“I will,” Heather lied.
It was bad enough that she was dragging Josh into the whole mess with Danica Robinson. She liked the guy far too much to crash his Thanksgiving.
Heather and Sue walked out of Josh’s apartment, and Sue gave Heather a lingering, motherly hug after locking Josh’s door. “I hope to see you on Thanksgiving,” she whispered before pulling away and giving a happy wave.
For long moments after Josh’s mom left, Heather stood perfectly still, tempted beyond reason to chase after Sue Tanner and tell her that yes, she would love to come for Thanksgiving.
Instead she turned on her heel, going back into her quiet apartment, trying desperately not to wonder where Josh was as she turned on the TV and watched a couple of mindless hours of reruns before going to get ready for bed.
As she changed into her pajamas, she got an unexpected lump in her throat—a threat of tears that came out of nowhere at the realization of just how alone she was. But just as she was on the verge of letting herself get good and deep into a pity party, the familiar sound of Josh’s music hit her ears.
Just a week ago she would have already been out in the hall, banging on his door, but tonight she climbed into bed and simply listened.
Then she heard his voice. His voice, not the lead singer’s, which meant it was a solo practice tonight.
Heather wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, curling into a ball with one ear pressed against the wall as she listened to Josh’s low baritone sing something slow and moody. And even though she knew he wasn’t singing to her, didn’t know how much his song fit her mood, she let herself pretend he was singing to her. For her.
And as she felt some of the tension leave her shoulders and leaned back against her pillows, Heather was struck by the realization that maybe she wasn’t as alone as she’d thought.
Chapter Thirteen
WHEN JOSH HAD AGREED to help Heather figure out some of the details for Danica’s wedding, it had seemed simple enough. Tag along to cake tastings, maybe look at a couple of fancy hotels, maybe even suffer through some florist shops.
In other words, play along and do girly shit until he could figure out how to coax her into where they both wanted to be:
Bed.
But three hours into his first day of helping her plan Danica’s wedding, he realized he’d completely underestimated the magnitude of Heather’s job.
He’d thought Wall Street was nuts, but it had nothing on the warp speed with which Heather Fowler moved through the city. So far they’d been to three reception sites, a bridal shop, a tux shop, and a craft store (he’d waited outside), and it wasn’t even lunchtime yet.
Speaking of lunch, he was starving. He reached out and grabbed Heather’s elbow, pulling her around and interrupting her midstream as she prattled on about silk flowers versus the real thing before she could go charging down to yet another subway platform to take him out of the Meatpacking District and to God knew where.
“What’s up?” she asked, glancing at her watch.
He waited until she looked up to meet his eyes before answering. He was happy to help the woman out, but he was starting to feel a bit like a dog expected to happily prance around a few steps behind her for the entire day.
“So far I’ve told you that Danica hates orange, loves blue, thinks roses are overrated, is self-conscious about the shape of her ass, and has zero appreciation for prewar architecture.”
“Yes, and I’ve said thank you,” she said, looking puzzled. “You were hoping for a medal?”
A blow job, actually.
“That’d be nice. All men do love to have a nice medal to commemorate the moment they planned their ex-girlfriend’s wedding. But I’ll settle for a sandwich.”
“A sandwich?”
He wrapped his fingers more firmly around her elbow and dragged her out of the subway entrance and in the direction of the row of restaurants they’d just passed.
“Lunch, 4C. You need to feed me lunch.”
She huffed out a breath and glanced again at her watch. “Okay, I need to get back to Midtown. There’s a handful of food trucks—”
Josh ignored her as he opened the door to Pastis and ushered Heather inside.