ReWined: Volume 3 (Party Ever After)

by Kim Karr

  My stomach rumbled. “Eat. And I can take care of my heels all by myself, thank you very much.”

  Once again, he ignored me. “Can you walk okay?”

  “Of course.”

  But as soon as I took my first step, I felt my knees buckling beneath me, the pain too much to stand. I never should have taken the shoes off until I got to my room. I had to hold my hands out to use the wall as support.

  Tyler scooped me up immediately.

  “Put me down,” I demanded. “Rule number seven states no touching.”

  “Like I ever gave a shit about rules,” he hissed, as he carried me to a stool in the kitchen.

  That was definitely one thing we both agreed on.

  Paris

  I KNEW BETTER than to be in a small, enclosed space with him but there was no way around it.

  After I had eaten the entire carton of Chinese food plus the eggrolls, Tyler insisted he help me with my ridiculous work wounds.

  The master bathroom was by no means small with its giant glass shower, marble floors, and huge crystal chandelier suspended from the elevated ceiling, but it was enclosed.

  “Take your hose off,” he said.

  “I can take care of myself,” I insisted.

  His expression brooked no argument. “Take them off, Paris, or I’d be happy to do it myself.”

  Right.

  The touching thing, not a good idea.

  Wanting to get this over with, I quickly shimmied out of my pantyhose and tossed them right in the trash. Tabitha and I were going to have a few words about her plan because it wasn’t working for me.

  At all.

  The whole I-am-woman-hear-me-roar thing might have been a no-brainer in her book, but I wasn’t sure I was cut out for it. I had to show Tyler what he would be missing out on with the real me.

  Not the me Tabitha had created.

  After today that couldn’t be more crystal clear.

  When Tyler hoisted me onto the counter, I didn’t even bother to protest or call attention to the violation. He took his time patting the area where the blisters had opened up and where the skin had rubbed raw.

  A warmth traveled up my legs and spread to my sex. It was like a balm of sunshine. His tentative touches were both soothing and erotic, and my heart started to beat wildly.

  Him at my feet was dangerous.

  I had to look away as he applied some ointment and gently bandaged the site.

  When he was done, he stood to his full, sexy height and then immediately caged me in with an arm on each side of my hips.

  He leaned forward and his lips were only mere inches away from mine. “I meant what I said when you ran in the elevator.”

  That silly heart of mine stopped beating.

  I knew what he meant.

  I love you.

  I wanted him to say it again, to me, like this. I wanted to say it back. But that wasn’t going to change the fear I had inside me.

  The fear of losing what I didn’t really have.

  It was only going to make it worse.

  The air was thick with the lust we shared and passion swirled around us as if it were looking to pull us closer.

  Closer.

  We couldn’t get closer.

  I shook my head. “Please don’t, Tyler.”

  His beautiful brown hair framed his handsome face in soft tousled waves and his blue eyes gleamed. “It’s time to stop this, Paris. You made your point. From now on, I won’t go off by myself half-cocked. That’s what you want, right?”

  Now I was pissed. “What I want?” I huffed. “It’s called a relationship, Tyler.” I shoved him backwards. “And clearly you don’t know what it means to be in one because it doesn’t work that way.”

  His muscles tensed, his whole chest clenching. “Why the hell not? I said I’m sorry. What more do you want from me? I can’t go back in time or I would.”

  Agitated, I turned to leave. “Rewinding time wouldn’t change a thing.”

  He grabbed me and pulled me right up to his chest. “This is Tabitha’s game you’re playing, Paris, and I thought we were past games.”

  Anger surged through me hot and heavy. I stormed out of his hold and right to the bathroom door. “This isn’t a game, Tyler. This is my life. Now, get out.”

  His eyes burned with some kind of emotion I couldn’t quite place. “I’ll do whatever it takes to be the husband you want me to be.”

  I just glared at him as he strode past me. “Somehow, I doubt you have what it takes.”

  What I needed was to feel like we were a team. Like we were two halves that made a whole. Two puzzle pieces that fit together just right.

  Not this.

  Not his empty promises or sex appeal or his overpowering charm. While I appreciated those qualities, I needed for him to let his wall down and be real.

  Why couldn’t he just see that?

  Tyler

  I STOOD OUTSIDE her bedroom window at seven in the morning and blared Peter Gabriel.

  There wasn’t a boom box in my hands like John Cusack had donned in the movie I had re-watched. Which, by the way, was only one of three sappy rom-coms I had viewed over the past few nights. But rather, my grandfather’s old pickup truck was beside me with the windows open and the cassette blaring.

  This was it.

  I knew it.

  I leaned back against the truck and waited.

  This was going to win her over and make her stop all this nonsense about me not having changed. I had changed. I no longer did reckless things. I hadn’t in a long time. Sure, I messed up, once or twice, but that didn’t mean I hadn’t changed. Actually, matured was a much better word, since I cared if I lived or died. Smartened-up could work, too, I supposed.

  As soon as she opened her window, I knew it would be just a matter of time before she beckoned me upstairs. And I’d go. Hell, yeah, I’d go. No need to hold a grudge. Hey, I was even willing to let her tear my clothes off.

