Something Borrowed Page 8

  “Look,” I said. “There’s Oliver.”

  I hurried toward him. He was dressed in baggy black swim trunks that came down to his knees and a crazy retro Hawaiian shirt unbuttoned far enough to reveal a tangle of chains around his neck. His hair looked even cooler than usual thanks to a new electric-blue streak on one side. A camouflage-print messenger bag was slung across his chest. And today his nose piercing sported a tiny skull and crossbones. Needless to say, half the party had already turned to stare at him.

  “Oh my God,” I heard Camille mutter as I rushed past her. “Don’t tell me . . .”

  I smiled to myself. Mission accomplished!

  “There you are!” I exclaimed as I reached Oliver. “I’m so glad you came.”

  “Me too,” he purred, taking both my hands and letting his gaze wander all over me. “You look absolutely luscious!”

  “Thanks.” I smiled as he leaned down and planted a kiss on my forehead. “Come on in and meet everybody.”

  Most of the partygoers were too polite to stare for very long. But I could tell that they were wondering who had let this alien creature into their tasteful little party. I started introducing him to various people as we walked in, including my mother, who was hurrying past with a plate of mini crab cakes.

  “This is Oliver, Mom,” I said. “He’s the musician I told you about.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mrs. H.” Since her hands were full, Oliver gave a little bow. “Awesome party.”

  Most people never would have noticed her gaze flick briefly from his nose ring to his blue hair streak before settling back on his face. Her polite smile never wavered.

  “Lovely to meet you, Oliver,” she said in her best gracious-hostess voice. “Any friend of Ava’s is welcome here.”

  “Thanks, Mom. Come on,” I said, taking Oliver’s hand. “I want you to meet my friend Teresa.”

  I looked around for her. She and Jason had moved over to the edge of the pool, where they were talking with a tall, broad-shouldered African-American guy with killer abs and a buzz cut. I recognized him immediately—there’s just no mistaking a physique like that.

  “Hey, Rocco!” I greeted him as Oliver and I joined the little group. “I’m so glad you came!”

  “Are you kidding?” Rocco said as he reached down to give me a hug. “You know I never turn down free food.”

  I’d been casual friends with Rocco forever; somehow we’d just never gotten around to dating each other. Everyone at school called him Rocco the Jocko. He was great at just about every sport there was and had even made the varsity football team as a freshman.

  Rocco looked even hotter than usual in his sporty maroon trunks, but I hardly noticed. Most of my attention was taken up with Oliver—I was totally aware of him standing there beside me, looking at me with his intense eyes. Realizing I hadn’t introduced him around yet, I quickly did so.

  “Good to meet you, man,” Jason said, reaching out to shake his hand. “I’m a big fan.”

  “Really?” Oliver gave Jason’s Mr. Prep outfit a once-over, looking a bit skeptical.

  “Trust me, he is,” Teresa assured him, rolling her eyes. “He’s made me listen to that ‘Brain Shock’ song of yours at least a million times.” Suddenly realizing what she’d said, she smiled sheepishly. “Not that I mind, of course. It’s a cool song.”

  Oliver laughed. “Hey, I like this chick,” he said to me, pointing at Teresa. “She speaks her mind. That’s cool.”

  “Oh, look,” Teresa said, clearly fishing for a change of topic. “Andy just came in. Andy! Over here!”

  Sure enough, my favorite ex had just walked into the yard. Andy looked as cute as ever as he came over and joined us. But again I didn’t pay nearly as much attention to that as I normally would have. Having Oliver there with me was even better than I’d expected. It was nice to be the center of attention again. That sort of thing had been sorely lacking in my life since Camzilla got engaged.

  “Hey, dude.” Rocco greeted Andy with a complicated high-five routine. “How’s it hanging? Haven’t seen you in ages.”

  Andy ran a hand through his sandy hair to push it out of his eyes. “I’m just home for a couple weeks,” he said. “I ran into Ava’s dad at the club and he invited me to this party.”

  “The club, eh?” Oliver spoke up, slinging an arm around my shoulders and grinning down at me. “How very Main Line.”

