It Happened One Wedding

  “It is to me, too.” Then she smiled, in concession. “At least now it is. Admittedly, when I was in New York, my scale was far more heavily tipped on the ‘work’ side of the work-life balance. But now I have this new job, with much better hours, and I feel a lot more settled. It’s like, that piece of my life is good, that’s set—I’ve got the career thing figured out. So now I’m in a position to start thinking about things beyond my career.”

  She waited to see how Tyler would respond. She was putting it all out there, making it clear that she was thinking big picture, not just looking for someone to have fun with. Every other Mr. Right contender—if they hadn’t already failed her checklist—had crashed and burned at this part. They equivocated about what they were looking for in a relationship, they hemmed and hawed, or they said some platitude that, at best, could be read as ambivalent.

  Tyler looked her dead in the eyes. “I feel exactly the same way.”

  Hearing that, Sidney took a deep breath.

  Well, that was . . . fantastic. Awesome. She smiled at Tyler, not quite sure why she had that annoying, hesitant feeling in her stomach again—but it didn’t matter. Fate had finally thrown her a bone. Tyler was good-looking, smart, successful, and had an easygoing nature that balanced well against her tendency to be, well . . . a little snarky and not so easygoing. And when, during dessert, he talked about being in a place in his life where he was ready to settle down, something he’d realized after seeing how happy his friends, J.D. and Payton, were after the birth of their first child, Sidney could practically see the bright neon arrow blinking in the air over his head. Him! This one! Yes!

  So, at the end of the date, when they said good-bye in front of the taxi that would take her home, and he leaned in and huskily asked if his two minutes were up, or if he could see her again, the pragmatist in her knew there was only one answer to that.

  She told him yes.

  • • •

  ACROSS TOWN IN his loft, Vaughn made himself a dinner of steak fajitas and settled onto his couch to watch television. He had his cell phone ready at his side, knowing what was coming.

  It was Wednesday. Date night for Sidney. Which meant that any moment, the text messages would start rolling in with whatever issues—real or imagined—she identified with this new guy, this rich Tyler tool who clearly had a dick so small he needed to compensate by taking women to expensive five-star restaurants on first dates.

  Sad, really.

  But it didn’t matter how nice the restaurant was, or whether Sidney’s mentor claimed Tyler was a “good” guy. As Vaughn had told Cade and Huxley, her checklist was like a fortress: No man was getting through.

  Speaking of which . . .

  He looked down at his silent phone. He checked to make sure it was on, and then turned back to his fajitas.

  Admittedly, he was curious to know how things were going on her date. Not because he was jealous or anything—pfft, he didn’t do jealous—but because of the practicalities of their situation. He liked having sex with Sidney. But obviously, that would come to an end as soon as she started dating someone. And now that he thought about it . . . everything else would come to an end, too. Like the cute text messages. And all their conversations. And he no longer would be the guy she texted Help to when needing someone to pop the casing off her smoke detector. Or the guy she rested her head against when snuggled up on her couch on a Friday night. Some nameless, faceless new guy was going to horn in on all of that.

  Vaughn looked down at his phone.

  He shook off the thoughts—that wasn’t anything he needed to worry about tonight. Any second now, he was going to hear the chime of a new text message, the chime that signaled the demise of rich, slick Maybe-next-time-we-can-meet-for-more-than-two-minutes-which-also-happens-to-be-how-long-I-last-during-sex Tyler Roland, Attorney-at-Law.

  Vaughn picked up his phone to check that it had a signal.

  Yep, any second now.

  Twenty-eight

  A WEEK AND a half later, Vaughn met with his boss, Special Agent in Charge Nick McCall, to give him an update on the Pritchett investigation.

  “The cops did another gun run last night,” Vaughn said. “We have one more scheduled for two weeks from yesterday, and after that, I think we’ll have enough evidence to make our arrests.”

  “Let me know when that’s going to go down,” Nick said. “I want to make sure you have all the backup you need. These guys are cops. When they realize they’re going to prison, who knows what they might try to pull.”

