Jumped Read online

  Harris almost snorted champagne through his nose.

  “I wasn’t supposed to be the big loser. He was. But it’s me. I had the privileged upbringing, not him! I had the advantages. And now I’m thirty-one and still figuring out what I want to be when I grow up. I don’t even have a home since I moved out of our old Ocala apartment. My stuff’s in storage. I’m a vagrant! An unemployed vagrant. And Finn’s a flippin’ architect.” She took a healthy swig of her champagne.

  “You’re an entrepreneurial vagrant. What about your clothing line?”

  “With my stellar track record, I give it six months, tops.”

  “That’s the spirit! The ol’ can’t-do attitude! Finn might be a flippin’ architect, but you’re a flippin’ clothing designer, marketer, and retailer all wrapped up in one adorable, personable package. You’re launching a business, which a lot of people are too scared to even attempt. It takes a shitload of courage.”

  “I’m only doing it because it’s the only thing I could think of that’s mildly appealing and I might be able to make a living at. If I really had courage, I’d run a horse rescue. But you can’t make a living saving horses.”

  “Look at me,” Harris said, and she did. “You’re good enough, you’re smart enough, and, gosh darn it, people like you. You can do whatever you want. Don’t sell yourself short just because you’re disappointed that someone who done you wrong has done well.”

  “I know. Let’s add immaturity to my list, too. Since I can’t seem to be happy for him.”

  “Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to be scrupulously nice to him for the rest of the weekend.”

  “How about I avoid him instead?”

  “But then you have to stay home and not join in any reindeer games, and then he wins. But if you’re scrupulously nice to him, you start to mend your little bruised ego. You see how that works? You take away the power you’ve given him over you. It’s called being the bigger person. I know you know this because you’re a Grade A, cage-free, free-range, no-antibiotics good egg. You’ll feel better, believe me. And you’ll get over this faster.”

  “I like my idea better.”

  “I’m sure you do. But you also know I’m right.”

  Harris beamed his patented bazillion-watt smile at her, which was not only dazzling but radiated warmth as well. It could melt glaciers. On Mars. Beth felt her own lips curving up in automatic reply.

  “Agreed?” he said, tilting his flute toward her.

  “Agreed,” she said, and their glasses clinked.

  Beth drained her champagne and tried to imagine her self-defeating attitude draining out of her mind as well. Although she agreed in theory with Harris, she didn’t feel like being scrupulously nice tonight. She would start tomorrow, when she was fresh, as though it were some kind of emotional diet. Claiming a headache, she said good-bye to Melissa, Nick, Grady, and Amanda and, mercifully, didn’t see Finn. He was probably still roaming around the house, looking for eyebrows over the windows or a sexy joist or something. Free at last, she slunk off to her room, shed the cocktail dress, and pulled on her favorite T-shirt—from the Hampton Classic—to sleep in. She snuggled into bed in the largest of the Aspen Creek guest rooms—which had thousand-thread-count sheets and was a thousand times more comfortable than her old bed in Ocala—turned on a movie, and fell asleep.

  Breakfast at eight was the group offering on Sunday, followed by either a bike ride or hot air ballooning. Then kayaking. Then dinner for those who were staying until Monday. Beth decided it would be best to have some bacon on board before handling whatever surprises Finn might have up his tailored sleeve today as she pursued her new Play Nice with Your Ex campaign. As she brushed her teeth that morning, she pondered her wardrobe. What shouted “nice” . . . pink? She wore her one pink T-shirt and white shorts. “I look nice,” she said to herself in the mirror before setting out to breakfast in town.

  The bright diner smelled of coffee, pancakes, and maple syrup. Most of the other guests were already seated, which wasn’t saying much because only six people showed up after last night’s cocktail party and wee-hours partying at the hotel. Naturally, Finn was there. Worse, he looked great in just a plain navy T-shirt with a construction company logo on it and khaki cargo shorts. This was one of Finn’s superpowers: he looked like a GQ regular even in regular-guy clothes.

