Luke laughed. “No. She sucked at lying in high school. People change, I guess, but I don’t know. I would think she would have been straight with her best friends.”
“What did Jo and Zoe say about all that?”
“Don’t really know. I don’t think they care. Neither of them approve of the man so his status, divorced or just an ex, doesn’t mean crap to them.”
Staring at the white wall on the opposite side of the kitchen kept Wyatt’s attention as he finished the second slice of pizza.
“Does it matter to you?”
“Lying?”
Luke waved him off. “Lying sucks . . . I’m talking about her single or divorced status.”
Wyatt wiped his hand over his face and removed any evidence of the pizza before answering. “We all have a past.”
Luke seemed to sit on that for a few minutes. “So what did the man say to you?”
“That I was stepping on his family.”
Luke ran a hand through his hair. “That’s just bullshit. If there is one fact, it’s that Melanie and Hope haven’t been a priority to that man. You saw her car.”
“Yeah, I get that. So why is the man all hell-bent on making everyone think he’s sticking around this time?”
“Maybe he woke up and realized he’s a dad.”
“It’s more than that. He’s talking about Melanie as if she belongs to him.”
“That’s what Zoe told me. Makes me wonder about the man’s head. What kind of man goes out of his way to make strangers think he is something he’s not?”
Wyatt finished his drink, poured another, and vowed to walk home.
“. . . and they all lived happily ever after.” Melanie leaned against the headboard with her daughter nestled in the crook of her arm.
Hope released a contented sigh and snuggled closer. “I wanna be a princess when I grow up,” she exclaimed.
“A noble goal.”
Melanie lifted the book from her lap and put it on the side table. With the inn lacking in guests, they’d placed Hope in the room they’d first shared alone, while Mel took the room across the hall.
“Princesses wear pretty clothes.”
“You like your jeans and T-shirts.”
“Yeah. And they have a prince who takes care of them.”
Melanie’s hand hesitated over the book of fairy tales that Hope loved her to read from. “Sometimes the prince doesn’t do such a great job of taking care of his princess. It’s always better for the princess to learn to take care of herself.”
Hope seemed to chew on that for a few seconds. “But isn’t it easier if a prince helps her?”
“Some things might be easier.”
Hope twisted in her lap and blinked wide eyes. “If you had a prince, you wouldn’t have to scrub floors or make all the beds here.”
She placed a hand on the side of her daughter’s face. “In the real world, a mommy is always scrubbing floors and making beds, sweetie. And I like working here. It’s not like in the books. Not a lot of life is like what you read in a book.”
“I know it’s pretend.” Hope rolled her eyes. “But it would be cool to be a princess.”
Melanie slid from the bed and helped Hope under the covers. “You can be a princess, but I want you to marry a knight, not a prince.”
“Who is the knight?”
“He’s the warrior who fights for the princess. He’s the one who can protect her.”
“Is he rich?”
Melanie sat on the edge of the bed and brushed Hope’s hair from her face. “No. He has something money can’t buy.”
Hope’s eyes were drifting closed. “What’s that?”
“The princess’s heart.” Melanie tapped her chest.
Hope smiled.
Melanie kissed her daughter’s forehead. “Good night, princess.”
“Night, Mommy.”
The phone rang as Melanie left Hope’s room. She took the steps faster in an effort to answer it before the caller hung up.
Miss Gina beat her to it. “No, she’s right here.”
Miss Gina’s words stopped Melanie from walking by.
With a hand over the receiver, Miss Gina pointed the phone at Melanie. “It’s Wyatt.”
With the phone in hand, Melanie smiled at Miss Gina and felt her cheeks warm. “I’ll just take this outside.”
“I’m sure you will.”
When she reached the screen door, she put the phone to her ear. “Hey.”
“Hi. I hope it’s okay that I called.”
It was dark on the back porch, the twinkly lights under the eves drawing any flying bugs away as she sat.
“Of course. I was wondering what happened after you left Sam’s.”
“Well . . . in his defense, it wasn’t a fair fight.”
Melanie felt her smile freeze on her face. “You’re kidding.” Her heart leapt in her chest and started pounding to the beat of Metallica. “Oh, God, Wyatt . . . he’s a lawyer, please tell me—”
“Relax. I just followed him out of town.”
Melanie closed her eyes and tried to slow her anxiety down. “I’d hit you. If you were here, I’d hit you right now.”
Wyatt laughed.
“There wasn’t a fight?” She had to ask and clarify.
“No fight.”
She imagined the two of them side by side. It wouldn’t be a fair match.
“Did you just get home?”
“I went to Luke’s for a while, but yeah, about an hour ago.”
“The edge of town isn’t that far, Mr. Ripper. You sure there isn’t more to your story?” She hated to ask, but couldn’t help but want to know exactly what transpired between her ex and her new . . . was he her new? She thought of their kiss, the butterflies.
“I followed him to the airport.”
“Eugene?”
“That would be the one.”