  Vaughn nodded in agreement. “If everything goes as planned, we’ll make the arrests the following Monday. In addition to the backup squad and the SOG team, I’d like to bring in a SWAT unit.” That would mean he’d have eight more fully armed guys in two big SUVs on hand, just in case.

  He thought of the comment he’d made to Sidney the last time he’d seen her. The FBI loves overwhelming people with manpower and firepower.

  An image of her popped into his head, curled against him on her couch. Not wanting to go there, he shoved the memory aside and focused on the task at hand.

  “That’s one of the things I miss most about being in the field and working undercover in these corruption cases,” Nick said. “That ‘Oh, shit,’ look on these assholes’ faces when you show up on their doorstep with your FBI badge.”

  No disagreement there. “Speaking of working undercover, there’s something else I wanted to discuss,” Vaughn said. “With these public corruption cases being a top priority, things are getting busy in my squad. In order to manage the caseload, I think it would be helpful to have another agent who’s been to undercover school.”

  Nick considered this. “Do you have anyone in mind?”

  “I recommend sending Huxley.” Vaughn saw his boss’s look of surprise and acknowledged this with a nod. “I know. Two years ago, if you’d told me we’d be having this conversation, I never would’ve believed it. But Huxley’s really come into his own these past couple years. He’s thorough, decisive, ridiculously organized, and he gets the job done every time. Just last week, he needed to go undercover with barely any notice, and I was really impressed with the way he handled that.”

  Nick rocked back in his chair. “All right. I’ll take your recommendation under advisement. If I decide to go forward with this, the first step would be for me to talk to Huxley and see if this is even something he wants to do.”

  “One thing: when you talk to him, don’t tell him the thing I said about being impressed. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

  The SAC chuckled. “Understood.” Then he looked Vaughn over with sharp green eyes, taking in his navy pinstripe suit, new silk tie, and light-blue shirt—which, for once, was buttoned all the way. “You’re looking spiffier than usual. Big plans tonight?”

  “My parents are in town and we’re having dinner.” Vaughn rubbed his jaw. “My mom’s not exactly thrilled with the scruff. I figured I’d tried to appease her by at least wearing a good suit.”

  Obviously, that was the only reason he’d gotten all dressed up for this dinner.

  Or so he kept telling himself.

  • • •

  VAUGHN WAS THE first to arrive at Rosebud Steakhouse, the one restaurant at which his father insisted upon eating every time he visited Chicago. His parents were in town to run some errands—apparently his mother was going shoe shopping with Isabelle to find a pair that matched the dress she planned to wear at the wedding—and they’d driven in today so they could get an early start in the morning. Naturally they’d wanted to have dinner with him, Simon, and Isabelle.

  And they’d invited Sidney to join them, too.

  It would be Vaughn’s first time having any contact with her since her date with Tyler, the night he’d stayed up far later than he would ever admit while waiting for a text message that had never come.

  But that was cool. Sure, he was a
little disappointed that he was losing out on some really hot sex, and, fine, maybe he also missed just . . . talking to her, but they’d both known the score. Of course, he knew the score. So when Sidney walked into the restaurant tonight, he was going to smile and be his usual friendly, smooth self because that was what he did. And this funk or whatever he’d been in for the last week could just fuck off and go find some emo, angsty guy to plague—because it was starting to seriously cramp his style.

  That decided, he ordered a drink at the bar and took a seat. His parents had called to say they’d hit some traffic on the highway, so they were running a few minutes late. Sidney was the first to arrive. Dressed for work, she walked in wearing a sleek black pantsuit and had her hair pulled back in a sophisticated twist.

  Eh. She looked . . . all right, he supposed.

  Nice try, asshole.

  Spotting him at the bar, she headed over. “Hey, you.”

  “Miss Sinclair,” he said charmingly, totally on his game. But then he noticed something. “What’s wrong?” He could see it in her eyes; something was bothering her.

