A Wedding to Remember: Switched at Marriage Part 1 by Gina Robinson

Chapter One
    K ayla
    I had a bad day. No, scrap that. I had a hideous weekend in Reno on business, followed by the crappiest rainy day Monday in the history of Seattle rainy day Mondays. Ever . And given our annual total of rainy days, that was saying something. A sad, sob in my double-shot espresso, drag myself to work after a weekend of trying to get over a bad breakup with Eric Monday. The kind of Monday that made me miss the comfort and stresses of college life. The ready availability of friends. And, most of all, easy access to rebound guys.
    Because even though I worked as a buyer of men's tighty whities and moisture-wicking socks for a small online, and I might add, dying, accessories startup—yeah, men's foundations, exciting! Can you see me rolling my eyes?—men were a rare breed in my industry. Straight men, anyway.
    My business degree with a double minor in fashion merchandising and communications was really being put to good use. So much for my dreams of being a buyer for a major Northwest brand.
    Eric. I blinked a tear away, or maybe it was a raindrop in my eye. Raindrop. Sure. Why not? But I was deluding myself. In the stages of relationship grief, I was way past shock and denial, and deep into furious-and-feeling-like-a-fool territory.
    I dropped my guard, lowered my umbrella, and let myself into my apartment building. At that very moment, the wind kicked up, blowing the water streaming from the eaves directly onto my head and into my part. A cold splash of reality. As if I needed more rude awakenings.
    Usually the warm familiar friendliness of my West Seattle apartment building perked me up. I loved the hip, energetic vibe of this part of the city. Today my apartment was just shelter from the rain.
    Six years worth of off-and-on-again days with Eric since the first time I met him at an Up All Night event my freshman year in college. Back into the off-again stage. Again . Only this time felt different. Permanent . The douche had ditched me for someone else.
    My friends had repeatedly warned me—a guy who can't commit after six years together, especially if the majority of it was in the broken-up phase, wasn't a good bet for the long term. Saying he had to have financial security before he settled down, along with a new motorcycle, a sixty-inch TV, a top-of-the-line snowboard and gear, a new gaming system… You get the idea.
    In my defense, I had a lot invested in that relationship. Way too many years to simply give up on him. And hope, terrible, awful hope, clung to me like bad perfume, refusing to fade away.
    I shook the rain off my umbrella, stepped inside, and took the elevator to the third floor. I let myself into my dark apartment, flipped the light on, and tossed my keys and soaked purse on the console table in the entryway. Home, sweet home. I was dripping all over it.
    I should have known there was a reason Eric kept putting off moving in with me again. Sure, his arguments seemed reasonable. I mentally ticked them off like I was counting them on my fingers. One—he wanted to make sure we "stuck" this time before giving up his independence again. Like he'd made so many sacrifices by living with me in the past.
    Two—living in my apartment would make his commute too long. Lame excuse, but true. Seattle commutes were killers. And finally, three—he couldn't bail on his roommates. They couldn't afford the house they were renting without him. Also true. And there was no way I was living with that bunch of lazy-ass guys.
    But. That hadn't stopped Eric from moving in with her . Over the weekend, the bastard. The thought of her gave me an instant case of relationship rage. I took a deep breath. Killing someone right now was not a good idea.
    What was he thinking? He and I had a history together. We shared a college experience. If I cut him out of my college scrapbook, there would be nothing left but a few shredded ribbons and a picture of the powder puff football trophy my team had won during homecoming