“Jeez, Wyatt, that’s a long way.” Still, the relief of knowing Nathan had left town was a weight lifted.
“I didn’t want to miss him doubling back if he was bluffing.”
“And what exactly would you have done if he had?”
She recognized Wyatt’s soft laugh as one filled with mischief. “How is Hope? She doesn’t suspect anything, does she?”
“She’s fine. And you’re changing the subject.”
“How are you? You seemed upset when I left the diner.”
“I’ve had better days. Nathan is the last person I thought would show up on my doorstep. He’s just as infuriating now as he was when we were together.”
Wyatt took an audible breath over the phone. “Can I ask you something?”
“We are talking.”
“If he was infuriating, why did you stay with him?”
Melanie tucked her feet under her while she attempted to answer the question without appearing like a complete bitch. “He was charming in the beginning. I was just a kid and traversing the landscape of college, dating, my parents’ divorce. When it became apparent that I wasn’t going to be able to continue at the university, he was there. Not completely supportive, but there. If that makes any sense.”
“I think it does.”
“Then Hope came and I tried harder. He didn’t have an ounce of patience for his daughter, for me.” She shook her head, remembered him screaming at her to stop Hope’s crying. “Things eventually shifted and I felt safer on my own.” Those were dark days. Days she didn’t want to repeat.
“Safer?”
“What?”
“You said safer. Were you scared of him, Melanie?” His question came in an even, controlled voice.
She hesitated. He’d never been abusive with her . . . so why couldn’t she jump on a quick no for an answer?
“Melanie?”
“So
rry . . . no. Things were blurry in the end. I remember thinking how much he’d changed. How stress closed him off. It was unnerving.”
“Scary?”
“Yeah, I guess.” She shifted in her seat and switched the phone to her other ear. “I’m sorry. Talking about an ex is a classic mistake.”
He laughed. “Everyone in this town is talking about you and your ex, so cut yourself a break.”
She rested her head in her hand. “When I lived here before, all that talking would drive me crazy. Now it just feels like support.”
Wyatt started laughing. “Luke and I were betting that Brenda was going to dump coffee in his lap.”
And the look on Nathan’s face when Brenda walked away had been priceless.
“I’m going to change the subject,” he told her.
“You seem good at that,” she said with a chuckle. “Go for it.”
“They are setting up for a carnival and strawberry festival in Waterville next weekend.”
She waited for the question with a Cheshire cat grin on her face.
“Would you and Hope like to go?”
“With you?”
“That would be the general plan.” There was a slight edge to his voice, which made her grin wider.
“Like a date?”
“Is it a date when you bring a kid?”
“It’s not a date?” It was time for her voice to carry a sharp edge.
“We can call it a date if that makes you feel better.”
“I don’t have to call something a date to feel better . . . I just . . . what are you calling it?”
When he didn’t reply quickly, she unfolded from her chair and started to pace. “Wyatt?”
He huffed out a laugh. “A date.”
“You!” She pointed a finger in the air as if he could see her. “You did that on purpose.”
“I like pushing your buttons.”
“One of these days I’m going to figure out what your buttons are and pushing them will become my pastime.”
“Aw shucks, darlin’ . . . I’ve never been someone’s pastime before.”
“You’re incorrigible.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It wasn’t.”
He laughed.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Zoe barked orders from the inn’s kitchen as if she were on set. She couldn’t help herself; the kitchen had an energizing effect on her that few understood. “The smaller the cut, the more flavor throughout the salad, Mel.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Zoe tossed a tomato at her friends before wiping her hands on a towel.
“There’s enough food here for an army.”
“We do it big in Texas.”
From outside, the smell of ribs on the barbeque drifted through the inn.
“Is Zane coming?”
Zoe shrugged. “I couldn’t tell you. Mom says he has a job up in Waterville. I’m afraid to ask what kind of job.”
The youngest of the Brown children had never moved out of his mother’s house. Then again, her sister was back with her mom after a failed relationship that took her to Eugene and back.
“Is he still on parole?”
“Mom said no, but I’m not sure.”
Between his temper and his drinking, Zane had landed in jail more times than a kid at twenty-one should. “Is it too much to want him to grow up?”
Mel offered a smile from across the kitchen. “You can’t force people to do the right thing, Zoe.”
“It’s frustrating. I can’t help but wonder if I was around more if things would be different.”
Melanie slid closer and placed the knife on the counter. “You can’t live your life for your family. The three of you all had the same deck of cards handed out to you. You found your path and ran with it . . . they will find theirs.”
“And if it’s the wrong path?”
“What if it is? What can you do, Zoe? You give Zane money and you enable him to keep doing stupid shit. You preach, he tunes you out. He knows right from wrong.”
Mel was right . . . it just sucked to see someone she loved falling down the wrong rabbit hole. “Since when did you become so wise?”
“A few years at the school of hard knocks.”
Zanya, Zoe’s sister, walked into the kitchen holding a six-month pregnant belly. “Mel, please tell me you have Tums somewhere in this place.”
