The Supermodel's Best Friend (A Romantic Comedy) (9 page)

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—I don’t think
Alex meant—oh, shit.”

Seeing the stricken look on her face, he
realized he was being a jerk. He swallowed the egg and wiped his
mouth with a napkin. “No, I’m sorry. That was rude of me. I know
what Alex meant.”

“We were just talking about how nice it is
here, that’s all, and how nice it is for some people to be able to
afford it and share it with people close to them.”

“Of course. And he’s right, I did grow up
more like Huntley than like Alex.” Alex had come to Stanford with a
Goodwill wardrobe, a full need-based scholarship, and stories about
living part of his teen years in a homeless shelter. “I had all the
privileges in the world. I can’t complain.”

“He seemed really nice. I liked his eyes.
Brown and warm, you know? I inherited my dad’s gray eyes—he’s
white—but I really wish I had my mother’s. Brown eyes are so warm
and deep, you really feel like you can see into a person.” She
licked her lips. “His were like that, which is a good sign.”

“A sign?”

“Oh, right.” She clapped her hand over her
mouth, peeked at him over her fingers. “Promise not to tell? I
thought maybe you’d heard already, being friends with him.”

“I haven’t talked to Alex in years.”

“Forget I said anything.” She forced a smile
and looked out the window. “I wonder if the sun will come out at
all today?”

Sometimes people thought that because he was
big and quiet he wasn’t very smart. “I take it Alex and Lucy are
being set up together?” he asked gently.

Krista’s eyes went wide, nodding. “I’m not
supposed to know who Fawn picked out, but I can totally tell.”

“Picked?”

“Lucy has terrible taste in men, so she asked
Fawn to choose.”

The thought of earnest Alex and the intense
redhead together made him frown. “I just don’t see it.”

“You’re going by the Lucy you saw this
morning, which I can understand. She doesn’t realize what a
turn-off it is to look like an angry teenager, especially when you
want to be taken as wife material.”

He choked on a mouthful of coffee. “Wife
material?”

“See, that’s what I mean. All that black
denim and leather and boots—it’s scary. Men like someone a little
softer. At least, the kind of man she wants to settle down with
does.”

“Which would be”—he wiped his mouth with a
napkin—“Alex?”

“If they hit it off. I only just met him, but
he looked adorable for her. I hope she changed into something good
back in her cabin.”

Miles had a sudden image of Lucy
shapeshifting like a mutant in the X-Men. “Change?”

“I took her shopping.” Krista sat up tall,
patted her fluffy curls, grinned. “I’ve been dying to do it for
years. Get her out of that Elvira black into something fresh and
appealing. We found the most gorgeous celadon wrap dress that
really brings out her eyes. And it’s cotton, so not too elegant to
wear it here. The lodge, anyway, which is pretty nice in a rustic
sort of way.” She looked around.

“Your friend—Lucy—she’s agreed to this? She
doesn’t seem the type to go along with that sort of thing.” He
wondered what celadon was. It sounded like a prehistoric
mammal.

“I know, but it was all her idea. She really
wants to get married. She was engaged for years and the guy bailed
at the last minute.” Her voice dropped. “Left her for somebody
else. No warning. Lucy’s really pissed.”

“I bet.” It didn’t sound like the right frame
of mind to get engaged to somebody else, though. Casual sex—sure.
Definitely. His own experience was all for that. He followed that
train of thought while Krista went on.

“She wasn’t hurt, not like you’d think. Just
furious he screwed up her
plan
. She wanted to be married at
thirty and on her second child by now. So he wasted a lot of her
time, and that bothers her more than anything, even cheating.”

An unwelcome vision of Felicia obsessing over
wedding websites flashed in his head. He knew what it felt like to
be the token penis in a tuxedo. “I see,” he said.

“She’s totally type-A, dotting her T’s,
everything nice and tight, no surprises. When I took her shopping,
she brought her laptop into the dressing room and recorded each
thing on a spreadsheet. No shit.” She laughed merrily.

He nodded, not too surprised this woman he’d
just met would be sharing so much with him. Something about his
face, his size, maybe his silence, made all kinds of random people,
not just single women, open up to him. Like a bartender. Wherever
he went, people latched on to him and told him things they really
shouldn’t have. Every once in a while he wondered if he should have
become a spy. Or a priest.

