You Can't Hurry Love (4 page)

“What?” Jamie twisted to face her. “How?”

Since they were stopped at a red light, she leaned over and touched the purple and red welt over his eye. “It's right there. Anybody can see it.”

His fingers brushed hers as he found the bump, too. “Oh, that. It's nothing really. Another guy got a lucky shot.”

“Or an unlucky shot. Did you put ice on it?”

“For a few moments after we finished our game.”

“Anybody else sporting bruises?”

“Yeah, but most of them are covered up by clothes.”

“Well, the good thing is unwanted marks of any kind can be Photoshopped out of the wedding photos.”

“Good point. Tori probably doesn't want a bunch of beat-up guys in her pictures, right?”

“Peter's probably her main concern, and he looked unscathed from what I saw.” As the light turned green, Elisabeth refocused on driving, gripping the steering wheel. No more touching Jamie Travers. Her fingertips tingled after coming in contact with his skin. And leaning that close to him, she'd caught the faint scent of his woodsy aftershave. “So, let's talk about the toast.”

“Good idea. Ladies first. Tell me what you're thinking.”

“The one thing I'm certain of is that I don't want to sing.”

“Okay. No singing.” Jamie's chuckle hadn't changed, even after all these years. “I admit I was just yanking your chain. What do you want to do?”

“First, answer a question for me.”

“Okay. What do you want to know?”

“Has Peter ever told you what he loves about Tori?”

“Elisabeth, you've got to know women share that kind of stuff more than guys do.”

“Just answer the question. Anything you remember.”

Jamie settled back in the seat, arms crossed over his chest. “I don't know if this is what you're looking for, but Peter told me that Tori is the first woman he's dated who likes to go fishing with him. And that when they came home from the first outing, she cleaned the fish and cooked it, too.”

“Ewww.”

“Hey, gutting a fish can be the way to a guy's heart—if the guy you're dating is an avid fisherman.”

“I never thought of it that way. What else?”

“Well, when he called to tell me that he was going to propose, I asked if he was sure. And he told me that he absolutely was because he'd seen her sick with the flu and he still thought she was the most beautiful woman that he'd ever seen.”

“Awww, that is so sweet . . .”

“Wait a minute!” Jamie sat up, blocking the street light coming through the passenger window. “This is a trap! You've got me sharing memories.”

“It wasn't that hard, was it?” She couldn't help but laugh at his outraged tone. “And I'm not saying we have to use them. I just wanted to know a little bit more about Tori and Peter. All I have is Tori's side of the story.”

“Which is?”

“That at first, Peter was just like any other guy she'd met at work. But then he did these small but important things that set him apart from other guys. He listened to her ideas. Complimented her when she organized a trischool math competition. Walked her to her car at night when it started getting dark earlier, just to make sure she got there safely.” Elisabeth braked to a stop at a red light. “And then he continued to walk her to her car every night after work. He found out she liked to read restaurant reviews. And on their first date, he took her to one of the new restaurants she'd talked about. Falling in love with him was easy and natural and wonderful. I remember her telling me that.”

“Easy. Natural. Wonderful. That's rare these days.”

“I'm not saying they haven't worked at their relationship. I'm just telling you some of the highlights Tori shared with me about how she and Peter met and fell in love.”

“And what does this have to do with the toast? Because I know it does.”

“I thought if we could share these thoughts and then segue into the idea that what brought them together will help them stay together, we could switch it up a bit and I could speak to Peter and say that Tori fell in love with him because he noticed her. He listened to her. He cared for her. And she liked that his faith was important to him, too. And then I could encourage him to be that same man now that they're married.”

“And I'm supposed to say I hope Tori continues to gut fish?”

“Jamie!”

“I'm sorry.” His deep laugh contained an echo of the boyish one she remembered from high school. “I actually do like this idea. I could tell Tori that Peter fell in love with her because she loved him for who he was. She embraced his love for the outdoors, his adventuresome spirit. And he thought she was beautiful all the time—even when she had the flu.”

“Do you have to say that?”

“It's the truth. Real, honest love. In sickness and in health, right? I'm just getting warmed up to this idea. Let me mull over it a bit more.”

“But you like it better than singing, right?”

“Yeah. Although you could have pulled off a duet, Elisabeth. Don't you remember the talent show junior year of high school?”

