Pinky Swear

If there was one thing I knew about love, it was that it was exhausting.

And expensive.

Being employed by my family’s hotel in Cape Matta meant that I saw a lot of weddings, so not only did I get to witness the trials and tribulations of attaching a price tag to love, it also contributed quite a bit to my paycheck.

I reminded myself of this any time I began to feel overwhelmed, which lately, was a daily occurrence.

My best friend Aria was engaged and about to be married. She wasn’t the first of our friends to walk down the aisle. I had attended five weddings in the past three years and now I felt like I had become a walking cliche. Always a bridesmaid, never the bride. I may roll my eyes when someone pointed it out to me, but I actually preferred it.

Sure, I had to shell out money for a dress, shower gifts, and the bachelorette party, but the bulk of my friends’ wedding stress had never touched me.

This time, however, I wasn’t a bridesmaid. Because my best friend of twenty one years was getting hitched, I had finally reached that second to last rung on the wedding tier ladder to become a maid of honor.

When we were both eight years old, Aria had made me pinky swear that I would be her maid of honor someday, and of course, I agreed. Back then, weddings were fairy tales full of large, poufy white gowns, seven-layer wedding cakes, and Prince Charming. Eight year old girls didn’t put much thought into the planning and cost of such an extravagant fantasy.

Twenty years later, Aria had beamed as she showed me the four-carat princess cut adorning her left hand. After several minutes of gushing over the ring and answering questions about the proposal, she held me to the promise I made that late afternoon in her bedroom as we flipped through an old bridal magazine we had found in her parents’ garage.

And that had been ten months ago. Now we were only a month away from Aria and Dan’s August wedding and I was busier than ever. What had once been a small wedding on the beach with close friends and family had ballooned into a guest list of two hundred and a deposit on the hotel’s largest reception room. I had seen this happen time and time again as parents got involved in the wedding planning. Aria’s mother Janelle was desperate to flash her wealth around and Aria was her only child, so of course, this wedding had to be the event of the year.

That wasn’t terribly hard to do in a place like Cape Matta.

Even though I knew she was uncomfortable with the extravagance, Aria bit her tongue, determined to get through her wedding day without her overly dramatic mother causing a scene.

Busy or not, tonight was a night I was determined to enjoy. My family’s annual Fourth of July bash was in full swing in the backyard of my childhood home. The Ashford estate overlooked the ocean and my older brother Jackson had gotten a bonfire started down in the sand a few yards from the house. There was an open bar set up on the deck to ensure that everyone had a good time.

The combination of burning charcoal briquettes and the salty sea air was heavenly, triggering nostalgia from my childhood when my dad used to grill for dinner nearly every weekend in the summer.

Unlike those weekends, tonight it wasn’t just family. There were people mingling everywhere, most of whom I recognized. Cape Matta was a small, close-knit town. The kind of place you didn’t want to move to if you were looking for isolation or privacy.

I was nursing my second glass of wine, thankful that the tension that had plagued my shoulders and upper back throughout the week had dissipated with the easy, relaxed evening. It probably helped that I hadn’t had to cover this particular event for my family. Being in charge of the hotel’s marketing and social media usually meant that I was always working, even when everyone else was having fun. But tonight, nobody was breathing down my neck or coming to me with problems or asking me to put out a fire, figuratively or literally, which yes, had actually happened to me once.

Despite the carefree attitude I was enjoying, I was careful not to overdo it with the wine. There was a very good possibility that Ben Gallagher could show up tonight. Our parents had been friends since before we were both born and the last thing I needed was to pull a Bridget Jones and start drunkenly serenading my lifelong crush in front of everyone.

“So when are you getting married?”

The teasing voice was a familiar one and I smiled as Lydia Monroe came to stand beside me, a glass in her hand that held a clear liquor that smelled overwhelmingly like gin. Lydia was part of Aria’s bridal party as well, and our closest friend since junior year of high school. She was also lacking a filter between her brain and her mouth, which often proved to be entertaining from time to time, when it wasn’t getting her into trouble.

“You’re such a pretty girl,” Lydia continued with an air of mock condescension. “You could have any man you wanted. Don’t you want to be a young mother? We women don’t have much time, you know…” She trailed off with a snicker and sipped from her glass as she scanned the crowd on the back deck. I had to admit, she sounded like some of my mother’s friends when I was forced to interact with them. It was quite eerie.

“Honestly, Shae, weddings are as much for badgering and shaming single women as they are for worshiping the bride. Take the bouquet toss. Round up the ladies unfortunate enough not to have a ring on their finger, play some Beyoncé and laugh at them as they body slam each other in order to grab a fistful of dying flowers in the hopes of becoming the next to wed.”

