Something Borrowed Read online

  I groaned. I’d promised to rearrange the orchid display so the plants with the best blooms were up front to tempt the customers. Normally I liked doing that sort of thing—it certainly beat stacking heavy bags of potting soil. But today it was just another obstacle in my quest for a new wedding date.

  “Tell him I’m taking care of it right now,” I said, standing up and hurrying out.

  As I shifted the dendrobiums and cattleyas around on their mesh table with one hand, I dialed Rocco’s number with the other. I hadn’t paid that much attention to him at the pool party, since I hadn’t thought it mattered, but I couldn’t remember him mentioning going to the wedding. I crossed my fingers as the phone started to ring.

  The universe was with me this time. Nobody had asked him yet.

  “You’re on, Ava,” he said, sounding pleased. “It should be fun. And hey, while we’re at it, why don’t we get together tomorrow night? You know, get a little better acquainted, figure out what I should wear . . .”

  “Perfect,” I said. “How about dinner at that new Italian place in Bryn Mawr?”

  “I’ll pick you up at eight.”

  I was smiling when I hung up. Why hadn’t I thought of Rocco sooner? It would have saved me a lot of trouble and anxiety. I had no expectations of True Love at this point; all I needed was a congenial date to fill out the tux. Rocco was perfect for that. He was a friendly guy with a terrific sense of humor, and there was no question that he would cut an impressive figure in formal attire. I was sure the two of us would have a fantastic, friendly time. All the other girls would be drooling over him, and I’d still have plenty of freedom to flirt my heart out with Andy and/or Kwan.

  My phone was still in my hand as I reached over to pluck an old blossom off a phalaenopsis. I thought about calling Teresa to gloat, but decided it could wait—she usually turned her phone off while she was at the barn anyway.

  Just then the phone rang in my hand. My heart stopped; for a second I was certain that it was Rocco calling me back to say he’d just been run over by a bus or something and couldn’t make it.

  But when I checked the number, my aortas and ventricles started pumping again immediately. It was only Camille.

  “What is it this time?” I asked without preamble.

  “Ava? Is that you?”

  I rolled my eyes. “No, this is the mugger who stole Ava’s phone.”

  “This is no time for jokes, Ava.” Camille sounded testy—what else was new? “This is an emergency!”

  I held the phone out from my ear a few inches as she launched into one of her patented Bridezilla rants. Her shrill voice poured out of the tiny speaker, shattering the peace of the quiet greenhouse. A couple of passing customers gave me funny looks, but I just smiled at them as if everything were normal.

  When Camille finally stopped for a breath, I returned the phone to my ear. “Let me get this straight,” I said. “You’re freaking out because the caterers got the wrong kind of olives? Who even notices olives?”

  “I do!” she cried. “And for all the money Daddy is paying them, you’d think they could get it right! But they simply refuse to make this good; they claim there’s not enough time to order the other kind, and Mom refuses to drive into Philadelphia with me to look for them, and Bob won’t have time after work . . .”

  Normally in this sort of situation I would have pretended to get another call and then passed Camille off to my mother or the wedding planner. But thanks to the resolution of my latest date crisis, I was feeling generous.

  “Listen,” I said. “I have an idea. The other day at the party, Jason was saying something about driving into Philly to see some comedy show in the park. I think it was some afternoon this week.” I paused, trying to remember back. The details were vague—Jason’s social plans certainly hadn’t been my top priority that day—but I was pretty sure I had the important parts right. “I can call him and see when he’s going. Maybe he’d be willing to swing by the Italian Market and see what he can find.”

  “Oh, my God! Do you think he’d really do that?” Camille sounded pathetically grateful. “That would be totally amazing!”

  She gave me the olive 411, insisting that I write everything down so I wouldn’t mess it up. I jotted the notes on the Post-it pad in my apron pocket, then hung up and called Jason.

  He listened quietly while I gave him the scoop. “So you want me to go look for these olives?” he said.

  “Could you?” I put a little wheedle into my voice. “I mean, if your comedy thing is sometime in the next couple of days, that is . . .”

