Half-Hitched. Isabel Sharpe

he still did…that would be great, actually. If Sarah couldn’t have him, at least one of her best friends could; for Addie’s sake Sarah would do whatever it took to bring them together this week. Addie needed someone. She had no idea how fabulous she was.

      But back to Sarah’s favorite topic: Sarah. What if she never got Derek out of her head or her heart, even knowing he’d never belong to her?

      That night five years ago on this beach, she’d been a total brat, which she was still so horribly embarrassed about she could barely look at him.

      Although seriously, who could not look at Derek? She still did, just not when he could tell.

      Anyway, it had been a cool and moonless night, like this one. They’d sat on this very spot talking for an hour after Paul and their parents had gone to bed. Sarah had been drunk on too much wine and had started bawling over something, she couldn’t even remember what. Derek had comforted her, put his arms around her, stroked her hair. She’d thought that was the signal she’d been dreaming of and had tried her best to make something happen.

      Yeah, well, nice fantasy, Sarah.

      Then, in an appalling show of immaturity, she’d bolstered her crushed ego by accusing him to Addie and then to Joe, who when she came back to Vassar had been able to tell right away that something was upsetting her. It didn’t help that she’d also overheard comments from Paul about Derek’s sexploits in harbors around the world. A woman in every port, sometimes two, and in St. Thomas, three, two of whom were apparently twins. So even not caring much who he had in bed at any given time, he still hadn’t wanted Sarah.

      She coughed. Man, she needed water. Her throat was practically sticking to itself.

      Footsteps rustled and snapped in the woods. Sarah lifted onto her elbows. A man’s form, stepping onto the beach, well-built, tall. Her heart starting to race. Derek? Coming to finish what they started?

      “Sarah?”

      Joe. Her heart slowed. She sat up. “Yes, it’s me.”

      “What are you doing out here?”

      “Couldn’t sleep. How did you know where I was?”

      “I heard you leave, didn’t hear you come back so I came looking.” He plunked down on the grass beside her and handed her something cool.

      A can of sparkling water. “Joe, you are a god.”

      “Wait, you’re only realizing that now?”

      “No, no, I knew.” She cracked the top to the can and took a long, grateful drink. “Heaven. Thank you.”

      “You’re welcome. So what are you doing out here besides not sleeping?”

      “Watching for shooting stars. Thinking.”

      “About what?” He scootched down to lie next to her. His warm side adjacent to her hip made her realize she’d gotten chilly.

      “About…how I always fall for guys who don’t want me.”

      “No kidding. You’re batting about a thousand on that one.”

      “Ha.” Sarah giggled. “Thanks for the vote of support.”

      “I mean how can anyone be so clueless?”

      “Hey.” She shoved him with her hip. “Your deep empathy is much appreciated.”

      “You can’t see what’s right under your nose, Sarah Bosson.” His voice descended to a melodramatic growl.

      “Okay, okay. So what do I do?”

      “Come to Dr. Joe. He will rewire your brain using everyday household items.”

      Sarah’s laughter was interrupted by a horrific burp from the soda bubbles. She laughed harder. “Oh, no! Joe, I’m so sorry.”

      “It’s fine, don’t worry, really. I still have hearing in my other ear.”

      “Stop, stop.” She waited for her giggles to die out, loving that she could belch in front of Joe and not feel more than slightly embarrassed. He had no illusions she was perfect. He had no illusions about her at all. And for some reason he still wanted to be her friend.

      They’d met at Vassar and became close right away. After graduating they’d both moved to Boston where she got a job fund-raising for Harvard and he did something with computers she couldn’t begin to understand. They saw each other a few times a month and talked and texted often. He was her absolute rock. She’d die without him. “Anyway, so I was thinking about this one unattainable guy who—”

      “Derek.”

      Sarah’s jaw dropped. That was psychic, even for him. Or maybe she was pathetically obvious. “How did you know?”

      “You mooned over him all night.”

      “I did not!” Yup. Pathetic.

      “Because he’s so hunky and sexy and sooo super hot!”

      Sarah made a sound of exasperation. “Well, he is.”

      “I know, I know.” Joe’s sigh was heavy in the darkness. “Go ahead, Sarah, talk. You know I can take it.”

      “Well, I have to tell you something.” She hunched her shoulders, hugging her knees, hoping he wouldn’t be angry. “That night with Derek on the beach.”

      His body tensed next to her. “Yes?”

      “He didn’t attack me. I was drunk and I sort of…tried to make something happen.”

      “I figured it was something like that.”

      “Wait, what?” She released her knee to whap his shoulder. “How dare you undermine the power of my dramatic bombshell?”

      “Aw, Sarah.” He reached up to push her bangs off her face, let his fingers drift tenderly down her cheek. “I’ve known you for nine years. If you were really attacked by some guy, he wouldn’t live long enough to see the next day, let alone the next five years. The way Paul talks about this guy, the way you talk about him, it didn’t add up. I didn’t know exactly what happened, but I’m not surprised.”

      She lay down next to him, throat tight. “You don’t blame me?”

      “For what?”

      “Lying?”

      “I didn’t think of it that way. You just weren’t ready to tell the whole truth.”

      Her heart was full to bursting. She had to blink through tears to bring the stars back into focus. “Seriously, Joe, are you perfect or do you just pretend to be?”

      “I’m the real deal, Sarah. Maybe someday you’ll realize—”

      A white streak blazed across a good portion of the night sky. Sarah shrieked and pointed. “Did you see that?”

      “Whoa. Yes. I did.” He sounded as awed as she felt. “It means you get to make a wish.”

      “Why not you?”

      “You saw it first.”

      “How do you know?”

      “Because.” He reached over and rubbed her head until her already messy hair was a total disaster, making her shriek again, with laughter this time. “I said so.”

      “Stop! My coif! My stunning updo. Ruined!”

      “Now.” He let her go. “Make a wish.”

      “Okay, okay.” Sarah thought—took her about half a second to decide—then reached up to the sky and wished with all her might that she might love a man who loved her back. It was all she’d ever wanted. So many people managed it. Her parents. Paul and Ellen. Why not her?

      “Finished?”

      “Yes.”

      “Should