  Doesn’t matter, she told herself. Shake it off. Her mind offered “Shiny Happy People” for her mood music. Happy and nice and nice and happy. And calm. And pleasant and polite. Then she tried to channel Mr. Rogers. Or, at the very least, a Canadian.

  The planets refused to align, because the only seat left was across from Finn. At least it isn’t next to him. So there was that. And Kristen—or was it Carol?—the geologist was nowhere to be seen. Beth made eye contact and everything, then smiled and said, “Good morning” right at Finn.

  “Good morning,” he said, smirking.

  Trouble was, when he smirked like that, it made her think of when they used to tease each other. Also, smirking only made his eyes look bluer and sparklier.

  She plowed ahead, just as she would with a rail down on the first fence on a jumper course. “Did you sleep well?” she asked as she sat.

  He tilted his head as if to scrutinize her. “Yes, thanks. You?”

  “Like a baby.”

  He smiled at her, and she could see he was amused. “Even with that headache? Is it gone now?”

  For a split second she had no idea what he was talking about, and she could tell from the way the corner of his mouth twitched that he’d spotted her cluelessness. He could always tell when she was lying. Damn! She slapped on a smile again and said, “I’m fine now; thanks for asking.”

  “Was it a migraine?”

  Great. He was milking it. “No.”

  “But you had to leave and miss all the fun.”

  “How much fun could there have been if I wasn’t there?”

  “Touché. You do add something to a party, Bethany. Always have.”

  She was afraid he was going to regale the table with tales of her past exploits, but the waitress saved her by taking beverage orders.

  Beth and Finn were at one end of the six-top, so he could talk to her while the other four diners chatted among themselves. He said quietly, “Brass tacks time, Bethany. You didn’t get your headache because of me, did you?”

  She forced a laugh, but she was a terrible actress and even she didn’t buy it. “No.” She picked up the little paperboard tent on the table that listed the specials. “Will you look at this? You can get breakfast all day here.”

  “Damn it, really?”

  “Yes, it’s right here,” she said, showing him the card. “Want pancakes at midnight? No problem. Hash browns for supper? Coming right up!”

  He swiped the tent from her and set it back on the table next to the big glass sugar canister. “What did I do?”

  Beth leaned in. “Nothing. Not a thing. I was tired.” She tried to sound nonchalant.

  “I’m serious.”

  “So am I.”

  “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

  “You didn’t. You don’t. I’m fine.”

  “Like hell.”

  Oh, that was such a Finn thing to say. The waitress, a young woman with a Russian accent who was probably here only for the summer, set hefty white mugs of coffee in front of them. Beth had a flashback to fixing Finn his morning coffee: cream so that it was practically white, no sugar. Out of nowhere, a tiny spark of sadness flared somewhere near her heart.

  The waitress looked at Beth. “What would you like?”

  To be anywhere but here. “Pancakes,” Beth said automatically, because she hadn’t been able to concentrate on the menu and pancakes came to mind. “With hash browns. And bacon and orange juice, please.” She glanced at the waitress as the girl looked at F
inn.

  Beth saw it happen again. The poor thing was assaulted by Finn’s masculine gorgeousness. Beth used to get a charge out of this. Eat your hearts out, girls, he’s all mine. But now she was more like an anthropologist observing a female assessing a mate. The girl managed to take Finn’s order, smiling mightily as she jotted with her pen. Finn was, as usual, oblivious.

  Beth was watching the waitress walk away when she heard Finn.

  “Bethany.” He used the singsong cadence that used to cajole her when they were together. She regarded him. He was dumping cream into his coffee and stirring. The spoon clinked against the mug.

  He said, “Did I do something wrong? If I did, I swear I didn’t mean to.”

  “Don’t be stupid. I told you, I’m fine. Stop asking already. You’re annoying.” Why did he assume he was ruining her day, the arrogant bastard? Beth felt some adrenaline trot smartly into her muscles. Poor super-nice Beth had just contracted a serious illness.