  “It’s today, actually,” he said. “The show starts at four.”

  I checked my watch. It was twenty minutes to one. “Perfect!” I exclaimed. I turned up the wheedle a little more. “If you wanted to leave a little early, you could swing by the Italian Market first and then head over to the park from there.”

  “I suppose I could,” he said. “But what if I can’t find the right olives? I think maybe you’d better come along.”

  That one I hadn’t been expecting. The only thing worse than spending a beautiful afternoon on some pointless Bridezilla errand was doing the same with annoying Jason, and I would’ve thought he would feel the same way about me. Then again, I supposed I should be grateful he’d even consider helping out. . . .

  “Um, I’m at work,” I said, hoping that might be enough to get me out of it.

  I should have known better. “What time do you get off?” he asked.

  Cursing my parents for teaching me that lying was wrong, I said weakly, “One o’clock.”

  “Perfect. I’ll be waiting.”

  Before I could say anything else, he hung up. I glared at the phone in my hand. Then, tucking it back into my pocket, I decided I might as well look on the bright side. At least this errand would keep me away from home—and Camille’s “emergencies”—for a few hours. I called my mom to tell her the plan. Then I threw myself back into my work, vowing to use that last twenty minutes to make up for my earlier slacking.

  True to his word, Jason was parked in the loading zone outside the store when I walked out with a coworker named Gina, who was heading out for her lunch break. As we got closer, he leaned over from the driver’s seat to open the passenger side door.

  “Your chauffeur awaits,” he said.

  Gina elbowed me. “Oh my God—is that the new guy?” she asked in a loud stage whisper. “He’s adorable!”

  I realized she must think Jason was Zoom—I’d mentioned him to her one day when we’d had lunch together and hadn’t had a chance to update her. “Not exactly,” I said, wondering if Jason had heard. I said good-bye to Gina and hopped into the car, not meeting Jason’s eye. “Thanks, Jeeves. Drive on.”

  I flashed back to the last time I’d been alone in his car with him, when he’d driven me to work after my first and only date with Zoom. It had felt weird not to have Teresa there then, and it felt even weirder now. After all, that time had been nothing more than a chance encounter. This time we were together, well, on purpose. Weird.

  We were both quiet for a few minutes as Jason drove to the exit. Since it was around lunchtime, traffic was heavy on Route 30, with hot, cranky drivers leaning on their horns every time the lights changed color. Finally Jason saw his chance and scooted out to join the flow heading east.

  “So,” I said, searching for a topic that might get us past the awkwardness. “Since you made me come along, I guess I’m stuck going to this comedy thing, too. So what is it, exactly?”

  “My friend Bonner’s improv comedy troupe. They’re putting on a charity show in Fairmount Park.”

  “What charity?”

  “A few different ones, actually—all environmental stuff.” He glanced over at me. “You’re into that sort of thing, right? Teresa said you did your senior volunteer project on alternative energy.”

  It felt weird that he knew something like that about me. “Uh-huh,” I said. “So are you into that sort of thing, too, or are you just l
ooking for a few laughs?”

  He shrugged, easing to a stop at a red light. “Well, I’m hoping to specialize in environmental law someday. Does that count?”

  I laughed sheepishly. “Really? I didn’t know that.”

  In some corner of my mind I vaguely remembered Teresa mentioning that Jason wanted to go to law school after college. At the time I’d probably made some snide comment about how he was perfectly cut out to join one of those ambulance-chasing firms that advertised on late-night TV. After what he’d just said, I felt a bit guilty. Maybe he wasn’t quite as shallow as I’d always thought.

  “Did you have lunch yet?”

  I blinked, startled out of my thoughts by the abrupt question. “No,” I replied. “Did you?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve been craving a good cheesesteak all week. Want to swing by Pat’s or somewhere? You’re not one of those girls who only eats salad, are you?”

  I shot him a surprised glance. I’d had enough meals with him and Teresa for him to know the answer to that question. Then I caught the twinkle in his eye and realized he was joking.

