week, it will be too soon.

Because now I’m embarrassed on top of being irritated.

“Anything else, darlin’?” he says to the receptionist.

She smiles at him like she wants to ask for his phone number. “Not from us. Do you need anything else?”

He has red, swollen eye sockets and bloodshot eyeballs. Like, bad bloodshot eyeballs. His shirt isn’t buttoned straight, or even all the way up. His hair’s sticking up all over the place, with sand visible in it, and she’s flustered because he called her darlin’.

I quit life.

I do. I quit.

I’m a nice, respectable, successful, moderately attractive woman, and I don’t turn heads the way Theo turns heads when he looks like an extra in a redneck zombie movie.

“We need to go,” I say crisply.

He winks at the receptionist once more, even though it looks like it takes supreme effort to make his swollen eyelids move like that. “Tell the doc I’m mighty obliged for saving my sight. You too. Couldn’t have done it without you.”

“It’s our pleasure, Theo.”

I get him out the door only to remember that neither of us has a car. Time to book a rideshare ride.

But he beats me to it. “I got this, sweetheart.”

“Can you even see to operate the app?” Yes, I’m cranky. But this is far better than the don’t call me sweetheart I want to yell at him.

He asked me to make a sandcastle with him.

He asked me to make a sandcastle.

Me.

The woman he calls Plainy-Laney. He wanted to have fun with me.

And I didn’t say yes fast enough because I was so surprised at the invitation that I thought it was somehow a trap, and now we’re here, and I will never figure out how to not be boring.

He pulls his phone closer to his face and…are you serious? His phone case is an exact replica of the interwoven tattoos on his arm, like he took a picture of them and had his case custom-made to match his tats.

“Is that phone case one of ours?” I blurt before I can help myself.

He doesn’t look at me. “Probably your competitor’s.”

I twitch.

I don’t want to—can he really get worse than you sound like your mother?—but I do.

I twitch.

And once more, I bite my tongue.

When I texted Emma that I couldn’t make lunch because I had to “do something” with Theo, she texted back that Chandler was having a better day and she was sure it wouldn’t be necessary for me to do this much longer, but she sincerely appreciated that they were separated today.

And also that she’s so sorry, but management says they still don’t have a room or an open bungalow for me.

Sabrina texted that Em’s in the best mood she’s been in all week. That she’s floating today. That she looks like the bride in paradise who’s fully embracing living out her dream of getting married at the Midnight Orchid Club Resort even if the front desk staff is regularly missing and half the orders were delivered wrong at lunch because of a staffing issue.

I cross my arms and stand at the edge of the parking lot, this close to calling my own ride and letting Theo loose on the world for a few hours, when he brushes my arm as he walks past me, striding to a white Subaru pulling into the parking lot.

“Ride’s here.”

“It’s been a minute,” I mutter.

“Good ride karma.”

“I’ll walk.”

He looks back at me, and just when I think he’s going to rub his eyes in frustration again, he looks at the hand halfway to his face, grimaces, and drops it. “I’ll walk. You take the car.”

“If you walk, you’ll somehow find a way to hitch a ride with a surfer who takes you across the island, you two will leap into the ocean to go swimming at some magical secret swimming hole, and get stung by jellyfish. He’ll offer you weed to take the edge off the bite, which will make you strip down and flash the exact wrong person, and the two of you will end up in jail, and I’ll be bailing your ass out instead of enjoying dinner with the wedding party tonight.”

To my utter surprise, he doesn’t argue.

Instead, his lips quirk up in a grin. “You forgot the part where we’d try to crack coconuts without remembering we don’t know how to use machetes and end up at the emergency room again.”

I reach deep for a little more patience and a little less irritation. What would my life be like if I could be that lackadaisical about having fun? If I could let my hair down, rip my bra off, throw caution to the wind and see how much life I could squeeze into one day like I’ve been working myself up to believing I can do for a year now?

I want to.

Why can’t I?

“Please get in the car.” Nope. Still not fun.

“Yes, Laney. Whatever you say, Laney.”

He’s grinning while he climbs in. Red, swollen eyes and all.

I join him under silent protest, telling myself I’m only in the car to make sure he doesn’t go somewhere he shouldn’t, and distinctly remembering why I’ve always disliked him.

He makes me feel like I’m doing life all wrong. Like I’m too serious. Like my priorities are backward. Like he knows this immense secret about life, and I’m not worthy of being included in the grapevine, and I want in. I do.

But Emma’s having a better day today without me.

And I know she’s having a better day because of me, but I’m not there. I’m not with her.

And really, Theo didn’t need me today.

I screwed up.

He was having a grand time with a bunch of kids, far away from Chandler, and it was honestly utterly adorable, and I wanted to join them but didn’t know how because I feel so awkward about doing all the things he was doing.

I don’t know how to fly a bucket around a beach and pretend it’s a dinosaur, and even if I did, I wouldn’t look nearly as hot as Theo with his shaggy hair and killer smile and tight, tatted body.

And when he asked me to build a sandcastle, I froze, because I couldn’t believe Theo Monroe was inviting me to have fun with him.

I feel very, very alone and left out right now. And it’s probably at least partially my own fault.

Theo chats with the driver the entire ride.