“Tums? You haven’t even eaten yet!” Zoe exclaimed.
“Oh, baby . . . come with me,” Mel said as she pulled Zanya into a half hug and walked her from the kitchen. “I bet he comes out with a full head of hair.”
Zoe watched as her BFF left the kitchen with her sister and future nephew. At least Zanya could rely on Zoe’s friends. There was some comfort in that.
Voices from the back door brought an even bigger smile to her face.
“Mrs. Miller.” Seeing Luke’s mom always made Zoe’s insides turn to mush. The woman was everything a happy stay-at-home mom should be. She loved to bake, loved to can fresh preserves in the summer . . . and craft a few silly things for the rummage sale hosted by the Little White Church in spring and again at Christmas.
“I hope you have room in that fridge, Zoe.”
She stood double fisted with pie, Mr. Miller followed with two more.
“Looks like you’ve been busy.”
“You said pie. I bring pie. Apple, strawberry rhubarb, chocolate, and banana cream.”
There was nothing better than Mrs. Miller’s banana cream. “I love you.”
“I know, baby. Now make room in that massive tin box. It’s too hot for these to sit out.”
Mr. Miller left the apple pie on the counter and waited until Mrs. Miller took the remaining pie from his hands before turning to Zoe. After a kiss to the cheek, he left the kitchen as quickly as he entered.
Zoe looked beyond Mr. Miller.
“He’s on his way.”
“What . . . who?”
Mrs. Miller pinched her lips and tilted her head. “You might have gotten older, but you haven’t changed.”
The fact that Mrs. Miller called her out about searching for her son, without truly calling her out, was a testament to their relationship. The woman never sat in judgment nor did she question Zoe’s decision to leave River Bend to find herself.
Instead of saying anything, Zoe returned to the finishing touches of the tiny feast she was preparing as her own going-away party. She was leaving in the morning, bringing to a close her brief hiatus from her daily life.
“What can I do?” Mrs. Miller asked.
“How about tossing the salad?”
Luke’s mom moved to the sink and washed her hands as the sound of a motorcycle drowned out the voices from the back of the house.
Luke was there.
She knew that, and her heart sped up, which gave her equal parts of happiness and sorrow.
It was breaking again.
Like it did every time she saw the man and knew she was leaving.
She was trying so hard to be his friend . . . only his friend.
Her dreams, however, weren’t allowing her to remain platonic. Memories and reality were mixing every damn night, making it impossible to sleep.
“Hey, Zoe?” Wyatt called from outside.
“Coming.”
Wyatt manned the barbeque with a strict set of instructions, though he tried hard to convince her he knew his way around the grill. He’d have to prove himself before she let loose the reins of her meal.
The sun decided to cooperate on her last day in River Bend, giving them all a chance to play and enjoy the outside.
Miss Gina had an old badminton set that Jo and Mel had set up earlier in the day. Miss Gina was lofting a birdy over the net to Hope, while Zoe’s mom watched from
the shade of the porch.
“Can I help with something?” her mom asked.
“I got it.”
“Almost done,” Wyatt told her as he pushed the barbeque fork into the center of the meat.
“Not bad, Mr. Gibson.” She closed the lid to the grill, turned off one burner, and lowered the others to a small roar. “Five minutes.”
She blew past him and back into the kitchen.
She stumbled over her own feet at the first sight of Luke. “Just in time,” she said as she blew past him without a hello. “Dinner’s ready.”
Luke simply laughed while Mrs. Miller shoved a massive bowl of salad into his hands.
Mel and Zanya returned and helped parade food to the back porch.
Mel had done a great job of setting the perfect table on the covered porch. Flowers sat in vases on the long expanse of wood, and a hodgepodge of white and blue plates offset old mason jars that were either filled with spiked lemonade or tea. Mr. Miller held the long neck of a beer, as did his son.
The food was simple . . . perfect, but simple.
And Zoe took pride in every moan as her friends and family consumed each mouthful.
“Remind me to visit Texas,” Mr. Miller said between bites.
“If there is one thing I have learned from living there . . . it’s that Texans take their barbeque seriously. This is the best I can do without a smoker.”
“It gets better than this?” Wyatt asked.
“It’s really good, sis.” Zanya had gotten over her bellyache and was plowing through her plate like a linebacker.
Jo pointed the end of her corn on the cob in Zoe’s direction. “It better not be another decade before you visit again.”
“It’s been less than ten years since I visited,” Zoe defended her absence.
“A real visit,” Miss Gina added. “Not a hit and run. Those are fine for a one-night stand, not for us.”
“Miss Gina!” Mel chastised, eyes wide as she shifted her gaze to her daughter.
Zoe’s mom laughed and Mrs. Miller tried not to.
As the laughter died out, Zoe caught Luke’s piercing gaze.
And she knew, in that moment, that she couldn’t promise anything. As much joy as everyone at the table brought her, she knew the fall was going to suck.
Doing It Over (A Most Likely to Novel Book 1) Page 12
