by Susan Hatler
The stern talking to sent my feet toward the little table by my sofa where my phone sat. I picked it up and took a few deep breaths then dialed the number, tapping my foot impatiently while the ringing on the other side started.
Eventually, Mr. Wexley answered with a gruff, “Hello?”
“Hello, Mr. Wexley?” I paced the small confines of my living room, forcing myself to smile as I spoke and hoping that smile would come across the line somehow.
“Yes,” he said.
“This is Megan Wallace.” I cleared my throat unable to believe my financial desperation had driven me to this. “You offered me a contract to design websites for your corporation. I wanted to let you know that I finished a few projects far ahead of schedule, so I’m happy to tell you that I’m absolutely able to take on your design projects at this time.”
There, that sounded nice and professional. Didn’t it?
“Oh.” Mr. Wexley paused just long enough for the rejection to slam into me. I knew before he even spoke. “I’m sorry, but we’ve given the job to another company.”
“Oh, I see.” I threw my gaze toward the ceiling, shaking my head. “Well, please keep me in mind for any future projects you think would be a good fit.” I managed to keep my voice light, but my heart was dark and defeated. “Thank you, sir.”
I hung up and went to the front window. My mind considered the possibilities. The problem? There weren’t any. Maybe I should try a temp agency. My cell phone rang and I gasped. Had Mr. Wexley reconsidered?
Nope. It was Brian’s name lit up on the screen. Gulp.
“Hello?”
“Hey, it’s me,” he said, his voice sounding unusually strained. “Are you free for dinner tonight? There’s something I need to talk to you about.”
I gulped. I needed to finish that website. I needed to get back to painting. I needed . . . to stop stalling and find out if I was going to get dumped or not. “What time?”
“Around seven? At the inn?”
“I’ll see you then.” I hung up and paced back and forth in front of the window, trying to think. But only one word kept going through my head: Monica.
Chapter Ten
The Inn at Blue Moon Bay rose above the green lawns and flowerbeds, stately and tall. A lump formed in my throat. I loved the inn and it had always felt like a second home to me. Visiting Brian here back in our “friends” days had been wonderful and exciting. I wanted today to feel the same way, but I was too nervous and upset.
If Brian got back together with Monica then would I ever be able to step foot in the inn I loved so much without feeling pain? Would he and I be able to be friends if we broke up? I didn’t know the answer to either of these questions, so for the first time I dreaded walking through those double doors.
I stepped into the lobby, which was charming with its long and wide windows, polished front desk, deep and soft couches and beach-themed paintings, and the new coffee bar Wendy had put in. But my attention was quickly diverted at the sight of Chelsea and Brian, standing in the middle of the room facing each other. Neither of them looked happy.
That made three of us.
Chelsea’s back was to me. Her arms were spread widely and one foot came up and down in a ferocious stomp that threatened to shatter the gorgeous heel of her very expensive sandals.
Brian’s brows came together. I’d never, not once, ever seen him lose his temper. But he looked pretty close. His eyes were narrowed and his hair stood on end, which was a sure sign he’d been raking his hand through it like he did when something frustrated him.
What was going on?
I scanned his figure, looking for clues. His shirt, a short-sleeved tee shirt, was covered in sawdust and his jeans had bits of sawdust dusted down one leg. Even from where I stood, I could smell fresh-cut wood emanating from his clothes.
“There’s nothing left to discuss, Chelsea,” he bit out.
“You don’t think this is a problem? A huge conflict of interest? I trusted you. You can’t have it both ways!” she yelled.
Yikes! She was seriously ticked off. Was it wrong that I was slightly enjoying that? I stood there, stunned like a deer in the headlights. I stared at Brian, who spotted me and clamped his mouth shut over whatever he’d been about to say.
“What are you staring at?” Chelsea demanded and then turned toward me. Her eyes flared and her lip curled. “You both had better know right now that I’m not going to stand for this.”
