Stop The Wedding!: Night Driving / Smooth Sailing / Crash Landing

She shrugged. “Not on purpose. I was very clear from the beginning that it wasn’t a long-term relationship.”

“Are you always that clear about your expectations from a relationship?”

“Aren’t you?”

“No,” he admitted.

She dug into her breakfast, fork in one hand, knife in the other, both elbows sticking out. The platter was heaped high with bacon and eggs and pancakes and hash browns. “You want some? I got plenty.”

He raised a palm. “I’m good.”

She narrowed her eyes at his oatmeal. “That’s not enough to feed a sparrow.”

“Since I’m not mobile, I have to keep a check on the calorie count.”

“Suit yourself.” She waved a fork. “So what was her name?”

“Who?”

“The one who broke your heart.”

He shrugged.

“You forgot her name?”

“Believe me, I wanted to.”

“Isn’t it a shame we can’t get selective amnesia when it suits us.”

“Shame,” he echoed.

“So what was her name?”

“Does it matter?”

“Not to me, but maybe if you talked about her, you could get over her.”

“I’m over her.”

“You sure?” She sank her teeth into a sausage link.

“Positive.”

“Then tell me her name.”

“Shaina.”

“Pretty name. Was she good in bed?”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s a legitimate question. The top two reasons couples break up are money and sex.”

Boone couldn’t believe she was asking something so personal. Then again, he could. Tara had no boundaries. Was it strange that, while her questions rubbed him the wrong way, he was starting to admire the way she just said whatever popped into her head? No filter. No caution. Just plowing straight ahead and grabbing at life with open arms. Trouble was, he was a cactus and she was a shiny red balloon.

“It wasn’t money,” he growled.

“So she was bad in bed.” Tara wiped her fingers on a napkin. “Could you hand me the syrup?”

He passed the syrup. “No, she was very good in bed. Everyone’s bed. That was the problem. Her extreme proficiency in bed.”

Tara’s eyes went all goopy soft as she drizzled maple syrup over her pancakes. “Oh, Boone, I’m so sorry.”

“Why? Did you sleep with her?”

Her hearty laugh captured him. Embraced him like a hug. How could someone hug you with a laugh?

A man put money in the jukebox and at eight o’clock in the morning, with the smell of bacon wafting in the air, it was downright incongruous hearing Ingrid Michaelson singing “Be OK.”

“That’s really why you want to stop Jackie from getting married, isn’t it?” Tara surprised him with her chirpy insight. “To keep her from making the same mistake you did. It’s really your mistakes you want to erase, not hers.”

Boone shook his head, polished off his oatmeal. “She barely knows the guy. They’ve only been going out a few weeks.”

“You and your sister weren’t raised together, right?”

“Yes. Where’d you hear that?”

“When I said goodbye to Mrs. Levison at the party, she said your sister is the daughter of Jack Birchard, the famous oceanographer.”

“That’s right. She’s my half sister.”

“Why the deep investment? It takes a lot of time, money and energy to drive across the country to ruin someone’s wedding.”

“I wasn’t there for her when she was growing up.”

“Why do you feel that it was your responsibility to be there for her?”

“When our mom dumped her, I could have made things easier for her.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. A big brother can’t make up for an AWOL mother.”

“I could have told her it wasn’t her fault that she left.”

“I doubt you telling her that would have made a difference.”

“Yeah, well.”

“You still feel guilty even when it had nothing to do with you. C’mon, Boone, you’re not responsible for what your mother did. I’m sure Jackie doesn’t hold you accountable in any way.”