  “I can eat a weenie-boy like you under the table anytime, anywhere,” I joked back. “Bring it on!”

  Before long we were standing on the heat-baked sidewalk outside Pat’s King of Steaks in South Philly, doing our best to control the huge gobs of provolone and fried onion that were doing their best to slide out of our sandwiches. The exhaust fumes from the cars on Passyunk Avenue added an urban touch to the scents of sizzling steak and onions.

  “This is the stuff,” Jason said happily, slurping a blob of melted cheese off his hand.

  “Totally,” I agreed. I love a good cheese-steak, and it’s always nice to see someone else enjoy one just as much. I was shocked to realize I was actually having a good time with Jason. Up until now he’d always been nothing more than a slightly annoying third wheel tagging along when I was hanging out with Teresa. The only times I’d really talked to him alone were when she was off in the bathroom or something.

  I always thought he and I had nothing in common, I mused. But now we’ve found agreement twice in one day—first there was the environmental thing, and now it turns out both of us prefer Pat’s steaks over Geno’s. I glanced over at the competing cheesesteak place across the street, then back at Jason. What are the odds?

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked.

  “Like what?” I blushed slightly, glad that he couldn’t read my thoughts. “I’m not staring at you. I’m just enjoying my—what?” I said as I noticed him grinning at me in an odd way.

  “You have cheese on your face.”

  “Oh. Thanks.” I swiped at my cheek with a napkin, glad—and a little surprised, actually—that he hadn’t just let me walk around like that all day.

  “Other side,” Jason said. I tried again, but he shook his head. “Hold still,” he ordered.

  He reached out and swept his thumb over my left cheekbone. I held my breath, hoping he didn’t notice that I’d shivered at his touch. The worst part was, I had no idea why. After all, this was Jason we were talking about. My best friend’s boyfriend, the most annoying guy in the tristate area, the bane of my existence. Why in the world would his touch make me tingle?

  I turned away and chowed down on my sandwich to hide my confusion. Maybe it was true what Teresa always said: that I was boy crazy and could find the diamond in even the roughest guy. I’d always taken it as sort of a compliment. But if being boy crazy meant going gooey like melted cheese at even Jason’s touch, I was ready to commit myself.

  Then again, I’d had a rough couple of weeks, guy-wise. Maybe I needed to cut myself some slack.

  “Almost ready?” I asked, taking one last bite of my steak before dumping the rest in the trash. “Let’s go get those olives so Camille can take her head out of the oven.”

  “Okay. But we need to find a real parking spot first.” The heart of the Italian Market was only a couple of blocks away from where we were standing. But the free lot on Kimball had been full when we’d cruised by, so Jason had just double-parked on the street near the steak places.

  Parking in South Philly could be challenging at the best of times, but that day it was practically a comedy of errors. We were right behind the car that got the last available spot on Christian Street. We waited with the turn signal on for almost ten minutes while an old man slowly loaded bags into his trunk, only to realize that he wasn’t actually leaving. We pulled into a beautiful space—but immediately realized it was a fire hydrant. We even drove the wrong way down a one-way street. By accident, of course. At least that’s what Jason claimed after I screamed, closed my eyes, and clutched at the hand rest for dear life. When he did the same thing a second time, though, I couldn’t help wondering.

  “This is getting ridiculous,” I said through clenched teeth as he spun around the same corner for the umpteenth time. “Why don’t you just drop me off and drive around? I can dash in, find the olives, and wait for you to swing by again.”

  “Are you sure you trust me enough for that?” he asked with a grin. For some reason he didn’t really seem bothered by the frustration of parking. Or rather not parking. “I might just drive off and abandon you.”

  “Oh, I trust you,” I replied grimly. “Because if you did that, I’d tell Teresa on you and she’d kick your butt.”

  He didn’t seem to have an answer for that one, probably because he knew I was right. A moment later he leaned forward over the steering wheel. “There’s one,” he said.

  Sure enough, a car had just pulled out half a block ahead. I held my breath, not daring to believe we might actually have found a viable parking place. What was going to stop us this time? Loading zone? Driveway? Prius-swallowing pothole?

