Now That It's You

by Tawna Fenske

  God, he was losing it.

  He sat back down, ordering himself to breathe deeply. He had to stop looking at her. He glanced to the side and saw Floyd staring at him from the barstool. Floyd narrowed his eyes and gave a low growl.

  “Kyle, it’s okay,” she said.

  “No, it’s not.”

  “I’m not talking about the dishes. Or the cat.”

  “Neither was I.”

  She stared at him a moment, then nodded. “Do you want to pretend it never happened? The kiss, I mean.”

  “Technically, it didn’t happen.”

  Meg rolled her eyes. “Do you want to pretend it didn’t almost happen? Blame it on grief or Viognier or the aphrodisiac qualities of cinnamon.”

  “Let’s do that.” Kyle folded his hands on the table, then unfolded them. He wanted to stand up and run out the door and he wanted to jump across the table to take Meg in his arms.

  None of those seemed like a good idea at the moment.

  He clenched his jaw, biting back the question he’d thought about asking her all evening. For three years, actually.

  Do you remember that Thanksgiving when—

  No. Now wasn’t the time.

  Meg took a sip of wine, then pushed back her chair and walked to the kitchen. She pulled two copies of her aphrodisiac cookbook off the shelf, then turned and walked back to the dining room. As Kyle stood up, she handed them to him.

  “Here you go. I can tell you’re ready to bolt from the house like it’s on fire, and I don’t want you to forget these.”

  He shook his head. “Sorry, Meg.”

  “I’m not. I got daisies and a great tip about a nervous habit I never knew I had.”

  “Then we’ll go ahead and call it a win.” He tucked the cookbooks under one arm and stuck out his hand to shake hers. “I think I’d better say goodnight.”

  She grabbed the hand and pulled him close, wrapping her arms around his middle. The squeeze she gave him was tight and warm and felt too damn good. “Don’t be an idiot,” she said. “We always hug goodbye, you big jerk.”

  The hug was so soft and familiar that Kyle dissolved into it, resting his chin on top of her head the way he used to. He breathed in the scent of her and tried to remember the last time he’d hugged her.

  The day before the wedding. The day you ruined for everyone.

  When Meg pulled away, he didn’t know whether he felt more relieved or disappointed.

  “Don’t be a stranger,” she said.

  “Don’t be an idiot, don’t be a stranger—anything else you’d like to command me not to be?”

  “Sorry. Stop being sorry.” Meg smiled, then gave him a nudge toward the door. “Go on, get out of here. You said you’re going to Bend tomorrow?”

  “Yeah. Some Hollywood producer commissioned a piece for his vacation home there. I’m driving it over in the morning, making sure it gets set up right in the media room.”

  “Drive safely.”

  “I will.” He turned and walked away, then hesitated at the door. “Thanks again for everything, Meg.”

  “Maybe we should keep in touch?”

  Kyle nodded. “Maybe we should.” He twisted the doorknob, not sure if that was the best idea in the world or the worst.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Nice work, son!” The famous TV producer whose name Kyle kept forgetting pumped his hand with surprising ferocity as they gazed up at the metal sculpture of a walrus holding an umbrella. It wasn’t the weirdest piece Kyle had ever been commissioned for, but it was damn close.

  “I’m glad you like it.” Kyle stared at the sculpture, since that seemed more tactful than staring at the mole on the guy’s temple that looked vaguely like an avocado.

  “It’s perfect there next to the window, don’t you think?” The producer gazed up at it with such a reverent expression, Kyle couldn’t help but feel proud.

  “Absolutely. I designed it with all this natural light in mind.”

  “You know, I’d love to have something for my place in Pacific Palisades.”

  “I’d be happy to work with you again,” Kyle said. “I’m a little booked up at the moment, but why don’t we chat next week? Maybe look at some photos of the space, talk about what you’re envisioning.”

  “I don’t suppose you’ve got anything that’s already finished?”

  Kyle wiped a dust rag over one of the walrus’s tusks, then tucked the rag in the back pocket of his jeans. “Sure, there are plenty of things in my gallery. I think I have my portfolio out in the truck. Got a few finished pieces in there you could take a look at. Want me to go to grab it?”

  “I’ll follow you out there. I could use some fresh air.”

  They trudged together through several long hallways that were the approximate size of Kyle’s entire house. Kyle followed close behind, trying to remember the guy’s name. Emeril? Edmond?

  Emmett, that was it. Emmett Ashton. He’d have to remember that when he told Meg about this later. She’d always been thrilled by celebrity gossip.

  The thought of seeing Meg again filled him with something warm and liquid, like sipping Scotch in a hot tub. He’d spent the whole drive out here thinking about kissing her, about what might’ve happened if the damn oven hadn’t beeped. The fantasy had been a welcome distraction from thoughts about his brother. What would Matt think if he knew Kyle was having illicit thoughts about Meg?

  At least she’s not his fiancée anymore. It would have been worse if he’d known it when she was.

  But now Matt was dead, and Kyle would never have to worry again that his brother would peer into his ear and see all those shameful thoughts huddled in his brain. Thinking of Matt made his throat feel achy and he closed his eyes for a moment to make them stop stinging.