I pretend I’m not listening during the whole ten-minute ride about where to rent the best surfboards. About the best calamari on the island. About if it’s worth it to drive up to the volcano park at night. Where to find secret waterfalls. How the driver’s cousin runs a parasailing company, and Theo should drop his name to get a discount.

They trade numbers when we get out.

Meanwhile, I feel like the frumpy wet blanket. Again. I hate feeling like the frumpy wet blanket.

Worse?

Theo’s eyes are practically clear already.

When his uncle turns the corner as we’re strolling back into the resort lobby, he doesn’t say a thing about the lingering redness.

But would he?

“Theo,” he hisses, “want in on a secret?”

I bite my tongue—hard—to keep from answering for him.

And it’s not because I feel like whatever the secret is will cause trouble for Emma and her wedding.

It’s because I want to know.

Sabrina won’t tell me why she’s mad at Theo. Theo won’t tell me anything. And I know there’s more to the story of why Emma wants me to be a buffer between Theo and Chandler than she’s telling me.

I also know when they don’t tell me secrets, it’s sometimes to protect me, but it’s more often because they need time to solve their issues on their own without me.

There’s a distinct possibility I’ve annoyed half of Snaggletooth Creek at one point or another with my suggestions for how to fix something.

But I want to know a secret, dammit.

“Maybe later,” Theo says.

His uncle rocks back on his heels and flashes that Monroe grin. “It’s a good one.”

“Bet it is. Gives me joy to think you get to hang on to it a while longer.”

“You don’t want to know at all?”

“I have to wear nice clothes tonight. Need something else to look forward to at dinner.”

“You can tell me,” I interject.

Uncle Owen doesn’t even look at me. Just cackles and walks away. “Your loss,” he tosses over his shoulder to Theo.

No, my loss. My loss.

As if I’d ever admit that out loud.

Kingstons don’t gossip.

The number of times I’ve heard my mother say that…

Theo heads deeper into the resort. Much like yesterday, I tag along.

All the way down the walkway to his bungalow.

Our bungalow? His bungalow?

The place my luggage currently calls home. That place.

I suck in a deep breath through my nose.

Time for a perspective check.

I’m in paradise. I can hear the ocean. I can smell the salty breeze. The flowers here are brightly colored, smell amazing, they’re gorgeous, and there are so many types. There was an adorable bouquet of knitted hearts in one of the glasses on the sink in the bathroom this morning. Emma’s happy. I’m off work and not checking email, which is hard but also amazing. Theo didn’t go blind. I have a bed to sleep in and I can order room service, since I’m not sure I’ve eaten anything yet today.

Have I?

Have I eaten?

Did I have a protein bar today, or was that yesterday?

Theo keys into the bungalow and holds the door for me.

“Thank you,” I say automatically.

He eyes me.

And then he sighs like I usually do, again, which is the last sound I ever hear Theo make around anyone else.

It’s just me.

I make even the funnest of fun people sigh.

He mutters something to himself, and crosses the living area to the closed bedroom door.

The hide-a-bed is still sticking out of the couch at an odd angle. The gauzy curtains on either side of the balcony door sway in the breeze since I forgot to close the main door when I left. And Theo’s looking at me like I’m once again holding him back.

“You coming?”

Just like that. You coming? No actual invitation. No suggestion that something’s changed since I got out of the shower this morning and saw that note that if I went in this room, my parents would be sent a picture of me sleeping with him and told that I’m carrying his love child. Just you coming? like it’s assumed I want to go wherever he goes.

He winces.

My face must be telegraphing just how much I’d like to toss him into a volcano while we’re here.

“C’mon, Laney. Come see. It’ll make you feel better.”

“Food and going back to life without you will make me feel better.”

He scratches his chest under the gaping side of his shirt, not the least bit visibly offended. “Consider it an apology. And a thank you for saving my eyesight.”

I feel like I’m about to walk into a trap.

But curiosity is bigger than the fear.

If I can find out what’s behind that door, I can find out how to fix it so I don’t have to keep sharing a bed with Theo.

Because one thing’s crystal clear.

He’s not letting anyone from maintenance at the resort in here to look at that hide-a-bed while he has a big secret hidden in the primary bedroom in the suite.

“Do you truly have a camera set up behind that door with a filter that’ll put my head on a naked body and auto-email my parents to tell them I’m having an orgy here too?”

He doesn’t react, doesn’t cringe or blush or look even the slightest bit called out, despite this feeling I have that he’s embarrassed about the note. I can’t tell you why I feel it.

I just do.

But he grins at me like he’s having fun with me now. Not making fun of me. Having fun with me. “Yeah,” he says, “but it’s worth it to see what else is inside.”

“I honest to god have no idea why Emma loves you as much as she does.”

He shrugs like it’s one more insult that doesn’t penetrate his tattoo shield. “She has to.”

I close my eyes. “Apologies. That was rude.”

Is it hard to say? Yes. But was it rude? Also yes. And this will be much easier if the two of us can get along.

“C’mon, Laney. Come see what’s behind door number two. Gonna make you forget just how big of a pain in the ass I am. Promise.”

I am absolutely walking into a trap.

But curiosity and that overwhelming desire to fix it, whatever it is, win out.

Right along with that desperate need to be in on some fun. Any fun. No matter what it is or how much I’ll regret it later.

Time to see what’s behind door number two.