  A moment later Jason had neatly parallel parked in the spot. “There we go,” he said cheerfully. “No problem.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Okay, let’s get this over with,” I said, unhooking my seat belt. “I’ve always liked that little place on the corner—what’s it called? Talluto’s? We should check there first.”

  “No, let’s try DiBruno’s,” Jason argued. “They have everything.”

  “Fine, whatever.” I wasn’t in the mood to argue.

  DiBruno’s was packed, as usual, and we had to wait in line for fifteen minutes just for the chance to ask about the right olives. When we got to the front of the line, the clerk shrugged helplessly. They had about half a million kinds of olives, but not the kind Camille wanted.

  “Sorry,” Jason said sheepishly. “Guess we should’ve gone to your place after all.”

  “See? That just goes to show that you should always listen to me. Because I’m always right.”

  I was only joking, of course, but I still had to eat my words when Talluto’s didn’t have the right kind of olives either. “Sorry, signora,” the cute old Mediterranean lady behind the counter said with a shrug. “Sold out.”

  “What now?” Jason asked as we went back outside.

  “I don’t know,” I said, staring absently at the people wandering back and forth on the street. “But I don’t want to imagine what Camille will say if I show up at home without those olives. Let’s check around a little more.”

  We actually found the olives at the next place we tried. “Duh,” Jason muttered as the clerk was ringing me up. “I should’ve remembered that Claudio’s is the best place for olives.”

  “Thank you,” I said to the clerk as he handed me my receipt. “You just saved my life.”

  I glanced at my watch as we stepped back outside. My heart sank. Where had the time gone? It was already five after four. This errand had definitely taken a lot longer than expected.

  “Oops,” I said. “I guess your friend’s comedy show already started. Sorry about that.”

  I braced myself for his annoyance or obnoxious teasing or both. I pretty much deserved it this time. Okay, so the parking problems hadn’t been my fault, and it hadn’t been my idea to stop for cheesesteaks, eith
er. Still, I had been the one to beg him to follow my sister’s latest crazy whim.

  But he merely shrugged. “No biggie,” he said. “I’ll catch them next time.”

  “Really? You don’t mind?” I was surprised. “But it sounded like you were really looking forward to it.”

  “It’s okay. I had fun today anyway. What could be better than cheesesteaks and a beautiful afternoon at the Italian Market?”

  I grinned. “This was kind of fun, I guess,” I said, realizing it was true. “At least parts of it.”

  We got in the car and headed for home. Along the way, we chatted about this and that—almost like real friends. I even found myself laughing at most of his goofy jokes.

  When we were just a few blocks from my house, I sighed. “Almost back to Planet Camille. For a while there I forgot that the world now revolves around veils and vows.”

  “And fancy olives, of course,” Jason added.

  I laughed. “How could I forget?” Feeling a sudden wave of fondness for him, I smiled down at the Claudio bag at my feet. For the first time I felt as if I could see a little of what Teresa saw in Jason. He really was a sweet guy under that perfect hair and class-clown attitude. “Thanks for distracting me from all that for a while, Jason.” Impulsively I added, “You know, maybe it isn’t the worst thing in the world that Teresa dragged you home. You’re okay.”

  He didn’t answer. When I glanced over, he was staring straight ahead with both hands gripping the wheel, even though we were driving on a quiet road. Had I embarrassed him? I hadn’t thought such a thing was possible.

  Deciding to take pity on him, I changed the subject. “You know, after all this effort, the least Camille could do is invite you to the wedding. You’ve more than earned a helping of salmon and a little Macarena.”

  “That’s okay.” He suddenly turned to grin at me. “I was already planning to lurk around outside the wedding on Saturday to get some photos of you in your dress—the Pink Horror, didn’t you call it? If you give me a flash of your SpongeBobs, I may even post it on my MySpace.”

  I sighed. So much for my warm, fuzzy feelings toward him; Mr. Obnoxious had returned. “Thanks for the ride,” I said, grabbing the olives and sliding out of the car. “See you later.”