“When you decided to play your guitar and then you talked me into singing along?”

“Yeah. You did great.”

“As I recall, I was in the girls' bathroom trying not to throw up right before it was our turn to go onstage.”

“I didn't know that.”

“Not something I wanted to share. You were so excited to play that song you'd learned—”

“ ‘Proud Mary'?”

“And you said you wouldn't do it unless I sang with you. So of course I did.”

“And we didn't place.”

“No.” Even now, all these years later, her face heated at the memory. “I always blamed myself for that.”

“What? No. How were we ever going to beat out Charlie Wong's mad piano skills?”

“He was pretty stiff competition—and he did win the talent show senior year, too.”

“Man, I haven't played the guitar for years.”

“That's too bad. You didn't take your guitar with you to the Academy—traveling light, you said.”

“Yeah. I was so nervous heading there.”

“Are you kidding me? You weren't nervous at all. You talked about what an adventure you were going to have, flying jets and . . .” Her words trailed off.

“Oh, I had an adventure all right.” There was no humor in Jamie's brief huff of laughter. “I got there and found out that when you're one of thirteen hundred other class presidents and valedictorians and all-state athletes, being exceptional is the minimum. And carrying twenty credit hours every semester while also participating in intercollegiate or mandatory intramural activities was again just the minimum. And then you go on a fun ski weekend and—” Jamie stopped talking.

“And what?” Elisabeth parked the car out in front of the restaurant.

“Nothing worth talking about now. It's not going to change anything. And besides, we don't want to hold up dinner.” Jamie took his time walking to the restaurant, despite the wind urging them to move faster. “So when do you want to finish talking about our toasts?”

“Why don't we sleep on it and meet up tomorrow for breakfast and put the finishing touches to it then?”

“I may just grab breakfast in my room, but I'll be glad to meet you around nine, if that works for you.”

“Sounds good. I'm meeting up with Tori at ten.”

“And now, let's go have dinner. I'm always up for a good steak—and I hear this place makes some of the best in town.”

FOUR

A
s the elevator made its way to her floor, Elisabeth kicked off her gold heels and wiggled her toes.
Relief at last.
Maybe if she stayed in flats as much as possible during the hours leading up to the wedding, she'd be able to walk down the aisle in the required pair of red three-inch heels for the wedding tomorrow night.

When the elevator doors slid open, Elisabeth picked up her shoes and headed for her room, sighing at the cushion of soft carpeting against the soles of her feet. After a few steps, she paused in the middle of the hallway.

What was Jamie Travers doing on this floor?

Wait a minute . . . was he limping?

Ignoring her aching feet, Elisabeth hurried her steps to catch up with him. “Jamie!”

His shoulders stiffened as he pivoted to face her. “Oh, hey, Elisabeth. Back from the rehearsal dinner so soon?”

“It started winding down pretty quickly after you and the other two groomsmen left. A couple of the bridesmaids were complaining there was no one to talk to.”

Or rather Chloe was complaining Jamie wasn't there—to flirt with.

“Yeah, well, it's a big day tomorrow and paintball kinda wiped me out—”

“Did you hurt your leg today? It looked like you were limping.”

“No—”

“Jamie Travers, you were hobbling down this hallway a minute ago.”

“It's no big deal.” He tugged at his tie. “I twisted my ankle a bit today. I'll take a few ibuprofen tonight and be fine in the morning.”

“Have you iced it?”

Jamie shook his head, backing away. “I haven't had much time.”

“What were you doing dancing—”

“Just being the best man.”

“Go to your room and take some aspirin or whatever. I'll get you some ice.”

Jamie raised his hands in front of him, eyes wide. “Wow, you've got that teacher voice down. Don't worry about it, Elisabeth. I'm capable of taking care of myself—”

“The sooner you get off your ankle, the better.” She trailed behind him to the room directly across from hers. “Is this where you're staying?”

“Yep. I figured after that mix-up last night there was no need to tell you that I'm in the room directly across from yours.”

“You're right.” At least now she could smile about it. “Listen, go take your meds. I'll bring you some ice in a few minutes.”

“You don't have to do this—”

“Stop arguing with me. I'll knock on your door . . . wait, why don't you give me your key and I'll just let myself in?”

“Oh! Now who's breaking into whose room?”

“Very funny.” She waited while Jamie opened his door, holding out her hand. “I'm not breaking in if I have a key.”