  She took a deep breath, waving this off as she took the seat next to him at the bar. “It’s nothing. I just picked up the locket I ordered to hold the photograph of my mother for Isabelle’s ‘something old.’ It’s nice, but it’s not the same thing as having something that actually belonged to my mom. I still can’t believe all of her wedding stuff got thrown away.” She sighed, then shook it off. “Anyway . . . how are you?” She looked at him and smiled. “Hey, you took my advice about the skinnier tie.” She reached up and tugged it playfully. “It looks good.”

  Vaughn looked down into her teasing eyes, thinking that it was just . . . really good to see her again. “Thanks,” he said huskily. Then, clearing his throat, he added in a more glib tone, “You should probably soak it in while you can, because this is as stylish as I get.”

  “No pocket square for you?”

  “Not even if I was standing buck naked in the middle of Wrigley Field on a sold-out game day and someone threw me one from the crowd to cover my junk.”

  She laughed hard at that. “So that’s a no, then?”

  He smiled. “That’s a no.”

  The bartender came by to ask if she wanted anything to drink, and she ordered a glass of cabernet.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask,” she said, turning back to Vaughn. “What’s the ‘other you’ been up to these days? I see you still have the scruff.”

  Let’s just say I woke up with scruff burn in some very interesting places.

  “The ‘other me’ has had a busy week. Just had a big meeting last night,” he said.

  “Everything go okay?”

  “Yep.”

  “Ever been on a case where everything didn’t go okay?” she asked.

  “Actually, yes. Two years ago, I was working undercover as a gun buyer, and I drove this flashy Cadillac Escalade. I parked it in a garage and, randomly, some asshole stole it while I was meeting with the suspects.”

  “No way.” She started laughing again. “What did you do?”

  “I had to call a cab to drive me back to the FBI office.” He held out his hands when she laughed harder. “Well, I couldn’t have my backup team give me a ride, in case anyone was watching the garage.” He shook his head, smiling ruefully at the memory. “Believe me—I caught shit for that one for a long time.”

  “I bet.” Her eyes sparkling, she took a sip of her wine.

  Vaughn was very aware that everyone else was going to show up at any moment, and there was something he wanted to know. “So, I haven’t seen you since your date with the ‘two-minutes’ guy.” He feigned cluelessness. “What was his name again?”

  “Tyler.”

  “That’s it. How did things go with you two?”

  She looked at him, and at first he thought she wasn’t going to answer. “The date went really well.” She smiled. “No Man-Speak. He seems like a good guy. I’m seeing him again tomorrow, in fact. We were going to have dinner earlier this week, but he had to go out of town to cover some depositions for another lawyer at his firm. If all goes well tomorrow, I’m thinking I’ll probably ask him to go to the wedding.” She wiped her brow jokingly. “Phew. With only two weeks left, I was starting to cut it close there.”

  Vaughn sat there for a moment, feeling a pang of something sharp in his chest. But then he shoved the feelings down deep, blocking them out and putting them in a place where he could pretend they didn’t even exist.

  Well, that was just . . . great. Sidney had been wanting to meet her Mr. Right, and now perhaps she finally had. She and Vaughn had become friends over the past couple months, and as her friend, he knew this was a good development for her. Of course he wanted her to be happy.

  In fact, looking into those blue-green eyes and seeing her smile right then, he realized he wanted that more than anything.

  So he raised his glass in toast. And if the words tasted a little bitter coming out, he ignored that, too. “Well, cheers to that,” he said smoothly. “You have found that most mythical of creatures in the urban dating jungle: the single, normal, commitment-ready, thirtysomething man. The checklist has prevailed.”

  He held out his glass. She paused, then clinked her glass to his. “To the checklist.”

  “Ooh . . . what are we toasting to?” said a familiar female voice.

  Vaughn turned and saw Isabelle heading over to the bar, with Simon in tow.

  “It’s nothing,” Sidney said quickly. She got off the barstool and hugged her sister in greeting.