I laughed and arched a brow as I studied her. “So, are you going to try and body slam me?”

Lydia’s intensely serious gaze drifted back to my face. “If I have to.”

We stared at each other for a few seconds before bursting into giggles that we immediately attempt to stifle as to keep from attracting attention.

“God forbid we want to be single,” she muttered once our amusement died down and I watched as she finished off the rest of her gin in one swallow. Before I could ask if she had a ride home, she gripped my arm and leaned in conspiratorially, her gaze locked on someone across the way, near the large French doors leading into the house.

“Ben Gallagher at eight o’clock,” she whispered frantically. My stomach seemed to flip flop fingers tightened on my wine glass but when I tried to turn around to find him, Lydia’s fingers pressed more firmly into my arm. “Don’t look!”

“What, why?” Honestly, I was shocked that I could actually speak past my heart that was currently lodged in my throat. I already knew he could show up, so my response was completely irrational and childish and I knew it. But Ben Gallagher was a busy man, a highly sought after marketing executive at a well-respected company located in Boston and maybe deep down I figured he would have more exciting things do on this holiday than attend an Ashford barbeque.

He still resided in Cape Matta but commuted the forty-five minutes to the city every morning. Being in the same profession, I knew he had to work long hours and I often wondered why he didn’t just move to the city rather than driving back and forth during the week.

Not that I was complaining about it. Anytime I caught sight of him around town I always felt that jolt of electricity right down to my toes, reminding me that I was a woman with desires. Unfortunately, Ben Gallagher had never noticed me.

Okay, so that wasn’t entirely true. Ben knew who I was. Carolyn and Barclay’s youngest and only daughter. The pale, redhead who would watch out her bedroom window as he and my brothers played basketball on the small court to the left of the house. The girl who always seemed to choke on something anytime he spoke to her.

But knowing who I was was not the same as knowing who I was.

Despite that, the look on Lydia’s face made me swallow hard, heart and all.

“Is he with someone?” I whispered. “Did he bring a date?” Wouldn’t that be just my luck? I spend the last two hours glancing at the doors to see if Ben was walking through them and now that he was there, it was entirely possible that he brought some woman from the city. Yes, I was fully aware of how juvenile this was, but Ben Gallagher had been The One for me since my sophomore year of high school.

“No, I don’t think so,” Lydia said. “He’s just looking this way.”

It took everything I had not to whirl around and attempt eye contact. Lydia laughed softly and released my arm.

“Oh, wait, I think he’s just looking for the bar.”

The bar that was behind us. When I groaned, Lydia shrugged innocently, barely suppressing the threatening smile on her lips.

“He is headed this way though. See ya!”

“What?” I exclaimed, my voice taking on an irritating squeal as Lydia pulled away from me and slipped into the crowd around us, leaving me standing there alone, feeling awkward and desperate. I could have followed her but by the time I got my feet to move, she had already disappeared down the steps to the beach.

If there was any justice in the world, she would get sand in some rather unmentionable places by the end of the night.

Clearing my throat, I attempted to turn around as casually as I could, hoping to try and spot Ben in the crowd before I made a run for it like a cowardly sixteen-year-old girl.

But the nonchalant move failed me. Casual became clumsy as my body collided with someone much larger and more solid than I was. Wine sloshed up the side of my glass and with a gasp, I swung the glass away from our bodies to avoid any spillage.

The next thing I knew I was looking up into the handsome face of Ben Gallagher, my mouth agape. He had his phone in one hand. The other had gripped my shoulder to keep me steady.

“Woah, sorry,” he said with a smile, glancing down at my blue and white polka-dotted sundress. No doubt searching for any sign that I had spilled my wine than in male appreciation of my body. “I wasn’t paying attention. Are you all right?”

“I’m…” I was what? Fine? Shook? Tongue-tied? I had a Bachelor’s in Communication from Boston University and I couldn’t form a coherent word in the face of a high school crush I had since placed on an inherently high pedestal. “No spill,” I blurted out. The mere sound of my voice and its lack of understanding of the English language made my fair skin burn.

Ben cocked his brow, deep, hazel eyes glancing at the wine glass that I still held out to my side. He must have been estimating how many glasses I had consumed already that night. But oh boy, did he smell good this close to me, and we both seemed to realize at once that his hand was still resting on my bare shoulder. When he finally drew it away, I cleared my throat.

“I mean, I didn’t spill anything. I’m fine. And you?”

