Eight Weeks to Mr. Right (19 page)

My mind was consumed with Ben to the point that everywhere I looked, everyone I saw reminded me of him.
 

As I started down toward the exit near the baggage claim, I saw reporters waiting down below, cameras at the ready, and was so distracted by thinking of Ben that I didn’t even process at first that they were here for me. In the midst of the crowd, a guy was waiting alone who looked like Ben to my starved brain.

The closer I got, the figure came into focus. And then I realized with a shock that it was Ben.
 

Ben was waiting for me in the airport.
 

My heart leapt and I got a lump in my throat. He cared. He missed me too. He was here.
 

The escalator couldn’t have moved fast enough.
 

“Ben!” I said when I finally got to him. “What are you doing here?” I wanted to touch him, to grab him and hug him and kiss him, but I did my best to hold back, not sure what he wanted. Around us, reporters were jostling to get closer to us, but I ignored them all, focused solely on my love.

“I saw the show,” he said.
 

“You did? But…it’s only airing now,” I said, confused.
 

“I couldn’t wait.” He shrugged. “I streamed it live. I had to know how you did. I was pulling for you.”

“So then you saw —”

“Yes. I saw.”

And then my words came all at once, in a jumble. I couldn’t get them out fast enough, not caring who heard. “I’m so sorry. I messed everything up. I shouldn’t have dragged you into that. I never really loved him, it was just the idea of what he represented. I shouldn’t have lied to you, I was just so confused.”

And he was shaking his head, and saying, “No, I shouldn’t have run. I should have been there for you when you needed me. I know you didn’t want the drama. I love how passionate you are about your career.”

“You were right, though,” I insisted. “I tried to take the easy way out. I wanted a job I hadn’t earned.”

“January, I don’t want to be like my dad. I don’t want to leave when things get hard.”

I looked up at him, daring to step closer. “So you mean…you can forgive me? We can try again?”

Ben gathered me up into a big hug. “We can do more than try,” he whispered into my ear, and I breathed deeply, taking in his wonderful scent.

And then he kissed me, surrounded by cameras, and I melted into him as the flashes went off in our faces. I wondered what publications we’d show up in tomorrow, but I didn’t care. I welcomed it. I was happy to have others documenting our love, preserving this perfect moment for us.

Then he pulled back. “Come on,” he said, grabbing my hand. “Quick. Let’s go.”

And I ran out of the airport after him and jumped into a waiting cab as the paparazzi hurried to try to follow us.
 

“We’re going to Battery Spencer,” Ben told the driver as I craned my head back, trying to see whether anyone was successfully following us.
Battery Spencer?
I wondered. The name sounded familiar, but I didn’t ask. I was too happy and content to question anything right then.

The sun was nearing the horizon as we sped through the city, the colors heating up as we drove along. It was so beautiful — this city was so beautiful. I didn’t want to drag my eyes away.
 

But there was more to say.

“I’ve been so focused on myself lately,” I said. “I’m sorry.” He shook his head like it didn’t matter. “I don’t even know how you could still be interested in me,” I admitted.

“You’ve been going through a pretty crazy time,” he said, stroking my hair, and I leaned into his touch. “Anyone would have a hard time concentrating on other stuff. But I know you, January. You’re thoughtful and considerate. Yes, you’ve gotten caught up in what’s going on in your life lately, but you recognize when you’re doing it, and you make an effort to ask about other people, what’s going on in their lives.”

“I don’t want to be fake,” I said. “I don’t ever want to lie to you, or keep things from you.”

“I don’t either,” he said, staring at me with such tenderness it was hard not to cry.
 

But then a thought occurred to me that through my happiness at seeing Ben again I hadn’t thought to ask yet. “Ben,” I said quietly, choosing my words carefully, “why didn’t you respond? All those times that I tried to reach out to you? I thought you didn’t like me anymore.”

