The Pioneer Woman Read Free Page B

wasn’t at all ready to settle down, and that any passion I’d felt for J during the first year or so of our relationship had long since been replaced by a need for stability during my time in Los Angeles—a city which, in between all the parties and the shopping andthe all-night glitz, can sometimes be a terribly lonely place.
    The week before my brother’s wedding, I decided it was time. Too cowardly and lacking in eloquence to adequately explain over the phone, I penned a long, drippy letter to J, effectively uninviting him to our family wedding, which he’d made plans to attend, and euphemizing all the reasons I thought we should end things for good. To my surprise, he agreed not to come to the wedding but eerily avoided talking further about our relationship. “You can just come here in a few weeks,” he said. I wasn’t sure if he realized what my letter had said. But that had been my relationship with J: Clear communication had never been our strong suit.
    The weekend of my brother’s wedding, I wound up in the company of Walrus, my brother’s best friend from Connecticut. Bespectacled and affectionate, he turned out to be just the fun diversion I needed that weekend, and my sister Betsy wept and wailed and gnashed her teeth that she was only a freshman in college and too young to date a twenty-seven-year-old. Walrus was as cute as it gets, and we were like peas and carrots, sitting together at the rehearsal dinner and joking around at the party afterward. We stayed up late that night, talking and sipping beer and not doing anything either of us would regret. During the ceremony itself, Walrus smiled and winked at me. I smiled back, mostly because I was feeling free and giddy about Chicago. About my freedom. About my future.
    Walrus had been just what the doctor ordered, if only for that weekend. He was the perfect date, kissing me good night after the reception and saying, “See you at the next wedding.” So when all the festivities were over, my brother and his new wife left for Hawaii, and my phone rang late Sunday afternoon, I was sure it had to be Walrus, calling from the airport to say a quick good-bye, and maybe go on and on about what a great time he’d had with me all weekend.
    â€œHello?” I answered the phone.
    â€œHello…Ree?” The strong male voice on the other end said.
    â€œHey, Walrus!” I shrieked enthusiastically. There was a long, silent pause.
    â€œWalrus?” I repeated.
    The deep voice began again. “You might not remember me—we met at the J-Bar last Christmas?”
    It was the Marlboro Man.

Chapter Two
YOUNG HEARTS AFIRE
    I T HAD been almost exactly four months since we’d met; four months since we’d locked glances in that bar; four months since his eyes and hair had made my knees turn to overcooked noodles. It had been four months since he’d failed to call me the next day, week, month. I’d moved on, of course, but the rugged image of Marlboro Man had left an indelible mark on my psyche.
    But I’d just begun my Chicago planning before I’d met him that night and had continued the next day. And now, at the end of April, I was just about set to go.
    â€œOh, hi,” I said nonchalantly. I was leaving soon. I didn’t need this guy.
    â€œHow’ve you been?” he continued. Yikes. That voice. It was gravelly and deep and whispery and dreamy all at the same time. I didn’t know until that moment that it had already set up permanent residence in my bones. My marrow remembered that voice.
    â€œGood,” I replied, focusing my efforts on appearing casual, confident, and strong. “I’m just gearing up to move to Chicago, actually.”
    â€œNo kidding?” he said. “When are you going?”
    â€œJust a couple of weeks,” I replied.
    â€œOh…” He paused. “Well…would you like to go out to dinner this week?”
    This was always