  His parents arrived shortly behind them, his mother giving both Sidney and Isabelle a warm hug. The hostess showed the six of them to their table, and the mood quickly became like their previous dinner together at his parents’ house, everyone laughing, lots of cross-conversations. Vaughn sat across from Sidney, and from time to time he felt a tightening in his chest, watching her laugh with his parents or joke around with Simon, but he never once faltered in his charming, I’m-just-a-good-time-guy demeanor, the role he’d been in for the last several years, the role that was his comfort zone.

  And when dinner was over, and everyone was saying their good-byes, he acted as though he didn’t notice when Isabelle pulled Sidney off to the side.

  “Call me Sunday morning and let me know how your date went,” Isabelle said in a low voice. “If it goes well, I want to meet this guy.” She winked at Sidney, then turned back to rejoin the rest of the group.

  While Vaughn did a bang-up job of pretending not to watch as Sidney walked away.

  • • •

  ON SATURDAY NIGHT, Tyler walked Sidney back to her townhome. They’d had a nice, enjoyable dinner at Le Colonial, a French Vietnamese restaurant just a few blocks from her place. It had been her turn to pick the restaurant, and she’d deliberately chosen Le Colonial for its exotic, romantic décor. They’d even scored an outdoor table on the mezzanine level, with a view of the bustling street below. There’d been good conversation, good wine, and great food—all the makings of a perfect second date.

  And it had been perfect. Well, mostly. Sure, Sidney still had that nagging, hesitant feeling, but she assumed that was simply because this was her first second date since her breakup with Brody. Of course she had trepidations; the last time she’d started down this road she’d been cheated on and had ended up with a broken heart. A few cautionary jitters were to be expected.

  “I really liked that restaurant. Good choice,” Tyler said, taking her hand as they walked along the sidewalk.

  Oh. They were holding hands now. Because that was what people did on a date. “I’ve never had a lychee mimosa before,” Sidney said. “It was different—in a good way.”

  “We’ll have to go back there again,” Tyler said.

  Right. Sure. Maybe it would even become “their spot.” They would be a couple and have a spot and
everything would be lovely.

  Say something about the wedding, her inner pragmatist nudged her as they headed up the steps to her front door.

  Yes, the wedding. This was the perfect opportunity. The subject had even briefly come up during dinner, when she’d told Tyler that her sister was getting married in two weeks. She turned to face him when they got to the top of the stairs . . . but for whatever reason, the words got stuck.

  He bent his head and kissed her.

  Well . . . huh. At first, she wasn’t feeling it, but then something changed. Assuming that her hesitations and trepidations were holding her back, she decided to say screw it to all of that. For once, she forgot about her checklist and the wedding and decided to get out of her head and simply let her heart lead the way. And after pouring all that into her kiss, she pulled back and peered up at him with a smile.

  Then she blinked, because his eyes were the wrong color—blue instead of hazel.

  And she realized, in that moment when she’d said screw it to her hesitations and trepidations and had let her heart lead the way, she’d imagined herself kissing Vaughn.

  “Oh, boy,” she said, with a ragged, panicky exhale.

  “I know. I felt that, too,” Tyler said.

  She was officially screwed.

  • • •

  ON THE UPSIDE, Tyler handled the situation well.

  Sidney let herself into her townhome, feeling bad and regretful about the conversation she’d just had—but she also knew that it had been the right thing to do. For one thing, Tyler deserved to be with a woman who wasn’t imagining another guy while she kissed him. To spare his feelings, she’d told a small fib and had said she realized now that she wasn’t over her ex-fiancé. He was gracious about that, and as he’d walked down the steps and out of her life, her one consolation was that a guy like Tyler wasn’t going to remain single for long—some lucky woman was going to snatch him up real soon.

  Unfortunately, that woman wasn’t her.

  She headed straight upstairs and changed out of her date clothes. After pulling on a T-shirt and pair of shorts, she curled up on her bed and thought about her next move. The checklist was irrelevant, at least for now. She most certainly wasn’t going to have a date for Isabelle and Simon’s wedding, and she’d just realized she had some sort of “feelings” or whatever for a man who—just last night—had been toasting her for having a date with another guy.