She straightens. “He is evil.”
“Most exes are.” I get back to work, scooping ice cream on a cookie and sliding it over to her to finish it.
She grabs a cookie and jams it on top. “He spent two months fawning over me, showering me with compliments and flowers and cards with mushy stuff inside. Super sweet stuff.” Her voice cracks. “And then…"
When she doesn’t fill in the sentence for several long moments, I make a guess. “He cheated on you.”
“No! He proposed.”
I scoop more ice cream, confused. “Oh. And you didn’t want him to?”
She jams a cookie on top of my scoop of ice cream before I can even slide it over, and then breaks off a piece of cookie and pops it in her mouth. “Ooh, this is good. Did you just bake these?”
“Yup. Straight from the tube of premade dough.” I put a fresh cookie on top of the sandwich and shift the broken one onto a plate for her.
“So he proposed, I said yes, and we decided to have a secret elopement at our favorite Italian restaurant on New Year’s Eve. It was going to be so romantic. He knew the owner, we got the town mayor to preside, and they closed the place so it would be private for our wedding.” She sighs and breaks off another piece of cookie from the fresh one I just put there.
I shift the broken cookie and replace it with a new one, sliding it over. “Just press on that. Why was it a secret elopement?”
She stares at the fresh cookie. “Mostly to save money. We’re both in grad school. I’m getting my master’s; he’s getting his PhD.”
“Why not wait until you graduated?”
“He couldn’t wait. That’s what he said.” She meets my eyes, her brows knit in confusion. “He wanted to marry me as soon as possible, and then he didn’t show up.” She grabs the fresh cookie and holds it up, shaking it. Bits of ice cream splatter on the counter. “I was left at the altar by that idiot!”
Not exactly an altar, but I get it. The guy backs out after being the instigator of a major romantic event. Makes no sense, but who can understand the male mind? They think they’re being logical, but let’s get real, their logic can get twisted with emotions just like women’s. Of course, women more frequently draw the correct conclusion with the help of emotion. Guys get all turned around. They should make an emotion GPS to help get men back on track.
“Did he tell you why?” I ask.
“Cold feet!” she exclaims. “I mean, really. It was his idea to get married so quick. He sent a message through the restaurant owner, who was so sympathetic he offered to let me take our wedding food to go at no charge.”
I shake my head. “That sucks big time. What’s the plan for revenge?”
“Revenge?” she asks as if the idea never occurred to her.
“Yeah, you’ve got to do something for payback.”
She stares at me. “Well, Wyatt wants to kick his ass, but I won’t let him. I want my ex to think I’m over it.”
“Were you in a wedding gown or just a nice dress?”
Her face crumples. “Wedding gown.”
“Uh-huh. Payback. Maybe he left a favorite shirt at your place? Burn it. Do you know some of the same people? Let every woman know what he did. No one will ever want to date him. Except the crazy ones, who think they can change him. If you’re really mad, and you think you can get to his car undetected, you could key the driver’s side.”
Her brows shoot up. “Have you ever done that stuff?”
“Mostly I burn my ex’s stuff. It’s cathartic. I may have made a voodoo doll and stabbed it in his junk multiple times.” At her wide-eyed look, I add, “Kidding!” I’m not crafty enough to make a voodoo doll. I imagined it in vivid detail.
She pops a piece of cookie in her mouth and looks at me with admiration in her eyes. “Wow, Sydney, your mind veers toward evil. I hope you don’t get involved with Wyatt because I’d hate to think what you’d do to him.”
“I’d only want revenge if he broke my heart.” Heat creeps up my neck. “I mean not that I’m—we’re—you know.” I can’t exactly say we’re friends. I don’t know what we are.
She looks down at the melting ice cream on the cookie in front of her and puts her half-eaten cookie back on top. I give her one of the broken pieces from another cookie she ate part of to top it off. “Have you ever had your heart broken? I mean, just shattered?”
I wince. That must be how she feels. “Yeah, a few times. Twice after a year relationship. That seems to be the tipping point, a year. And then once in high school, but I don’t know if that counts.”
She squeezes my arm. “It all counts.”
We finish up with the sandwiches, and I finally take one for myself. I realize Wyatt never came back.
“Where’s your brother?” I ask.
“Probably hanging on the sofa with Snowball. That’s where he usually is.”
“Oh.” My shoulders droop, and I immediately hitch them up again. It seems he invited me over just to talk to his sister, not because he was interested in me.
That’s cool. It’s good to know these things up front before expectations can be raised and dashed.
In fact, it makes it that much easier to approach him for a business deal. I’ve been working up to it, trying to figure out terms we can both be happy with.
I’m fine.
8
Wyatt
Kayla and Sydney have been talking in the kitchen for a little over an hour. I hope it helped. I still don’t know the name of the guy who rushed Kayla into a wedding and then dumped her. What kind of moron does that? I was sorely tempted to eavesdrop in case she dropped the name to Sydney, but I refrained. She needed the womanly bonding time. I do my best, but I remain sans ovaries.
It’s around six, already dark outside, when Sydney pokes her head into the sofa room, where I’m camped out. “Hey, I’m going to head out before the snow gets bad.”
I close my laptop and set it down on the far end of the sofa. Snowball takes the opportunity to climb into my lap, putting her front paws on my shoulders, and leaning her head against my neck. I put a hand on her back, accepting her hug. “How did she seem?”
Sydney closes the distance between us, and I lose focus, distracted by the way her green V-neck sweater clings to her sexy body. Long legs in black skinny jeans and high-heeled boots. She left her auburn hair down. I love that. Her hair’s long, past her spectacular breasts, the kind of hair you can wrap around your fist like silken rope.
She speaks in a low tone. “Heartbroken, like you said, and so damn sweet she doesn’t want revenge.”
My gaze snaps to hers. “I want revenge for her.”
“Me too. What an asshole.”
I pat the sofa cushion next to me because we have a common goal now. I want to talk to her more. It’s not because of that sexy sweater, though that doesn’t hurt. Snowball thinks I patted the sofa for her, so she takes the seat. I shift her to my lap so Sydney can sit next to me.
She joins me, and I catch the scent of flowers. Sweet flowers, like summer in the middle of winter. I have to fight the urge to lean close and breathe her in.