  Compromise, not rewind. I’d figured that out and now, I was all about it.

  The window swung open and I could see those firm tits hidden under the fabric of her white tank were already stiff little peaks.

  She looked down at me. I waved. She leaned forward and crooked a finger.

  I so had this.

  I walked closer to the house, closer to her. When I was directly under the bedroom window I looked up.

  She appeared disheveled in a sexy, carefree, I just woke up kind of way, and that massive mound of red hair that was piled haphazardly on her head made my fingers itch to let it down.

  I waited for the invite, but then she disappeared inside and when her perfect body presented itself back in the window, a bucket of ice water came pouring out and landed right on my head.

  It felt like I was near frostbite when she said, “Go to hell, Tyler Holiday.”

  She slammed her window shut before I could say anything.

  Great.

  That didn’t go according to plan.

  Okay, obviously, she was still pissed. Nothing I was doing was working. I really hated to do this, but it was time to call for an assist.

  I couldn’t even believe I was thinking of doing what I was. Not in a million years was I going to live this down.

  But right then . . . I really didn’t give a fuck.

  Tyler

  I SAT SIPPING my coffee and stared at the revolving glass case near the hostess stand.

  The diner was a favorite of my grandfather’s, and despite the fact that it belonged in an early seventies time capsule, Wilhelmina was always partial to it as well.

  “Did you have something to discuss, Tyler, or did you just want to look at my face so early in the morning?” she asked, her fingers thumbing through the small container in which the sugar packets were stored.

  I warmed my hands on the mug. “I . . . I wanted to get your advice.”

  She settled on the raw sugar in the brown package and ripped it open. “Really? On what? New flooring for the office, perhaps
?”

  “Nothing that mundane,” I assured her. “It’s about Paris,” I said and then sipped my coffee and waited for her to bust my balls.

  At first, she said nothing, but as she poured the sugar in her cup, she looked over at me. “Things must be really bad for you to come to me for advice.”

  Tension eased from me and I had to grin. She had that exactly right. “They’re not great and I have no idea how to make them better.”

  She used her spoon to stir the coffee and mused, “How bad are things?”

  “Pretty bad.” I bit the bullet and told her the whole damn story. Every sorted detail.

  What the hell did I have to lose?

  The waitress dropped the check at the table and I kept talking. When I was done, she reached across the table and took my hand. “Tyler, dear, you have many great talents, but understanding women is not one of them.”

  I glared at her.

  My grandmother squeezed my hand. “Your wife doesn’t want grand gestures or declarations. She simply wants you.”

  The whole affection thing was getting to be too much and I had to pull back. “But she has me.”

  My grandmother smirked right then and pointed to the hand I’d whisked away and then pointed to me to make my point. “Does she, Tyler? You hide behind all that debonair charm of yours, but do ever let her see the real you? I mean really see who you are? The good as well as the bad?”

  I brought my hands down and spoke from my heart. “If Corky taught me anything, it was to hide any weaknesses I might have. He was a master at sniffing them out and exploiting them.”

  A sadness pursed her lips. “I know, Tyler, you are who you are because of your father. But I also know you are who you are because of your grandfather and me. Maybe you could try to find that part of yourself more often? Give Paris some space, she’s been through a lot. Be kind. Understanding. Patient.”

  “What if I can’t do that?”

  “Then you’ll lose her. It’s that simple.”

  I guess it was.

  I reached in my wallet and placed a ten on the table. “I’m a tarnished knight and she wants a prince charming,” I said without an ounce of laughter.

  Wilhelmina took my hand again. “Well said, Tyler. But you don’t have to ride a white horse to be her prince charming. Just be real. Tell her what happened. And for God sake, don’t keep throwing out obstacles at every turn.”

  “Wow, that came out way too easy.”

  She shrugged. “Try being you without all the self-pity and reluctance. I promise, it will take you far.”

  I nodded at her.

  “You can do this,” she said with a smile.

  Glad she felt so certain, because I wasn’t so sure.

  Paris

  I DIDN’T THINK anyone would come.

  This was to be my final goodbye to a man I would never understand. In time I was certain the confusion I felt would lessen, as would the sadness I was feeling.

  Neither made sense.

  I walked into the vestibule of St. John Newman’s Catholic Church and took a deep breath.

  The floor was slick beneath my shoes from the rain, and I made sure not to slide as I glanced down. It had been four days since I’d worn high heels and my feet were still a wreck. I’d opted for ballerina flats to accompany my black pants suit. I was fidgeting with the back of one of them when the church door opened.

  I looked up to find Tyler Holiday standing there holding the door wide for me to enter.

  He caught my gaze and held it. “Hi,” he said.

  I took the two short steps toward him with unease. “Hi,” I said. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “Thought you might need . . . a friend.”

  I smiled at him. “Thank you.”

  We’d been . . . cordial . . . to each other since the morning I’d poured ice-water over his head. And yes, that was a bit impulsive, even I had to admit. I was just so angry that he couldn’t see the big picture, and I let my emotions get the best of me.

  After a complete meltdown on my behalf, I’d called Tabitha, told her I couldn’t follow her plan, and regrouped.