He hesitated, thinking. “I’m sorry,” he said finally. “I needed some time to myself to think everything over, figure out what I really wanted.”

“I was worried you’d never talk to me again,” I said in a small voice.
Just like high school.

“No.” He looked me straight in the eye. “That never would’ve happened. I just wasn’t ready yet. I never stopped wanting to be with you. I just didn’t think we could. I didn’t think you were over Andrew, or were over what people thought of you — not until I saw you turn him down.”

I blinked back tears that now stung at my eyes. “I needed you.”

“I know.” He squeezed my hand. “I should’ve been there for you.”

“And I shouldn’t have made you watch it with me.”

He shrugged then and grinned at me. “It was my choice. Ever since you came back into my life, you’ve made things go from black and white to color for me. Being with you has been a bit of a roller coaster, it’s true. But you know I love roller coasters.”

I grinned back. “You and I both.”

Before I knew it, we were crossing the Golden Gate Bridge toward Sausalito. Of course — Battery Spencer was an old fort with panoramic views of San Francisco, the Golden Gate Bridge, and the ocean below. I’d been there years ago as a child. I stared out at the water in silence, drinking in the beauty.

A few minutes later, we’d reached the Battery Spencer parking area. We hopped out of the cab and walked the short trail to the lookout. Together, we stood staring out at the ocean, at San Francisco, and at the bursting sunset splashing over the clouds. My heart felt like it was going to burst with happiness, at Ben, at this moment, at everything.
 

“This is how life should be,” I said, stepping closer to him. “No cameras, no audience. Just you and me.”

“Just you and me,” he repeated, and took my hand. “January, I love you. I don’t want anything to get between us, ever again.”

I shook my head. “Never.”

Ben knelt on the grass. I thought for a moment he was tying his shoe, but then he looked up at me, opening a ring box I hadn’t spotted until this very moment. I gasped.
 

“January, I know we’ve only been back in contact for eight weeks. But I fell in love with you fifteen years ago. I don’t think I ever stopped loving you. And these past few weeks together have only shown me how right I was way back in high school when I chose you. I never should’ve let you go then, and I’m not going to now.”

He took a breath. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you. January, will you marry me?”

The words were hardly out of his mouth before I yelled “Yes!” Ben slid the ring onto my finger and I caught only a glimpse of the beautiful, pale yellow diamond before he jumped to his feet and lifted me high into the air, pulling me into a huge hug and spinning us around together.
 

“Oh good,” he said, setting me down. “I was worried you’d already had your fill of marriage proposals today.”

I laughed, and then the two of us were laughing and tearing up together, holding each other tight.

And then he leaned toward me, inch by inch, until his soft, warm lips were on mine. This time I grabbed him and kissed him roughly, pulling him into me and not letting go, and we explored each other’s mouths feverishly, pushing our bodies into each other.

I couldn’t imagine a more perfect proposal. The man I loved looking out over the city I loved. Ben was all I needed. Hand in hand, we watched as the colors in the sunset faded to gray and the last wisps of clouds disappeared into the night sky.
 

Two days later, as I sat down with Ben for an early happy hour at the same bar where we’d first run into each other eight weeks before, my phone rang. I’d moved back into Ben’s house quickly and bought a new dresser for my clothes. We’d decided to make my old room into a lounge area, and we were officially sharing his bedroom. I was content and happy, and maybe that was why, after forty-eight hours of ignoring unknown numbers on my phone, I answered.

“Is this January Burleigh?” an unfamiliar female voice said as I moved to a corner of the bar near our table to talk.

“It is.” I thought of Maria, the
Mr. Right
producer, calling me all those weeks ago to warn me not to be seen on a date again, and I started to tense.

But no. It was an executive from a major perfume house, one of La Joie’s biggest competitors.
What on earth could she be calling about?
I wondered.

“We’d like to meet with you to discuss your interest in working with us to develop a custom fragrance,” she said.
 