“Also fine.” Ben smiled, revealing that delicious lone dimple in his left cheek. I knew that dimple intimately well, given how often Ben had smiled at me over the years. And how many of my daydreams and fantasies his smiling face starred in. That dimple and his thick, sandy blonde hair that was just begging for my fingers to slide through it. Or grip it in the throes of passion.

To me, Ben was the male equivalent of the Cape Matta sunshine. As grateful as I was that he was single, it was also still truly baffling, knowing how many women in Cape Matta, and probably Boston, craved company with him.

Maybe he was like me and Lydia. No need for a significant other to fulfill our lives. Devoted to our friends and family and furthering our careers.

It emboldened me to think that way, though maybe deep down I knew that was more Lydia’s thought process than my own. I didn’t need a man. But was it so bad that I wanted one? And not just any man.

I wanted Ben Gallagher.

“So you’re alright,” Ben continued, and I realized that I was still staring at him, my lips parted with the possibility of so many intelligent conversational topics that would no doubt impress him on his way to falling madly, deeply in love with me. Unfortunately, possibilities didn’t always execute properly and nothing escaped my lips but a strangled sort of sound that sounded a bit like ’humhmm’.

“Good,” he said, that dimple deepening with his widening smile. “How have you been, Shannon?”

He said my name, the sound of it rolling off his tongue so smoothly that I wondered how it would sound in the bedroom, whispered and hoarse. I was a teenager all over again instead of a capable young woman and I loathed myself for it.

“I’ve been great.” My tone was bright and feigning confidence. “I’ve been working PR for the hotel, and you know, helping Aria and Dan plan the big day, which has been a lot more exhausting than I thought it would be. I’m not really dating anyone? Which is totally fine, mostly because I’ve been so busy.” This was bad. So bad. But I couldn’t seem to stop the word vomit. “You know how that is. Work, work, work, right?” I waved my hand animatedly and forced the wine glass to my lips to finally shut myself up.

The corners of his lips twitched but whatever response he had was interrupted by the buzzing of the phone in his hand. He glanced down at it, his thumb brushing expertly over the screen. I was losing him.

“Oh, how’s West, by the way? I heard he was driving back into town sometime this week.”

Ben looked up from his phone to my face again, catching up on the topic of conversation quickly. “He got home yesterday. I imagine if he’s not here yet, he will be soon. Mom wouldn’t let him miss tonight. Have you two kept in touch?”

“Me and West?” His brow raised at my incredulous tone and I waved my hand dismissively, not wanting to offend him. “No. I mean, we weren’t very close in high school, and I don’t see him very active on social media beyond his Instagram account. I mostly hear about his escapades from Dan and Aria.”

Ben’s brows drew together thoughtfully. “You two attended Homecoming together, didn’t you?”

Oh, of course he would remember that. Being sixteen and desperate to attend Montage High School’s homecoming dance with Ben. But it was difficult for a lowly sophomore to get the attention of a popular, handsome senior who seemed to make out with a new girl at his locker every other week.

Somehow my mother guilt-tripped me into going to the dance with West, Ben’s younger brother, and my chemistry lab partner. Maybe our mothers were close friends, but West and I were not. That was not something that was taken into consideration. West’s mother Marianne seemed desperate to throw her wayward son into a social situation that didn’t involve his camera or bandmates, and my mom assured me that I was doing everyone a very big favor and I would have fun if I just let myself enjoy West’s company. It had felt like a set up at the time and we were both fairly miserable with the arrangement.

That wasn’t even the worst part.

It was forty-five minutes into the dance when West disappeared and was found in an empty Biology classroom making out with Maria Jenkins. I might have stayed after that just to pine after Ben from afar but he hadn’t even shown up to the dance, so I got a ride home from Lydia and her boyfriend at the time. The itchy wrist corsage West had given me at the beginning of the evening had ended up being tossed out the window somewhere along Ocean Station Boulevard.

I wanted to scowl at the memory, still so acutely clear in my mind, but I managed to keep the smile plastered brightly on my face.

“We did, yes. But only as…well, I don’t even know if I could say as friends.”

Ben’s phone buzzed again and he looked back down at the screen. I could continue to ramble and try and explain my non-friendship with his brother, but I could see by his furrowed brow that Ben had other things on his mind.

“So the bar is right back there,” I explained, thumbing over my shoulder. “Feel free to grab a drink and enjoy the evening. If you need anything, just holler. I’ll be around.” His distracted gaze found mine again and that precious dimple made another appearance.

“Thanks, Shannon.”

He moved around me, attention still on the shiny, bright screen in his hand and I watched him go before blowing a soft, mildly frustrated breath from between my lips.

“That was… entertaining.”