  Finn leaned his elbows on the table and spoke quietly. “You left the party. That’s not the Bethany I know.”

  Beth, aware that someone at the table might be watching, smiled and scooted her chair closer to Finn. She wasn’t about to allow him to pity her. Pity was inexcusable. “I. Was. Tired,” she said, still smiling. “That was all.”

  Finn smiled back. “Stop being so stubborn.”

  Beth smiled harder. “I will when you stop being arrogant. And egotistical. If you can help it.” Super-nice Beth was on life support.

  “I’m egotistical? You’re the one who’s so worried about what everyone thinks, last night you hid.”

  Beth tossed her head, forcing a laugh and smiling. “Oh, Finn!” she said loud enough for the table to hear and as though she was delighted by his witty repartee. She whispered. “I did not hide! You’re not all that, you know. I hate to inform you, but you didn’t devastate me when you left.”

  “When I left!” He opened and closed his mouth, then smashed his lips together into a tight seam. It was a sure sign he was getting angry and trying to conceal it. She could hear him breathing like a snorting bull. After two seconds he looked at her and resumed smiling. “Your memory must be failing. I didn’t leave you.”

  “You most certainly did,” Beth said pleasantly.

  “You left me and you know it.”

  That did it. Super-nice Beth had bought the farm. “You left me. You didn’t give us time to work things out.”

  “Like hell. You didn’t care enough to keep trying. You wanted to spend as much time away from me as possible and run from our problems.” Finn stopped smiling.

  Beth stopped as well. “I ran? Who took extra jobs so he wouldn’t have to be in our apartment except to sleep?”

  “Excuse me for trying to provide for you and pay for your horse habit. Yeah, boy, I was a real bastard.”

  “I never asked you to.”

  “You didn’t have to. It was implied by you and your family the minute the ring went on your finger.”

  Beth spoke quietly but she no longer whispered. “My family isn’t me. I never expected you to buy me horses. Never. I told you that. Training and teaching was my job and I was doing just fine before I even met you.”

  “No argument there. I only wish you would have told me you were already married to your job before you married me.”

  “You knew what you were getting into.”

  “No. Because if I had, I never would’ve gotten into it. You told me more than once, and I quote, ‘It’s going to get better.’ Except it never did.”

  “You loved how passionate I was about my job!”

  “Yeah. But I thought you might be passionate about me, too.”

  “I was.”

  “You had a strange way of showing it. Horse showing every single weekend. Refusing to commit to dinner with me once a goddamn week.”

  “You guys! Beth, Finn!” It was one of the guests. No, make that the bride. Melissa. Finn scrubbed his face with one hand and swallowed, looked at Melissa, then found four pairs of eyes staring at him and Bethany. Who knew how long they’d all been listening? Damn, he should have been more careful. He had argued with her, which he’d sworn he wouldn’t do, no matter what. Hell.

  Melissa continued, “You two want to fight, take it outside. The rest of us have to eat.”

  “I’m sorry,” Finn said, making sure to make eye contact with all four of them in turn. “That was uncalled for. I apologize.”

  “Sorry, you guys. We just can’t keep our mouths shut. It’s all in good fun. What’s a wedding without a cranky divorced couple to show how happy the bride and groom are?”

  The guests chittered and made the obligatory understanding noises about how they weren’t offended. Bethany rubbed the back of her neck so that her hair fell across her cheek.

  Table-wide conversation resumed and Finn and Bethany participated with vigor, ensuring they never spoke directly to each other.

  Finn wasn’t going to bike or balloon, and the chances of him kayaking were slim. He was going to either give himself an architectural walking tour of Aspen, or go see the Maroon Bells, the mountains not far from town. He’d been to Aspen once before, in college, when he’d worked at a restaurant in town. Back then, although he knew his way around a hammer and liked construction work, he hadn’t appreciated the town’s architecture; he was more interested in the proportions of Aspen’s ski bunnies than its buildings. Since moving, he hadn’t had a chance to sightsee, so now was a perfect opportunity.