At first I was confused. “A custom fragrance?” Was she trying to sell me something?
 

“We understand that you’re not a celebrity on par with most who have released fragrances, but there’s certainly been a lot of buzz about you this summer,” she explained. “And given the fact that the public already knows about your interest in perfume development, we believe this may be a good time to introduce a branded fragrance into the market.”

I was stunned. “You want to — you want to sell my perfume?”

“We’d like to discuss it. If you’re interested.”

I almost choked. All these years, I’d been dreaming about developing a fragrance for a big-name perfume house, something that would never be identified with me personally. I’d thought I was back to square one, maybe even square zero, after the show. But now I was being offered a contract not only to develop a perfume, but to brand it as my own, presumably make royalties for years to come? It was a dream come true — a dream so wonderful I hadn’t even dared to dream it. “Of course — yes! I’m very interested in discussing that. But…” I hesitated. “Do you really think people will want to buy my perfume? I’m not exactly — I mean, I was kind of the villain on
Mr. Right
.”

“America loves its villains,” she assured me, her voice syrupy. “We can work with that. Maybe we’ll call it ‘Villainess,” something like that.”

I laughed. The waiter wound his way toward our table, and I mouthed to Ben to order me red wine. “‘Villainess’ would be fine with me,” I said. “I can embrace it.”

“Wonderful. I understand you’re currently in San Francisco?”
 

That’s right; I remembered now that her company was located right here in town. I confirmed that I was.

“Great. I don’t know what your plans are going forward, but if we do work together we’ll need you to be able to come to our office on a fairly regular basis over the next few months. Will that be a problem?”

I glanced at Ben and felt my cheeks turning pink with happiness. “Not at all,” I said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

We arranged a time to meet the next week, and I hung up, giddy with excitement.

“Who was that?” Ben asked curiously.
 

I gave him a big hug, standing beside him as he sat, and kissed the top of his head. Then I sat back down and filled him in on what the woman on the phone had said.
 

“That’s great!” he said.

“So you think I should do it?”

“Of course you should do it! It’s perfect for you. You’ll be amazing at it.”

“Thanks.” I felt like I was glowing. “And Ben — thanks for everything.”

He grinned at me. “I’m happy to stand beside you through your adventures. One of us has to stay grounded!”
 

I swatted at him, grinning back. “I hope I can help you through some adventures of your own in the coming years.”

“That sounds nice.”

We sat in silence for a moment, and then he said, “Bet you never thought going on that show would end like this.”

I shook my head, dazed. I thought about everything that had changed since I’d applied to go on
Eight Weeks to Mr. Right
. I’d moved across the country, left my job, fallen for Andrew, been dumped, reconnected with Ben, been painted as a villain, fallen in love with Ben, been proposed to twice…

None of it had happened as I’d expected. None of it. Yet it had all worked out perfectly in the end. I looked down at my engagement ring. I had an exciting new opportunity to work my dream job, a city I never wanted to leave, and an amazing man who wanted to marry me. I sighed, content. I couldn’t believe how lucky I was.
 

When our wine arrived, Ben and I held our glasses up, smiling at each other. “To the next episode in our lives,” he said.

“And to our new reality,” I added.
 

We clinked glasses, and took a sip of the wine. It tasted like tar and leather and black pepper, and it smelled like happiness.

A NOTE FROM AMY

Thank you for reading
Eight Weeks to Mr. Right
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— Amy Archer

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PREVIEW: The Dog Days of Autumn

(Sophie’s story)

Just outside the restaurant, heart fluttering nervously, I gave myself a quick once-over in the reflective glass. This was it. This was the moment I was going to remember for the rest of my life. In just a few short minutes, Matt was going to ask me to marry him.
 

We’d been talking about coming to Les Etoiles for dinner for years now, but for one reason or another it never seemed to happen. And now here we were, and there could only be one reason for it. I could feel it all the way down to my bones: This was the night.