Krista went on. “If she hadn’t been so eager
to make up for lost time, she never would have let me put her in
turquoise, believe you me.”

“She’s lucky to have your help.” Rising to
his feet, Miles held out his hand. “It was nice meeting you,
Krista. Forgive me, but you’ve got me wanting to see if I can find
my old friend, Alex. Catch up on lost time.”

She sat up straight, eyes wide. “Oh, of
course!” She bit her lip, looked like she was wondering if she’d
said too much. “Look, you won’t repeat anything I told you about
Lucy, will you? I don’t know why I blabbed all that. I get that way
when I’m… Anyway, I don’t think he even knows they’re setting them
up and I’d never forgive myself if I prejudiced him against
her.”

“No, no, don’t worry about it. I won’t say a
word. It was nice talking to you.” He escaped out of the lodge
without asking at reception for Alex’s cabin number. He and Alex
had never gotten along. Overcoming so much adversity had made the
man an insufferable bore in his opinion, and Alex thought Miles was
a spoiled dumbshit who burned bridges he would’ve killed for.

He tried again to imagine Alex and Lucy
together. His brain was quick to get Lucy naked, short and curvy,
more red hair, climbing on top of him—

No, wrong
him
.

So, she thought she wanted a husband. He was
surprised Alex wasn’t married already; he was also the type to have
a plan like that, down to the genders of his theoretical children.
Always scheming, measuring, campaigning, working. Eyes on the
future.

He got tired just thinking about it.
Reflecting that ambition was for other people, Miles went to his
cabin, determined to spend the rest of the day in the hot tub.

* * *

Around one o’clock that afternoon, Lucy
noticed Krista waving at her from a bench in a grove of redwoods
behind the lodge.

“Where were you?” Krista asked. “Yoga was
awesome!”

Patting down the filmy green dress flapping
around her legs, feeling frozen and ridiculous, Lucy tip-toed
through the ferns to meet up with her and Betty. The wet fronds
soaked her silk ballet flats. Her idiotic, impractical,
beige
silk ballet flats. “Fawn isn’t with you? I thought we
might catch some lunch.”

Krista shook her head, eyes shining. “Getting
a jumpstart on the honeymoon, I bet.”

“The yoga instructor is hot,” Betty said. Her
short, round body flushed and shiny, she splayed out on the bench
wearing only a red sports bra, black boxer shorts, and purple
flip-flops.

Lucy wrapped her arms over her chest. “I’m
not. Aren’t you cold? I feel stupid just sitting around the lodge,
but then I go outside and it’s freezing out. I never should have
let you pick out my clothes, Krista. I’m uncomfortable and
immobilized.”

Krista got up and took her arm. “Meet anyone
interesting?”

She thought of Miles, shoved that aside.
“Nobody new. The resort is deserted.”

Krista frowned. “I figured he’d be in the
lodge. The yoga class was empty, too—just me, Betty, and Jaynette.
She’s the yogi.”

“Three felt like a crowd to me,” Betty
said.

Lucy fumbled at the knot at her waist. “Once
I figured out how to tie this thing I wasn’t about to take it off.
But I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to get back into my normal
clothes so I can enjoy this place better. Go for a hike after
lunch. There’s supposed to be a river leading to the coast, just
past the last cabins on the north side.”

“No, you’re not.” Krista squeezed her arm to
hold her back. “Any minute now you’re going to meet this guy and
you have to make a good impression.”

“I agree. And I don’t want that impression to
be ‘stupid girly-girl.’”

“You look gorgeous, doesn’t she, Betty?”

“I’d hit it,” Betty said, chewing on her
thumbnail. “Actually, no, but I’m not your target demographic.”

“My target demographic is a man who
appreciates a woman with the sense to wear thick boots in the
wilderness,” Lucy said.

“At least wait until after lunch.” Krista
pointed at Betty. “And I am not going into the restaurant with you
in your underwear.”

“Fine.” Betty stood up, pulled her bra over
her head, and gave a vigorous, topless, nipple-shaking shimmy. “I
was burning up anyway.”

Krista swore, took Lucy’s arm, and pulled her
off into the trees.

Laughing, Lucy glanced back at Betty. “Should
we save you a seat?”