  Andy blinked at him as if noticing him for the first time. “Uh, hello,” he said. “I’m Andy.”

  “This is Oliver,” I said. I glanced up at my date, trying not to shiver with glee at the feel of his arm around me. “Andy and I went to high school together.”

  Was it my imagination, or did a shadow of hurt pass over Andy’s face? I wasn’t sure. If it was there, it disappeared just as quickly as it had come.

  “Oliver’s a singer,” Rocco told Andy. “He’s with that band the Manayunk Mucus.”

  Oliver had let his messenger bag drop to the floor at his feet. While the others started talking about the local music scene, I grabbed the bag and slipped away to stash it in the pool house so it wouldn’t end up a pool toy for my bratty cousins. By the time I returned, the conversation had turned from music back to the ever-present subject of the wedding. I returned to my place beside Oliver and he put his arm around me again, this time looping it around my waist.

  Eventually the conversation turned to Teresa’s upcoming trip, then to sports, then to Andy’s first year at college, then to some TV show the guys had all watched. After that Jason started talking about some comedy group he planned to go see soon, but by then I wasn’t really listening that closely. I was much more focused on Oliver’s hand. It had started out resting on my waist. But as we stood there, his fingers started wriggling around, playing with the waistband of my shorts and then slipping down my hip.

  I didn’t particularly mind the sensation. Then again, I was pretty sure my parents would be somewhat less than thrilled if they happened to see.

  “Excuse us,” I said to the group. I reached down and disentangled Oliver’s hand from my shorts, holding it firmly in my own. “It’s hot out here—I could use a drink. Want to come along, Oliver?”

  He came willingly. “Your friends are pretty cool,” he commented as we wandered toward the bar hand in hand.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I just wish Teresa wasn’t going away. The wedding won’t be the same without her.”

  “Oh, yeah?” He spun me around so we were facing each other. “Well, I don’t wish any such thing, I’m afraid. See, with her out of the picture that means I’ll have you all to myself.”

  I might have forgotten to breathe as I stared up at him. We were at the far corner of the pool area, halfway between the gate into the yard and the bar set up at the back corner. The artful little cascade of rocks at that end of the pool hid us from much of the rest of the yard, making it feel like a private moment despite all the commotion of the party.

  Oliver dropped one of my hands and touched my chin with his long fingers. “I’m really glad you came to my show the other night, Ava Hamilton,” he said in a low, husky voice.

  I let my eyes flutter shut as he moved in for a kiss—a real one this time, not a peck on the cheek or forehead. His breath smelled faintly of cigarette smoke, but I didn’t mind. One of his hands was still on my chin, and the other wrapped around my waist as he pulled me close. My own hands slid up around the back of his neck. I wondered if he could feel my heart pounding through my bikini top as I melted into the kiss.

  When he pulled back, I was smiling. I opened my eyes. “That was . . .”

  My voice trailed off as I noticed Lance standing a few feet away, staring at us. Oops! He’d obviously come into the yard—alone—just in time to witness our kiss. What were the odds? I hid my smile in Oliver’s shoulder.

  “Lance!” Camille hurried toward him from the other direction. “I’m so glad you came after all. I—”

  She stopped short, belatedly coming into view of Oliver
and me still standing there with our arms wrapped around each other. For a moment she just stood there staring. Then she grabbed Lance by the arm and dragged him off out of sight.

  “What was that?” Oliver asked, glancing over his shoulder.

  “Nothing,” I assured him. “Nothing at all.”

  We got our drinks and returned to the party. The sun was beginning to sink toward the horizon, but the weather was getting warmer and stuffier by the moment, and a few adults were starting to join the little kids in the pool. When we rejoined Teresa and the others, Rocco and Jason were debating whether or not to jump in for a swim.

  “How about it, Oliver?” Jason said, turning to us. “You up for a friendly game of water polo?”

  “Not me, mate.” Oliver glanced down at me. “Actually, I may slip out for a smoke. Where’d you put my bag, darlin’?”

  Before I could answer, a shriek went up from the direction of the back door. When I looked that way, I saw Camille clutching a phone and looking distraught.

  “Uh-oh,” I said. “Looks like Bridezilla crisis 9,264 has begun. I’d better go see what’s up.”