  Later that same day at work, I sought out Tyler and told him that I had been mistaken in thinking I could assist with the production side. That I had a lot to learn and although I wanted to learn it, I knew it wasn’t going to happen overnight. And in the middle of a crisis probably wasn’t the right time.

  Surprisingly, he agreed, and asked if I would focus on the marketing campaign. While I set forth to plan the launch of the free-run wine that was in process, Tyler took control of the production side of things.

  We discussed business. Potential new branding. His wine. My wine. Neither of us liking anything enough for it to stick, but I was still trying. And things went . . . well.

  And that was where we were at . . . at well.

  His chest went wide when I strode past him, and I could see he was pulling in a sharp breath. He was wearing black slacks, a black tie, and the hand not holding the heavy wooden door was cautiously at his side.

  We both stepped inside, careful not to touch.

  As soon as I entered the sanctuary, I could feel the vigil of Our Lady and all those Sundays I’d sat in this church with my father come rushing back. A swell of emotion I fought hard to fight.

  Benchmarks that my father had been there for—my first communion, confession, confirmation.

  I dipped my fingers in the holy water and then pressed them to my forehead, the hollow of my throat, and each shoulder, before folding them together in front of me.

  Tyler looked uncertain. “You know I don’t really believe in all this. Is it okay that I’m here?” There was something different about him. More open. I watched him as his gaze roamed and then landed on the open casket at the front of the church and I saw the discomfort in his eyes.

  “It’s perfectly fine.” I took in a deep breath and reached for his hand. “Come sit up front with me.”

  The sparks that flew between us were like sparklers on the fourth of July, and those silly butterflies felt like they’d been reborn as they flitted against my belly.

  Feeling myself letting him inside a little more than I expected, I led him down the aisle toward the first pew. Once there, I let go of his hand and knelt before I slid down it. Tyler hesitated behind me, mimicking my movement, and I felt a little proud of him for doing something so out of his comfort zone—for me.

  Once we were seated though, dread filled my belly. I found myself staring at the casket.

  At Malcolm Fairchild.

  My father.

  I swallowed, and if sensing my unease, Tyler placed his hand on my knee and squeezed it. “You’re going to be fine, Paris.”

  Father Dolan entered just then from behind the altar and at the very same time, the church doors opened again. I swung my gaze over my shoulder and saw Tabitha, Grayson, Darcy, Julian, Christian, and even Lane walking in.

  I smiled at them as they filed into the pews behind me.

  The mass began and Father Dolan opened with a prayer. I recited the words I knew by heart. I watched as Tyler reached for a prayer book and began to murmur the words along with me.

  My eyes followed Father Dolan as he paced around the altar as he spoke. Telling us about life and the ever after.

  The door opened again and when I turned around, I didn’t recognize the older man who walked in, but Tabitha did because she waved at him. That’s when I also spotted Wilhelmina, Buck, and a few employees from Highway 128, as well.

  Tears burned my eyelids and I battled fiercely to keep them from falling. These people had come—for my father. To say their final farewells. And for me. To comfort me in what should have been my time of need. With each second that passed, it seemed harder and harder to keep my tears at bay.

  The rite of commendation had me breathing deep. Then my father’s body was sprinkled with holy water and absolution was granted when Father Dolan waved the incense burner over him. Bars of colored light shone in
the church through the stained-glass windows all around me, and I didn’t realize I was crying until Tyler handed me a hankie.

  A hankie.

  Where on earth?

  I saw the monogram TRH and knew it must have belonged to his grandfather.

  Such a thoughtful gesture.

  Father Dolan spoke some more about life and death and the ever after. About the time we spend on this earth and about our souls when they leave our bodies, and then he moved into the final prayer.

  Due to the rain, I opted not to have a graveside service. This would be it for me. Father Dolan would accompany the casket, offer a quick prayer at the grave site, and then my father would be lowered in the ground beside his wife and first born.

  Me being there felt like a bit of an intrusion, to be honest. I would visit, though. I knew I would.

  I listened intently to his final words and when he said, “May this soul and the souls of all the faithful departed through the mercy of God rest in peace,” those sparse tears I had been shedding came in a rush.

  Tyler grabbed my hand then and it wasn’t meant to be romantic in any way, just comforting, and it was.

  I was glad he was there.

  When the service finished, I was the first to walk down the aisle, and all of my friends formed a line. Like the good little Catholic girl, I stopped at the door to greet each and every one of them. Tyler stood beside me and I found him to be a rock that I desperately needed. Kisses and hugs and sympathies were extended, and I accepted each with gratitude.

  I couldn’t help but stand there astonished that these people I hardly knew had taken time out of their Saturday afternoon to come here—for me.

  Tyler leaned to my side. “Tabitha would like everyone to go to her house afterward for an early dinner. Are you okay with that?”

  Not expecting anyone to attend the funeral, I hadn’t arranged a gathering to follow. I stared at the people who were here and said, “Yes. I would really like that.”

  “Hello, young lady,” the older man who’d come in late said as he took my hand. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  I accepted his greeting. “Thank you, and I’m sorry, have we met?”