“No, I’m going to check out Jaynette’s hot
yogi
asanas
again.” Betty said, pulling her bra back on.
“Meet me for a massage at three? At the Relaxation Yurt. It’s on
the map.”

“Sounds great. See you then.” When their
friend was out of hearing range, Lucy turned to Krista. “That girl
needs to get laid.”

“So do you, which is why you’re going to stay
in that dress instead of donning the Ensemble of Doom again.”

Maybe Krista was right about her preference
for black clothes. Lucy had asked her friends to take over this,
this—she would not call it husband-hunting, which implied conquest
and destruction, and she didn’t want anything that dramatic, God
knew—this
introduction
. If Krista thought pastels and
synthetic fabrics would accelerate the courtship process, she’d
give it a shot.

They walked down a narrow walkway through a
thick grove of redwoods that cast the carpet of ferns below into
deep shadow. In a sunny meadow ahead, Lucy caught a glimpse of a
sign pointing to a large white building:
The Snowy Egret
.
“Oh, thank God. Food.”

Krista stopped and pointed to a fork in the
path. “Hold on. I have to go back to my cabin first. I’m still in
my workout clothes and I don’t have my wallet.”

“You don’t need a wallet. It’s
all-expense-paid, remember?” Lucy pulled out her phone from between
her breasts and studied the sweat-slick screen while Krista gaped
at her. She stared back. “What? The dress didn’t have pockets.”

“Where’s the matching clutch we bought?”

“That stupid thing didn’t have a strap. I’d
lose it in a second.”

“That’s why it’s called a clutch.”

Lucy reached over and used Krista’s
sweatshirt hoodie to wipe the sweat off the screen. “The Snowy
Egret is open at eleven-thirty to three every day for lunch, then
at five until ten for dinner,” she said, reading the file she’d
downloaded the week before. “They serve omnivorous, vegetarian,
gluten-free, and vegan delights to the discerning palette—”

“I’ll still have to change.”

Lucy frowned at the designer track suit,
brand new and embroidered with sequins. “You look great and
nobody’s around. Come on.”

Krista made an unhappy noise, probably
debating which was better: wearing the wrong thing herself or
sitting with a friend who wasn’t wearing anything at all. She
followed Lucy to the white door.

A pale waitress with white hair, wearing a
white apron over her white blouse, white slacks, and white Keds,
led them over to a table draped with a white tablecloth and handed
them each a white menu.

“I’m feeling very African American right
now,” Krista said in a low voice, looking around without moving her
head. The walls, curtains, and floor were also white.

Lucy studied the menu, stifled a snort.
“Check out the food.”

Krista scanned it and her jaw dropped. Then
their eyes met across the tops of the menus. They burst out
laughing.

“Mind if I join you?” a man said from behind
Lucy, just as she was pointing at the special.

“Chicken with wine sauce, jicama salad,
artichoke soup,” Lucy said, still laughing. She twisted around to
see a man with dark brown hair in a long-sleeved navy T-shirt.
Early thirties, laugh lines around the eyes, nice lips. She took in
the rest of him, the slim fit of the shirt over his toned biceps,
his flat stomach. He wore fashionable dark jeans and thick-soled
Keens.

“Alex!” Krista pulled over a chair from the
next table. “Please! We were feeling lonely.” It was a small table,
barely room for two, but he nodded his thanks and sat down. His
knees bumped Lucy’s and she shifted away to give him more
space.

So
, she thought.
This is…
Alex
.

The man she was going to marry.

Lucy studied the guy and realized he was
studying her right back. Suddenly uncomfortable, Lucy buried her
face in the snowy-white menu.

Krista kicked her under the table. “We were
just noticing the theme of the restaurant.”

“Yeah?” He glanced around. “Ah, I see it
now.”

Smiling, Krista leaned over to show him the
menu. “Halibut, endive, coconut broth, and skinned new potatoes.
Get it?”

The waitress brought him his own menu and
rearranged the table to make room for his place setting. He studied
the first page, then said to Lucy, “Albino beets. I’ve never heard
of that.”

Lucy smirked. “Wouldn’t that be a
turnip?”

“No, I imagine it’s a just a type we’ve never
heard of,” Alex said. “Perhaps an heirloom.”

Lucy stared at him. “Perhaps.”

“I’m having the chicken breast and jicama
salad with vichyssoise,” Krista said.