  Teresa came along as I hurried toward Camille. Oliver trailed along behind us.

  “What’s going on?” I asked my aunt Hazel, who was standing nearby, along with an elderly neighbor lady and another older woman I didn’t know. Fortunately, Lance was nowhere in sight.

  Aunt Hazel fluttered her hands. She’s a fluttery type of person at the best of times, and with Camille moaning and gnashing her teeth—well, practically—she looked as if she might take flight at any moment.

  “The woman on the phone just asked for Camille,” she said. “I didn’t think to ask if it was something that might disrupt the party.”

  “There, there, dear.” The neighbor lady patted her on the arm, then looked at me. “It seems one of the flower girls can’t make it to the wedding.”

  “Chicken pox? Chicken pox?” Camille cried, tossing the phone onto a chair. “Are you kidding me? Kids are all vaccinated against that these days! Who gets chicken pox anymore?”

  “The Bakers just moved back from Hong Kong,” Aunt Hazel reminded her soothingly. “I guess they don’t vaccinate for that over there, maybe?”

  Camille looked ready to cry. Aunt Hazel shot me a helpless glance. I traded a shrug with Teresa and then glanced around for Mom—she could defuse this crisis if anyone could. But she was nowhere to be seen.

  “Babe?” Oliver tugged on my arm. “My bag. Really, I could use a ciggy. Where’d you put it?”

  “Um, I stuck it in the pool house.” I waved vaguely toward the little building.

  “Cool.” He hurried off without another word, looking relieved.

  I wasn’t thrilled that my new man was apparently so addicted to his gross little habit. But at the moment it was the least of my concerns.

  “Listen, Camille,” I said. “Believe it or not, this isn’t a huge deal. It’s not like Brittany Baker was your only flower girl. The others will just have to pick up the slack.”

  “What?” She looked as scandalized as if I’d suggested she walk down the aisle naked. “But there have to be three flower girls! It will look totally lame if there’s an even number—everyone knows that!”

  My brain hadn’t quite finished processing that ridiculous proclamation when there came a piercing scream from the direction of the pool house. Everyone at the party stopped short and turned to look.

  “Oh, dear,” Aunt Hazel fluttered. “What was—”

  At that moment someone came shooting out of the pool house. It was Oliver. He was clutching his bag and streaking for the exit, as wide-eyed and pale-faced as if he’d seen a ghost.

  “Hey,” I called out to him. “Oliver, wait . . .”

  I didn’t bother to continue. He was already gone.

  “Wow,” Teresa commented. “Guess he really needs that smoke.”

  Meanwhile, everyone else was buzzing about the scream. A moment later my mother stepped out of the pool house. She was wearing her tasteful Talbots bathing suit, a pair of slides, and a sheepish smile. As usual she looked great.

  “It’s all right, everyone,” she called out. “Sorry if I startled you with that scream. Now, where did that young man go? I’m afraid I just scared him half to death. He walked in while I was changing.”

  Several people shouted with laughter, while others giggled a bit more discreetly. I could feel my face going several shades of red. So much for my supercool date . . .

  I hurried over to Mom. “Uh—what?” was all I could manage.

  Somehow, getting caught in flagrante naked-o appeared to have made Mom relax more than she had all day. Maybe she’d just needed a good laugh to loosen her up.

  “Sorry about your date, Ava,” she said with an amused smile. “I hope he’s not too traumatized. I know I haven’t been to the gym quite enough lately. . . .” She ran a hand over her perfectly toned tummy.

  “Nonsense, Jane!” A woman from Mom’s gardening club was standing close enough to hear her. “That was probably the best view he’s had all week.” She tittered behind her hand.

  Several others heard the remark and laughed as well. Jason was among them.

  “Nice date, Ava,” he said, strolling over to join Teresa and me. “You invite him to this lovely party and he repays you by doing a Peeping Tom on your mom. What a perv.”

  “Very funny,” I muttered. Okay, so maybe Oliver hadn’t handled things too well just now. Did that mean Jason had to rub it in?