  The breakfast conversation turned to the cycling outing and the logistics of ferrying people to the bike rental place. Guilt mixed with the eggs and sausage Finn had just shoveled in, giving him heartburn . . . and an idea. With an effort, he stared down Bethany so that she had no choice but to look at him.

  “You going on the bike ride?” he asked.

  She squinted at him and drew out the words like a prohibition gangster. “Yeah. Why?”

  “I’ll give you a lift.”

  “We’re all splitting a cab.”

  “You won’t all fit. I have a car.”

  “I’d rather be tied to the roof of the cab than get a ride with you.”

  As Finn had hoped, humor glinted in her gray eyes and softened her words. They were bantering. He smiled and raised his eyebrows as he said, “That can be arranged.”

  “You wish.”

  “So that’s what I should’ve done. Bondage.”

  “I guess we’ll never know now, will we?”

  “Never say never.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him.

  Finn glanced away from Bethany’s face—which was fun to watch when she was arguing, because her gray eyes went from the size of dimes to nickels—and realized that the two of them had, once again, become the morning floor show. He should charge admission.

  Mike, one of the guests, spoke. “Why don’t you come along, Finn? That way you two can keep arguing.”

  Bethany snorted a laugh. “A bike ride? Are you joking? I don’t know if you know this, but Finn can’t—”

  The moment stretched out so that Finn could practically see it in the air between them. He held Bethany’s gaze and prayed she’d be kind. She had no reason to. But he hoped she would anyway, that she’d remember she’d once loved him. And then he saw the change in her face, as her eyebrows lowered slightly. She made a decision. She looked at the paper place mat, and then flicked her gaze to his eyes for a split second. But it was enough. She turned to the rest of the group.

  “. . . stand rented bikes. Absolutely hates ’em. Thinks of ’em like rented bowling shoes. He’s such a snob that way.”

  Melissa laughed. “Too bad. We hear you’re in great shape.” Her tone went sultry. “At least, that’s what Kristen’s been saying.” She waggled her eyebrows and the crowd hooted.

  Finn laughed, mostly in relief but
also to lessen the importance of Kristen’s opinion. The next sentence he uttered was especially for Bethany. “It’s easy to look good in a tux. And she’s never seen me in less. So whatever rumors are circulating to enhance my already studly reputation, sadly they’re not true.”

  He glanced at Bethany. She was looking at him, but her expression was as unreadable as a panel of drywall.

  The group meandered back to the Hotel Jerome in the perfect summer day—warm and sunny, with an alpine breeze that kissed Aspen’s streets. It was as though the entire town was climate controlled. When they arrived at the parking garage, Finn maneuvered himself next to Bethany. “Will you let me drive you to thank you?”

  The pancakes and bacon must’ve improved her mood because she said, without bite, “Okay, fine.”

  Finn had to acknowledge Bethany’s decency at breakfast. After a few minutes, awkward though it was going to be, he forged into the silence in the car. “Thank you for covering for me back there.”

  “No need to thank me. I almost blew it.”

  “Whatever, I appreciate you not ratting me out.”

  “Your life would be easier if you’d just learn to ride a stupid bike.”

  “It doesn’t come up very often now that I have a driver’s license.”

  “You could get a motorcycle. That would improve your studly reputation.”

  “I’m too studly as it is.”

  She laughed. “If anyone doubts it, they can ask Kristen, right? What happens when wife number two has her heart set on a bike tour through Europe for the honeymoon?”

  Something zapped his chest when she said “wife number two.” It didn’t last long—it was like being struck by a spark while welding—but he noticed it. “I’m not real worried about that.”

  “Maybe you should be. Not everyone is as forgiving as me. Other women will demand that you ride a bike. It’s a known deal breaker.”