“Okay . . .” My voice trailed off. Because, hello? What was the proper way to respond to a threat like that? It was like walking into a bad soap opera scene. Or a highly-rated reality television show.
Brian waved a hand at her. “If you don’t trust me, then find someone else.”
Snap! I wanted to cheer for him. Even though I had no clue what he was talking about.
Chelsea clenched her teeth and jabbed a finger in my direction. “If you think that this is going to stop me from winning that contest then you’re dead wrong.”
“Got it.” I crossed my arms, wondering how long this scene would take to play out. I didn’t even know what they were arguing over.
“Good.” Chelsea tossed her head and stalked toward me. “I’ve got this in the bag. You’ve gotten lucky so far. But the other contestants were amateurs like you. I’m a professional. There’s no way you can compete with me and win.”
All the insecurities I’d ever felt about my lack of formal training hit home. I’d taken art classes in the city, but I’d never had the opportunity or the finances to study as long as Chelsea had. Her trust fund allowed her to paint and hone her craft, instead of having to work for someone else like I had at the dress shop.
Brian stormed across the room to my side. “You just went too far, Chelsea. Now you should go.”
“Fine,” she said, then flounced out the double doors in a dramatic exit.
I brought my hand to my chest. My heart beat wildly beneath my palm, telling me just how much her words had hurt me. I blinked a few times to make sure I wasn’t going to shed tears, then turned to Brian. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing you have to worry about.” He folded me into his arms and squeezed me against his chest. My palms met the bare skin on his arms, just below his sleeves. Little jolts of electricity shot through me as I stood there, feeling his heart beat against mine.
I lifted my head, searching his eyes, but I couldn’t read his expression. I waited for a kiss or an explanation, but I didn’t get either. Instead, he stepped away. Why hadn’t he kissed me?
“I’ll explain it all over dinner. I just have to grab the picnic basket, okay?”
“Okay.” I nodded. I drifted to the windows and stared out at the beautiful vista. The sun was not quite down, just hanging in the corner of the darkening sky. I could paint that. I felt relieved to be inspired again after my painting from earlier today.
Brian’s footsteps padded across the hardwood floor and I turned toward him. We headed down to the beach. I pulled off my sandals and let my feet sink into golden-brown sands. The waves were quiet, barely murmuring, and the shells usually cast up on the beach were noticeably absent. Either Brian had recently raked the sand for the guests or the tide hadn’t been very high that day, and I wasn’t sure which.
We settled down on the sand and the water lapped close to our feet. Brian pulled out a baked chicken and sweet potato dinner he’d made for us. That had to be a good sign. Monica had every reason to still be in love with him. But was he still into her?
“How was your day?” he asked.
“Not so good. I called Mr. Wexley.”
A small vertical slash appeared between his eyes. “Who?”
I took the plate he handed me. “The guy who had offered me that big contract designing websites. I was hoping he would still give me the job.”
“Why?” he asked, filling my plate and handing it to me.
I balanced the plate on my crossed knees. I wasn’t a bit hungry even though the chicken did look really
appetizing. “Because Chelsea could be right. I might lose the competition.”
“Don’t say that. If you start thinking you could lose then that will shake your confidence. You have to go in thinking you’re going to win. Know it, Megan. You will win.”
I couldn’t look at him. He wanted me to win so badly, but he had to realize that if I did we couldn’t be together “Well, this last assignment is harder than you think. I wanted to enter the painting I’d finished before they announced the theme, because it had inspired me. But it’s all wrong. It’s too unusual. My work needs to be more classic, like Chelsea’s.”
His eyes went round. “No way, Megan. You need to be true to yourself.”
“Being true to myself won’t let me win,” I argued.
He cocked his head. “How do you know that?”
Because I overheard the judges. I couldn’t seem to say that aloud, so I said, “It’s just this gut feeling I have.”
“Are you letting Chelsea get to you? It’s all a game-face with her. She’s talks badly about your work to rattle you.”
“Well, it’s working.” I picked at a piece of chicken. “I mean, she studied for years in Paris, and who knows where else? All I have is a handful of courses under my belt.”