  He kept grinning. I could tell he was thoroughly enjoying this. “It’s a good thing the gate was open,” he added. “Otherwise he would’ve left an Oliver-shaped hole in it, like in a Road Runner cartoon.”

  Teresa smiled wryly. “He did look pretty spooked, Ave. I’m guessing we might not see him again today.”

  “Yeah,” Jason said. “He’s probably halfway back to Philly by now. On foot.”

  I sighed, not bothering to respond. It didn’t matter, anyway—Jason would just keep on making jokes until he ran out. Glancing over, I saw that Mom had already spotted Camille’s distressed face and gone to see what was wrong. A few people still appeared to be laughing over the Oliver incident, but Mom gave no indication that she was paying them any attention at all. She already seemed to be over it, and I decided that the best thing to do was follow her lead.

  It didn’t matter, anyway. By the following Saturday nobody would even remember this. It wouldn’t have any effect at all on the great time Oliver and I were going to have at the wedding.

  Eleven

  By Tuesday I was starting to get frantic. Oliver still hadn’t returned any of my calls, even though I’d left at least fifteen messages on his voice mail and sent him three or four e-mails just in case there was a problem with his phone. What was going on?

  I was so distracted at work that day that I accidentally filed half the new shipment of Burpee seed packets in the Seeds of Change slots. “Please, Ava,” Mr. Baum said, looking slightly pained as he grabbed a misplaced packet of watermelon seeds. “Remember, your time off doesn’t start until the end of your shift.”

  “I know. Sorry, Mr. B.” I started putting the watermelons and the rest of the seeds where they belonged as he hurried off toward the registers.

  When I’d finished unpacking the rest of the shipment, I checked my watch. Just an hour to go, and then I was off until after the wedding.

  My phone rang. I grabbed it out of my apron pocket and checked the return number. Then I let out a gasp.

  “Oliver?” I cried into the phone. “Where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you for the past two days!”

  “Sorry about that, babe.” His husky voice was nonchalant. “Been kinda busy. The band got a call to come up to New York for a couple of gigs this weekend. Had to drop everything and hop a train.”

  “Wait—what?” I was still so surprised that he’d finally called back that my brain was having trouble keeping up. “You mean this weekend as in this weekend? As i
n the weekend you’re supposed to be going to this wedding with me?”

  “Yeah, that’s sort of why I’m calling. Gotta bail on that one—hope you aren’t mad.”

  No. My mind refused to accept this. He couldn’t be backing out of our date four days before the wedding. It just wasn’t possible.

  But it was. By the time I hung up I was in full Camille-worthy panic mode. After glancing around to make sure Mr. Baum was nowhere in sight, I ducked behind a display of hose nozzles and called Teresa.

  “. . . and so now I have four days to find a new date,” I finished with a gasp. I’d blurted out the entire story without taking a breath. “Actually, less than that. Tuesday’s half over already. And the rehearsal dinner is Friday night.”

  “Yeah.” Teresa sounded a little distracted. “Listen, I’m on my way to the barn. But think about this, Ava. Is the universe trying to tell you something? Like, maybe you should just give up on the perfect date thing and go by yourself? You’ve been so obsessive about this that Jason’s starting to call you Camille Junior.”

  “Bite your tongue!” I said. “I’m nothing like Camille. Since when does Jason know anything about me, anyway?”

  “Whatever. We can psychoanalyze you later. Just think about what I said.”

  She hung up. I frowned down at my phone for a moment, annoyed by her comment. Or rather Jason’s comment.

  Deciding I didn’t have time to worry about it, I hurried to the back room and reached into my bag for my unblack book. Then I sat down on a folding chair and started dialing.

  I reached deep into the book. Deep. As in guys-I-hadn’t-talked-to-in-years deep. Fifth-grade-summer-camp deep. Still no luck. Maybe Teresa was right. Maybe it was fate that I go to this wedding on my own. The universe certainly seemed to be conspiring pretty hard against me. . . .

  Then I stopped short as a beautiful idea hit me. A beautiful, gorgeous, well-built idea with shoulders made to fill a tux and abs to die for.

  “Ava?” Tommy stuck his head into the back room. “Mr. Baum is looking for you. Something about the orchids?”