  He opened them again as Emmett led them through the slate entryway and out into the bright sage-scented sunshine. Kyle breathed deeply, amazed by the difference the 170 miles made between Portland and Bend. The air was drier here in the desert, and the towering basalt cliffs of Smith Rock jutted like orange-red claws on the horizon.

  Kyle popped the door on his truck, wishing he’d had the foresight to get rid of all the McDonald’s wrappers and vacuum the dog fur off the seat. He shoved a Coke can onto the floor and grabbed a leather-bound book from under an old flannel shirt. He flipped it open and held it out so Emmett could see.

  “These are photos of some of my finished pieces.” He pointed to one on the first page. “This one’s currently in a gallery in Portland, but the show is up next month. It’s called Shadow Dance.”

  “Nice. Great lines. I really love the copper running through there. How big is it?”

  “About thirty-six inches from pedestal to the tip of the wing.”

  “I’m looking for something a little bigger.”

  Kyle nodded and thumbed through the pages until he reached the middle of the book. He turned it back around and held it out, pointing to a piece he’d finished a few months ago. “This one in the bottom right corner is nearly eight feet tall. There’s a collector in New Mexico who’s been asking about it, but it’s not sold yet.”

  “Very nice. I’m not sure my wife would go for it. That’s a little too big.” He frowned, then pointed to a photo in the top right corner. “How about this one?”

  Kyle felt the air leave his lungs. He swallowed hard, resisting the urge to shove the guy’s finger off the page.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “No? It looks like it’s about the right size, and it’s a gorgeous interpretation of the female form. All those curves and flowing lines and—”

  “That one’s not for sale.”

  Emmett gave him a look. “Everything’s for sale for the right price.”

  “Not that one.”

  He stared at Kyle a moment, then cocked his head to the side and gave him an appraising look. “I’d pay double your asking price, whatever it is.”

  Kyle closed the book and set it back on the seat. “Why don’t I just email
you a few images of some of my other pieces? That might be easier. I’ll make sure to include all the measurements so you know how the piece might fit into your space.”

  Emmett seemed to pause for a moment, then nodded. “Fair enough.”

  Kyle stuck his hand out. “Thank you, sir, for the work.”

  “Don’t mention it. Thank you, for driving all the way out here. Especially so soon after your brother passed.”

  “I needed the distraction,” he said. “The alone time.”

  “I remember that,” he said, leaning back against Kyle’s truck. “I lost my brother ten years ago. Did I tell you that?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Killed by a drunk driver.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “The hell of it was that we hadn’t talked for almost a year.” Emmett raked a hand through his hair. “He’d gotten pissed at me about something I don’t even remember now. Anyway, took me a long time to stop beating myself up for that.”

  “I think I’m a long way from that,” Kyle said, not sure why he felt compelled to share with a stranger. “From getting over the regret, I mean.”

  His thoughts drifted back to that dark time after the canceled wedding. He remembered the acrid taste of fear when Matt wouldn’t get out of bed for a week. When he wouldn’t eat or shower or even talk about what happened. If Kyle hadn’t dragged him to the doctor, if the doctor hadn’t understood the gravity of clinical depression—

  “You never really get over it,” Emmett said, jarring Kyle back to the present. “You just figure out how to live with all the little regrets poking at your guts like needles and leaving you all sore on the inside.”

  Kyle nodded, not able to formulate a response with his own collection of needles stabbing into his spleen.

  “Anyway,” Emmett said, “You’ll get there eventually. I can promise you that.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  The producer looked at him. “The name’s Emmett. You can call me that, you know. You don’t have to call me sir.”

  “Thank you, Emmett.”

  He grinned. “You know, I have a lot of friends who are really into art. Why don’t you give me a few more business cards so I can hand them out?”

  “I appreciate that.”

  Kyle shoved the portfolio back in his truck and started digging for the box of cards he kept somewhere in here. Maybe under the tool belt or beneath the old shopping bag or—

  He bumped something off the seat, sending a book tumbling out the door. Emmett reached out and caught the spine in one hand.

  “Got it!” He turned the book over, flipping it face up so he could see the cover. The Food You Love: An Aphrodisiac Cookbook. Meg’s cookbook. Kyle started to reach for it, but Emmett had already opened to the first page.

  “An aphrodisiac cookbook? Hoo, boy—my wife would go nuts for this. She’s always researching libido-boosting food and checking out new recipes.” He flipped to the next page, whistling under his breath as he traced a finger over one of Matt’s pictures. “You order this on Amazon? I should get one for her.”

  “Actually, a friend of mine wrote it,” he said. “And my brother took the photos.”

  “No kidding? Kiki would love this. Our anniversary’s coming up.”

  Kyle hesitated. “Why don’t you go ahead and keep it?”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah.” He nodded. “I know where I can get more. It’s the least I can do after all the business you’re giving me.”

  The producer laughed and flipped the book closed. “Is this my consolation prize for that piece you won’t sell me?”

  “Yep.”