“I had a key last night, if you recall.”

“But I wasn't expecting you . . . Never mind. I'll knock before I come in.”

“I'll make sure I'm decent, Goldilocks.”

“You're hysterical, Travers.”

After dumping her high heels in the closet, Elisabeth grabbed a plastic gallon bag she used to hold her shampoo and conditioner bottles when she traveled from her suitcase. Then she took the ice bucket and filled it up at the nearest ice machine, the cubes clattering into the bucket and rattling against her nerves. What was wrong with her? Jamie Travers wasn't some Big Bad Wolf lying in wait for her in his hotel room . . .

Goldilocks. The Big Bad Wolf. And now she was mixing both her metaphors and her children's stories.

Armed with her supplies, she knocked on Jamie's door, waiting for his muffled “Come in!” before using the key to enter his room.

He greeted her from where he sat on the bed, pillows propped up behind him. He'd changed into a pair of loose-fitting workout pants and a black T-shirt and held a pair of white socks in his hand. His room was neat, no clothes strewn around the furniture. Seemed as if Jamie maintained the sense of order that had been drilled into him at the Academy.

“I see you had enough time to get comfortable. I'm just thankful to get out of my killer shoes.”

“I've never understood women's fascination with heels, although I admit I like the look.”

Elisabeth chose to ignore the warmth in his eyes—and the way his gaze slid over her legs. He was just trying to mess with her. “It's all about fashion, pure and simple. And tomorrow I get to wear a red pair with three-inch heels.”

“Red?”

“Yes, the bride picks the colors and the bridal party says, ‘Your color wish is our command.' ”

“I'm thankful I'll be standing on the guys' side of the church tomorrow, wearing a sensible pair of black dress shoes.”

“Speaking of standing, let's get this ice pack on your ankle.” Elisabeth switched the plastic bag of ice from one hand to the other as the cold seeped out against her hands.

“I, uh, still need to get these socks on . . .”

“You're not afraid of a little cold, are you?” Elisabeth moved closer to the bed. “Now which ankle is it?”

Jamie seemed ready to argue with her. As he swung his left leg onto the bed, the hem of his pants slid up, revealing a scar from his lower ankle that seemed to go farther up along his calf.

Elisabeth stilled. “How did you get that scar?”

Jamie tugged the material back in place. “It's no big deal.”

“No big deal? It looks awful.”

“It's a scar—not a gaping wound.” He yanked one of the cotton socks over his foot. “Sorry. Didn't mean to bark at you.”

“It's okay.” Elisabeth juggled the ice pack. “I shouldn't have asked.”

“I'll take that ice pack now.” He pressed the plastic bag against his ankle, his face averted. “I had a skiing accident.”

“I didn't know.”

“It happened the winter after we broke up. There's no reason for you to know.”

“What happened?”

“One minute I'm having a great run down the slope . . . and then the next thing I know some guy collides with me. He didn't have the good sense to stay on the beginner slope where he belonged. He ended up with a sprained back . . . and I ended up with a compound fracture of my ankle.”

“Oh, Jamie, how awful.”

“That was only the beginning. Infection set in. I had multiple surgeries. To top it all off, I had to take a year off from the Academy because of my medical issues.”

“How didn't I know this?”

“Elisabeth, we didn't exactly have an amicable breakup—”

“Still, I would have wanted to know . . .”

“How was I supposed to know that?”

His words silenced her protests. Would she have answered the phone if Jamie had called her? Taken the time to listen to what he had to say? Probably not.

“I can't begin to imagine how hard it was for you.”

“I'll admit those were a couple of tough years. But it all ended up fine. I graduated from the Academy in the end.”

“But you're not a pilot—”

“No.” Jamie adjusted the pillow behind his back with his free hand. “I got my mobility back, but I couldn't salvage that dream. That doesn't mean I'm not happy in the air force. I like what I'm doing—and I'm deploying next month.”

“Deploying? And you're happy about that?”

“If you're in the military these days, it's part of the job. I've got no complaints. Besides, it's only four months. This is my first time. Some friends of mine have done multiple deployments.”

• • •

Silence settled between them, as uncomfortable as the ice against his skin. Elisabeth had done her good deed. Why didn't she leave, instead of standing there, twisting her hands together, staring at him, an adorable mix of a captivating woman in a black dress and appealing uncertainty. She still had the ability to put his senses on high alert.