Brian set his plate aside. “You’re naturally talented. You can buy skill and technique but what you can’t buy is a sheer love for your art and raw talent. I know plenty of guys who work well enough with wood, but their hearts aren’t in it and it shows. I don’t think Chelsea’s heart is in her paintings, but I can see yours every time I look at one of your canvases.”
Don’t cry, I told myself. Tears blurred my vision anyway. He was the guy of my dreams and I had to know if he was going to dump me or not. “I know Monica’s still in love with you,” I blurted. “I know that she’s settling in Blue Moon Bay. Are you getting back together with her? If so, just let me know now.”
He blinked and then shook his head. “How can you think that? Don’t you know?”
I wanted to scream with frustration. “Know what?”
“I love you, Megan.”
Chills vibrated through me. “You love me?”
“I love you,” he repeated.
My hand flew to my mouth. “I didn’t know,” I whispered though my fingertips. A hot tear escaped down my face. “I never thought you would.”
“I always have.” He brushed the tear away with the pad of his thumb, and then he gathered me in his arms. I lifted my face to his and our mouths met and held.
“I love you, too,” I whispered, and then kissed him again.
He tasted like wine and the kiss lengthened and deepened as the whole world just fell away—the contest, my worries about money, and even my deep-seated desire to go to Italy. Everything melted away as I curled up in the shelter of his arms.
As we kissed over and over in the same rhythm of the waves rushing against the shore, I found myself wanting to stay right here in his arms forever and never let him go. When I finally opened my eyes, I found myself staring up at the plaque. Its bronze letters seemed to mock me, reminding me that not everyone got to live happily-ever-after like Wendy and Max. Some lovers who kissed under the blue moon would never stay together.
My little cottage held such good smells the next evening as I heated the leftovers from the chicken dinner that Brian had made the night before. Now the scent of chicken and roasted garlic mingled with the aroma of the sugar cookies I’d baked as a treat—that scent mixed with the good, if slightly acrid, smell of paint equated to the perfect evening to me.
Dusk had settled down onto the world and then darkness. My living room lamps cast puddles of golden light over everything, mingling with the light music I’d switched on to enhance the mood while I painted. Now, I stepped back and looked at the painting.
It was pretty. It was also as dull as dishwater.
“On the upside, you’d look great behind someone’s couch,” I muttered to my classic style creation. Immediately I felt bad, like I’d insulted the poor thing. So, I hastily added, “I mean you’re like the white blouse I wear all of the time. It goes with everything. Sure, it’s not really anything, but when I add it to other things then it jazzes it right up.”
Now I was giving a pep talk to my painting to try to make it feel better. Maybe Brian was right. Maybe I needed to be true to myself and to my artistic side. My gaze went to the other canvas, which I’d turned to face the wall so I wouldn’t be tempted by it. I gnawed at my bottom lip, torn. I knew Brian was probably right about submitting an inspired painting, but the judges’ words kept ringing through my ears making me second-guess myself.
The doorbell rang, cutting off those thoughts. I stuck my brush into the turpentine jar and headed to the door but it opened before I reached it. Janine, Olivia, and Wendy piled in.
Wendy held a bottle of tequila and one of mixer. She held them out like she was holding up garlic against a vampire. “I need ice and a blender. Now.”
What in the world was going on? “Um, okay.”
Wendy came further into my living room. Her gaze met mine. “I just found out that you’re dating Brian and I need that blender a lot. I need to drink, a lot.”
“I didn’t say anything,” Janine said, as my gaze flew to her. “I really didn’t.”
Then who? My gaze shot to Olivia as Wendy headed for the kitchen and the blender. Olivia shook her head. “It wasn’t me, either.”
Wendy paused then turned around. “You both knew?”
Janine squirmed. Wendy huffed and then went into the kitchen. I heard ice hit the bottom of the blender, then the whirring sound filled the cottage. I gave Olivia and Janine frantic looks. “Okay, if you two didn’t tell her, who did?” I asked.