Again, with someone sneaking up behind me and for the second time in twenty minutes, I feared losing the wine in my hand. It was probably safer to just put it down somewhere.

Whirling around, I found myself staring into the face of the aforementioned Westley Gallagher. He had a drink in his own hand and a grin on his face.

It had been years since I had seen him in person, but he had aged well. Whereas Ben reminded me of sunshine, West was the night sky. His dark hair remained perpetually unkempt as it had been in school, and his warm green eyes, now shimmering with mischief, were lined with beautifully thick lashes. I could see a thin scar along his strong jaw beneath the five o’clock shadow. The baby fullness of his face had disappeared over the years. Now he looked lean, his skin a touch weathered, no doubt from all of his travels.

While West didn’t post a lot of personal shots of himself on social media, I did check his Instagram page every now and then to see the photographs he took from around the world. There were a lot of exotic locations and plenty of sunshine. He really ought to have some kind of moisturizer regime, although I had to admit that it gave West a rugged look that I was not used to seeing. And whereas Ben had come to tonight’s party in khaki sorts and a neatly pressed polo, West had dressed in jeans and a red and black flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing the hint of several tattoos beneath the material. How those two men had grown up in the same family, I would never know.

The polite, feigned excitement that should have come with seeing an old schoolmate, and Dan’s best friend and best man, was dulled by the embarrassment over the possibility that West had been listening in on my conversation with Ben. Not that it had been much of a conversation and I mentally tried to replay the entire thing in my head in case I had said something ridiculously stupid.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” I replied coolly. “I’m here all night.”

“Hey, I’m not teasing,” West said. His grin widened a touch and I was reminded that the only real resemblance between Ben and his brother was the lone dimple in their left cheek. West’s was just covered by a bit of dark stubble. “Okay, maybe I’m teasing a little. I haven’t been home in a while, but it’s nice to see not much has changed.”

With my face aflame yet again, I lifted my wine glass to finish off what remained inside. Unfortunately there much left at all and I peered down into the glass to make sure. Clearly, I needed another. I was never going to forgive Lydia for abandoning me.

“A lot has changed.” The indignation in my tone was short-lived when I realized he was baiting me, just like he used to do in high school. This was not the time or place to start bickering with someone I hadn’t seen in years beyond a brief sighting or two in town around the holidays. Exhaling slowly, I offered West a small smile. “How have you been, West?”

He didn’t answer until he took a sip of his drink, the ice clinking against the glass. “Pretty well, actually. But ask me again next month.”

Next month. Dan and Aria’s wedding. I wish I had more wine, or at least somewhere to put the empty glass, but at least it kept my hands occupied, and my fingernail tapped absently against the side of it.

“Are you going to be able to handle being stuck in Cape Matta for that long?” It was my turn to tease. “An entire month of family and wedding events. I’m willing to bet you haven’t yet begun your best man speech.”

“I’ve got plenty of time for that.” West sounded confident but it was impossible to miss the slight hesitation in his voice.

“That’s what you think. August 14th will be here before you can blink. But I say you’ve got it pretty easy.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“What is it that you really have to do beyond organizing a bachelor party and giving a speech? Show up, hand over the rings, and flirt with the bridesmaids--”

“Present company excluded, I assume.”

“You assume correctly,” I said with a smirk. “Meanwhile, I’ve got a list of duties three pages long, one of which happens to include assisting the bride if she’s got to pee on her wedding day. All the while dodging questions from well-meaning friends and family about when it will finally be my turn.”

West whistled at that and leaned in towards me, his voice low when he spoke. “Well, I can’t say I envy you, Shae. You certainly sound like you’ve got your hands full. When will it be your turn, by the way? I can assume with some confidence based on what happened a few minutes ago with my brother that you’re currently single.”

My mouth fell open and I immediately struggled to piece together a snarky retort. Was I really offended by the question? No, not really. It was the implication that I had bungled something while talking to Ben. I knew I had been awkward, so I certainly didn’t want any witnesses to validate it. Especially not Ben’s brother.

Huffing, I shoved my empty wine glass at West. He took it instinctively with some surprise and could only watch as I plucked his drink from his hand, giving him a haughty salute with it.

“Welcome home, Westley. Enjoy yourself this evening.” With that I knocked back his drink, finishing it off with one gulp while simultaneously turning on my heel to walk away.

It would have probably been an impressive exit if I hadn’t immediately choked on the strong whiskey that burned its way down my throat. I was not usually one for hard liquor, and that was exactly why.

I staggered, coughed, and kept moving with watery eyes to try and ease a bit of the humiliation. Unfortunately, I could see West’s gaze on me with every step I took.