After this weekend, who knew when he'd see her again, if ever? He could spend these few moments enjoying looking at Elisabeth . . . or maybe God would want him to put them to better use.

“Look, Elisabeth, I may not get another chance to say this . . . the truth is, I didn't think I'd ever have this opportunity to speak to you again . . .”

“What are you trying to say, Jamie?”

“I owe you an apology.”

“For what?”

“For how things ended between us.”

“You don't have to—”

“Yes. I do.” He could have laughed. Elisabeth looked about as lost as he felt, trying to figure his way through uncharted territory between them. “There's no denying what happened between us hurt me. I thought we were doing okay with the long-distance thing back when I was at the Academy.”

“We were . . .”

“Well, obviously we weren't. You sent me a Dear John letter, remember?” His brief laugh didn't even lure the hint of a smile from Elisabeth. “But I shouldn't have let any of my classmates write responses on it. That was my roommate's idea. I went along with it at first. And then I realized that, no matter how upset I was, I didn't want you to read all that stuff. I went to get the letter, but it was too late. It'd already been mailed back to you.”

“You . . . you didn't mail the letter?”

“No.”

“And none of the comments were yours?”

“No. I never had a chance to reply.”

She refused to meet his gaze, her voice going so soft he almost couldn't hear her. “Mailing the letter was your reply. You just let everyone else speak for you.”

“No, it wasn't like that—”

But it was. It was exactly like that. He'd read some of the first comments. Ones that attacked her character. Ones that told her she didn't deserve to be with him. He let guys who didn't even know her speak for him, rather than trying to talk to Elisabeth himself. Not replying to her letter at all would have been kinder.

He needed to own up to how wrong he'd been.

“You're right. And that's why I owe you an apology.”

Elisabeth's gaze flickered to his for just a moment. “Jamie, you should—”

She stopped as someone knocked on the door to his hotel room.

“Were you expecting someone else?”

“No.”

“Maybe Chloe stopped by to check on you.”

“Very funny.” He set the ice pack on the bed, moving to the door, Elisabeth following behind him. “Who is it?”

“Pete. You okay?”

“I'm fine.” He swung the door open. “Elisabeth brought me an ice pack for my ankle—”

Elisabeth eased past them and out into the hallway, her nearness offering him a brief hint of her perfume. “And I was just leaving. Try to keep your ankle elevated, Jamie.”

“Sure. Thanks. Are we still meeting in the morning—”

“Just text me when you wake up. We'll see if it works.”

Once the door shut and it was just the two of them, Jamie shuffled back to the bed.

“What was that all about?” Peter motioned back toward the closed door.

“Just what I said. Elisabeth caught me limping down the hallway and insisted on bringing me an ice pack.”

“An ice pack. Right. And I'm supposed to believe nothing else went on between you two?”

“Well, something else might have happened if you hadn't barged in.”

Peter looked as shocked as a parent who caught his teenage son making out with his girlfriend in the family room. “Are you kidding me?”

“Stop imagining things. I was apologizing for what happened back when we broke up.”

“Oh, man, I'm sorry for my lousy timing.”

“It doesn't matter. I'm not sure Elisabeth wants to make amends.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I'd just told her that I owed her an apology right before you knocked on the door and she got this odd look on her face.”

“Odd? How?”

“I thought maybe she wanted to tell me something—”

“Like to drop the whole topic because you were making her uncomfortable?”

“I guess.”

“You apologized, right?”

“Technically, yes.”

“Then you did what you wanted to do. Now you need to get some sleep. Tomorrow's my wedding day. I need you rested up and ready to go.” Peter pulled something from his coat pocket. “And keep track of these, okay?”

“What's this?”

“You are now responsible for the wedding rings. Make sure they make it to the ceremony tomorrow night.”

“Will do.” Jamie accepted the dark gray velvet ring box, taking a quick glance at the two matching white gold wedding bands before snapping the lid shut. “For now, they're going in the room safe.”

“Thanks.” Peter paused at the door. “Hey, if I haven't said it before, thanks for being here. For being my best man. It means a lot.”

“Means a lot to me, too. That's why I'm here.” Jamie clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Now I'm going to pray for you on your last night as a single man—and then you're going to sleep. All right?”