The blender cut off. Wendy yelled, “Salt!”
Janine shrugged when I sent her a pleading look. “I’m not going in there.”
I called out, “There’s some of that lemon-lime salt you got me for Christmas on the spice rack.” I turned back to Janine and Olivia and whispered, “Is she really mad?”
Olivia held a hand to the side of her mouth. “I think she’s in shock.”
Wendy came back in carrying the blender and four glasses with salty rims on a small tray. She took a seat on the sofa and Janine and Olivia both gave me shrugs then joined her. I took the chair and then a tall glass of frozen margarita.
I sipped and winced. Wendy had gone heavy with the tequila. “So how did you . . .?”
Wendy gulped down half of her margarita. “Monica called me.”
I blinked a few times. “Monica told you that I was dating Brian? How could she have? I hadn’t mentioned it to her.”
Even more importantly, was Wendy mad at me? She was very protective of Brian. Even though we were best friends, she might not be too happy about me dating her brother.
Wendy sighed. “No, she called me to talk because she came back from San Felipe hoping that she and Brian would get back together. She left him a voicemail and he called her back and told her he didn’t want to date her again. Monica was crushed by that news, and she called me to ask if he was seeing someone else.”
“Maybe she should have called and asked that before she moved back from San Felipe,” Janine said. All of our heads turned toward her. “What? I would have asked first.”
My leg jiggled as my impatience grew. “But how did you find out I was dating Brian?”
“Oh, that . . .” Wendy took another healthy gulp. “Well, I went to see Brian. I found him in the inn’s workshop making a frame for you for the competition. When I asked why he was making that for your painting, he said it was because Jackson’s sick and you needed a frame. Then he said Chelsea found out that he’s dating you and that he was making the frame for you, and they’d had a huge fight over it.”
“Brian’s making me a frame?” I asked.
“Ha! So I do know something you all don’t know.” She finished her drink, poured more of the margarita from the blender into her glass and then slammed i
t down on the coffee table. “I just can’t believe none of you told me about Brian and Megan!”
“Oh, Wendy.” I set my glass down, still reeling from the announcement that Brian was making me a frame. We’d gotten into such a deep talk after our dinner on the beach that I’d forgotten to ask what he and Chelsea had been fighting about. I leaned toward Wendy. “It’s not Olivia or Janine’s fault you were left in the dark. I asked them not to tell you, because I was afraid you’d be upset with me. Are you mad at me?”
Wendy lifted her glass again. “I don’t know yet. How do you feel about him?”
Wow. Direct question. Every eye in the room turned to me. My face heated and I fumbled for my drink. After a huge gulp, I blurted, “I’m in love with him. I’ve been in love with him for a long time. I’m sorry. I should’ve told you.”
Wendy poured the remnants of the blender into Janine’s and Olivia’s glasses. “I actually thought so. I sort of suspected it at the Halloween Carnival.”
I stared at her. “Really? I didn’t think he felt the same way about me. Now I know he does, but I’m still not sure I’m the best person for him.”
Olivia leaned over and patted my knee. “I know how you feel. Brody and I went through all kinds of ups and downs because I was just so uncertain. Look how happy we are now.”
Wendy nodded. “Everyone knows Max and I had a lot of stuff to sort through before we could make it work. Now we’re incredibly happy.”
Janine raised her palms high. “Don’t look at me. Things between Cody and me still feel forced. I’m definitely not sold on us belonging together.”
Wendy stared past my shoulder, turning her head, and I wondered what she was looking at. “Is that what you’re entering into the contest?”
I looked over at the painting. “Yeah. What do you guys think? Is it okay?”
“I’d say it’s beautiful.” Wendy’s brows furrowed as she turned back to me. “It just doesn’t feel like a work by Megan Wallace. Does that make sense? You always put something magical and unique into your work, even your websites. Like the way you put the moon and that whale into the inn’s website. There just isn’t any of that in your painting.”
