When I returned to our table, Vic was typing on her phone. Martin and Natalie sat close, having a private conversation. He rubbed her thigh. She seemed to like his attention. Good.
Natalie King was less attractive in my best friend’s arms.
Six drinks. Three sets of sultry love songs.
One Uber ride home.
Victoria helped me to bed.
The last thing I remembered was tasting cigarettes on her lips and asking when she’d started smoking.
I woke to an empty bed again. In an empty house, the brick Georgian Colonial I’d bought for my bride-to-be in the Madrona neighborhood.
A note on the kitchen counter read: Hangover cure in the fridge. See you tonight. XOXO, Vic.
I wadded the scrap paper, made for the garbage, then sucked in a breath, flattened the crumpled note, and stuck it in the drawer where every note from Victoria landed.
She called it a junk drawer.
I called it sentimental safekeeping.
Whatever.
Fuck the hangover cure. I dressed and went for a run, heavy metal blasting through my earbuds, the angry gray sky blanketing our neighborhood in a damp winter chill.
Breakfast. Shower. Shave.
I briefly considered checking on Martin, but then I’d have to hear about Natalie. Didn’t want that siren on my mind because, fuck, she was like a tiny gnat with a mighty roar buzzing around my head, and that woman was not welcome in my head.
I dialed Ellis, hoping he’d be up for a spar. “Hey. Heard you had a great night. Sorry we couldn’t make it.”
“No worries. What’re your plans today?”
“Heading to Bainbridge, hanging with my parents for the day. Wanna join us?”
“Nah. Got work to do. Thanks, bud. Have fun.”
“See you Monday?”
“Yep.”
I ended the call.
My phone rang. Victoria. Tension eased, and I settled into my couch. “Morning, beautiful.”
“How are you feeling?”
I huffed. “Like shit. You should be in bed with me. Where’d you go?”
“I reminded you last night, don’t you remember? Lauren’s cousin, Cora, owns that bridal shop in Portland. I told you about her a couple weeks ago. Anyway, she said she’d open her store just for us today. Catered lunch. Drinks. We’re making a day of it.”
I rubbed the ache in my temples. “It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow. You’ll be home tonight?”
We’d yet to decorate, both too busy.
“Not sure. If we have too much to drink, we’ll crash at Cora’s, head home in the morning.”
“Yeah. Okay.” I looked around my empty living room, the home I’d bought for my fiancée. The home she’d decorated to impress the friends who rarely visited. The white paint. Velvet couch. Art by some artist whose name I couldn’t pronounce hanging on the walls. Not much in the way of personality. Nothing inviting. Or maybe my hangover was worse than I thought. Maybe I was tired of living alone in the home built for a family.
“And Cole?” Her voice softened, a silky seduction.
“Yeah?”
“Mom and Dad just called. I’m gonna head to Hawaii with them next week. Spend some quality time before I get too busy with the wedding.”
Too busy? I refrained from laughing. We rarely spent time together as it was.
I waited for an invitation that didn’t come, then said, “I’ll see if Martin’s available to pilot the plane.”
“He is. I asked him last night.”
Of course, she did. While I was too drunk to pay attention. “I’ll call ahead and make sure the condo is stocked.”
“You’re the best, sweetheart.”
I wasn’t. But I would be better because my future wife deserved the best version of me. “Be safe today. They’re predicting snow.”
“We will.” She sighed. “Gotta go.”
“Victoria?”
“Yeah, babe?”
“Love you.”
“You, too. See you tomorrow.”
The call ended. My phone made a disappointing sound as it crashed into the wall and landed on my shoe. I must’ve kicked them off last night, as one sat wonky against the wall, the other under the side table.
I had a good relationship with my future in-laws, but Victoria was always hesitant about sharing them. Didn’t make sense.
The last thing I wanted was to be stuck alone with my thoughts. Options limited, I fired up the flat screen and settled into a mind-numbing click, click, click.
When I passed a black and white clip, I paused. A familiar tune passed through the speakers. “The Christmas Song” by Nat King Cole. My heart raced. Head pounded. Thoughts of Natalie danced through my aching skull.
Two more bars into that wretched song, I hit the Power Off button and tossed the remote.
Shit.
God was testing me. Had to be.
I was not in love with Natalie. I couldn’t even be in like. I didn’t know the woman.
Her smile was a ruse.
Her laugh a curse.
Her skin a guise.
Her eyes a seduction.
A test.
And I was fucking failing.
I wouldn’t fail. I was engaged. I was committed to Victoria.
Natalie
“Wow. You’re everywhere, aren’t you?”
I stopped cold. Shivered at the tone. Turned.
Cole sat at the corner table, black thermal hugging his strong arms, dark jeans encasing his thick thighs, well-worn boots on his feet. Half-finished plate in front of him. Dimples on full display.
For the love of God, I needed a distraction.
My heart skipped a beat when I forced my gaze to his plate and spied the strips of steak. “Crying Tiger. Good choice. One of my favorites.”
Dropping his fork to his plate, he asked, “You know what this is?”
With a nod, I answered. “Have to order it special.”
“You’ve been here before.” He twirled a small metal object in his right hand between his thumb and forefinger.
When he caught me looking, he leaned back and tucked the trinket into the front pocket of his jeans.
“Many, many times,” I said, taking in the room. Sage green walls. Dark, refurbished wood. Amber mood lights. A hidden gem. My hidden gem.
“Must be fate.” He smirked.
“Fate?”
With a shrug, he said, “Us bumping into each other.”
“I don’t believe in fate.” Much to my mother’s dismay.
“What do you believe in?”
“Hard work.” His fiancée taught
