My One and Only by Kristan Higgins Read Free Book Online Page B

the “and guest” idea had played out better in my imagination than in reality. Also, the thought kept popping up that this would’ve felt much better if Dennis been my fiancé instead of boyfriend, but that subject had not been broached since the night of the fateful phone call. Plus, I was about to murder him.
    Let me explain. We’d been bickering since the moment I found him guzzling a beer and watching a rerun of the 2004 World Series instead of standing at the door with bag packed, as I’d requested. Granted, things had been a little off since my marriage proposal—and by off, I mean we hadn’t done it since then, which was causing all kinds of issues. But just because I was unsettled about Willa getting married didn’t mean I’d forgotten that Dennis had not exactly been thrilled with the thought of marrying me. Which meant, of course, that he wasn’t getting any. But we were still together, and when I asked if he’d come with me to Montana, he said yes. Eventually.
    Unfortunately, Dennis, who was prone to back trouble, conveniently suffered a back spasm just before we left his grubby little apartment, which required me to wrangle all our luggage from our respective homes to my car to the ferry to the cab to the hotel, and then again to the cab to Logan, and then from Gate 4 to Gate 37 in Denver, and then from Ye Tiny Airport here in Montana to the rental car. Not just the luggage, but Coco (sulking in her crate with her bunny), my laptop, my purse and Dennis himself, who had a tendency to wander. Add to this that he’d charmed two flight attendants (a straight woman and a gay man) into giving him the last seat of first class due to said back spasms, leaving me to sit wedged between an impressively overweight Floridian and a frat boy who drooled on my shoulder as he slept, oblivious to the sharp elbow I kept jamming into his side. And oh, yes, my sister was marrying a stranger, my father was apparently having marital problems and my ex-husband was at the end of this hellish journey.
    I was a little tense.
    Which brought us to now, standing in a parking lot outside the Kalispell City Airport, squabbling like third-graders.
    “Dude, I’ll drive,” Dennis said. “Give me the keys.” He stretched and twisted so that his lower back cracked, making me wince.
    “I’ll drive, Dennis.” Honestly, concentrating on driving would distract me from what (and who) lay ahead.
    “Dude, come on!”
    “Stop calling me that!” I snapped. “Please, Dennis! Don’t call me dude, okay? I’ll drive. You get lost between your house and mine, Dennis, on the island where you grew up—”
    “Maybe I’m not really lost,” he interjected, uncharacteristically prickly.
    “—and we have forty miles to go through grizzly-strewn wilderness,” I continued, my voice rising in volume, “so please. Please, Dennis. Can we please get going here?”
    Unlike Dennis, Coco obeyed, leaping lightly into the driver’s seat. I’d been forced to bring her, as she’d feigned a hurt paw when she heard the word kennel and limped around until she saw her travel crate. The dog was an evil genius. She sat happily, sniffing the Montana air, which was strangely clear and pure, unlike the salty winds of Martha’s Vineyard, always redolent with the smell of garlic and fish or, in the morning, doughnuts.
    Realizing that a spat was not going to advance my case, I took a cleansing breath and tried to unlock my jaw. “Honey? We don’t want to be late for dinner.”
    “My back is killing me,” Dennis grumped. “Harp, can’t you give me a massage or something?”
    Wondering briefly if Father Bruce had a patron saint of patience, I said, “Dennis, we’re standing in a parking lot. I’m sorry your back hurts, honey, and I will rub it later, but I can’t help you now. Maybe at the hotel, okay? Please, Dennis? Can you please get in the damn car?”
    With another sulky (and yes, kind of hot) scowl, he got into the car, grumbling. I followed,