  “Kiki’s gonna freak out over this.” He tucked the book under one arm and clapped Kyle on the shoulder. “You sure you won’t take me up on a couple nights in the guesthouse? It’s awfully nice out here.”

  “I’d love to, but I’ve gotta get home to my family. You know how it is.”

  “I do. Which is why I can imagine it might feel good to get away for a little bit right now.”

  Kyle nodded and pulled out his keys. “Thanks, but I should pass.”

  He might have felt okay taking off for a day, but overnight? No way should he leave his parents alone to deal with all the sorting and planning and going through Matt’s things. When he’d stopped by this morning to check on his mom, she’d been staring at her coffee mug with a blank expression. He’d reached out to top it off for her before realizing it was filled to the brim.

  “Matt gave it to me for my birthday three years ago,” she’d murmured, turning it around so he could see the lettering on the front.

  Coffee makes me poop.

  The thought of Matt choosing it for her made him smile almost as much as the realization that she’d kept it. He’d bent down and kissed her on the cheek, breathing in the familiar scent of expensive cosmetics. His dad had walked in then, looking ten years older than he had a month ago. He’d given Kyle a weak smile and rested a hand on Sylvia’s shoulder.

  “You’d better get going, son. It’s a long drive.”

  Still. Maybe he should have postponed. What kind of jerk was he for driving out here today and leaving them to tend to that stuff on their own?

  The kind of jerk who almost kisses his brother’s fiancée.

  “Ex-fiancée.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” Kyle said, reaching out to shake the man’s hand. “I’ll be in touch. Enjoy the sculpture.”

  Meg handed Jess a blue and white flowered bowl filled with popcorn, then dropped onto the sofa beside her. She tucked her legs up under her butt and reached behind her to scratch Floyd under the chin. The cat gave a soft purr from his perch on the back of the sofa and stretched his paws out in front of him.

  “This is what I love about coming here,” Jess said, shoving a fistful of popcorn in her mouth.

  “The pleasure of my company?”

  “That, too, obviously. But also that you don’t just shove a bag of chemical-laden crap in the microwave and call it popcorn. What is this, anyway?”

  “That one’s drizzled with rosemary-infused olive oil and dusted with truffle salt,” Meg said. “The one we had earlier was popped in bacon grease and laced with chives and bacon crumbles.”

  Jess grinned and shoved another handful of popcorn in her mouth. “If there’s anything better than having a caterer for a best friend, I don’t know what it is.”

  “How about a really wealthy best friend who likes to shower all her pals with cash?”

  Jess snorted and chewed her popcorn. “Can’t help you there. I take it you’re still stressed about getting the money for Matt’s parents?”

  Meg shrugged. “I’m working on it. I’m pretty close. I have a job in three days for a charity event that should have about three hundred guests. If I take the check from that and call the lender for my student loan to ask for just a few extra weeks—”

  “This is bullshit.”

  Meg sighed. “Don’t start.”

  “Come on, I was sitting right there in your living room when Matt offered to take those stupid cookbook photos. He said, and I quote, ‘You can pay me in blowjobs, babe.’ Didn’t he even write it on a napkin?”

  “Ew.” Meg made a face. “We were all tipsy that night. How do you remember that?”

  “I was scarred for life by the visual. I just remember he was a royal prick about it. Very condescending.”

  “It was a long time ago,” Meg said for lack of anything better to offer.

  “Not really. You guys were only a few months from the wedding at that point, weren’t you?”

  “We both had a lot on our minds.”

  “You mean like how to bone someone else before walking down the aisle?” Jess shoved another handful of popcorn in her mouth. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound harsh,” she puffed around the kernels. “But seriously, what in the world would possess him to stick his dick in another woman when he had a beautiful, willing partner at home?”

  “I have
no idea.” Meg poked a finger into the popcorn bowl, not willing to admit how often she’d wondered the same damn thing. Not willing to admit how often she’d wondered if she’d done something to drive him to want to sleep with someone else.

  Deep down, didn’t that cross the mind of every woman whose man found himself in another woman’s bed?

  Floyd stood up and stretched, then dropped down onto the couch beside Meg. He cast a disdainful look at Jess, then bumped the bottom of the popcorn bowl with his head.

  “Cut it out, asshole cat,” Jess muttered.

  Floyd responded by purring and rubbing his mouth on Jess’s arm, leaving a streak of drool across her wrist.

  “I swear you have the weirdest cat on the planet,” Jess muttered. “He only likes people who insult him.”

  “Which explains why he loves you,” Meg said, scooping up her indignant feline and rubbing behind his ears. Floyd growled and struggled to get down, so Meg set him on the ground at her feet. He gave a plaintive meow and twined himself around Jess’s ankles a few times before jumping back on the couch. He stomped across their laps and headed for the far end of the sofa where he curled up and fell asleep.

  Jess picked up the remote and aimed it at Meg’s television. “You want to watch another episode?”

  Meg shrugged and stroked a hand down Floyd’s back. “I’m kinda burned out on all the kissing. Let’s watch something else.”

  “You? Burned out on kissing? This is a first.”

  Meg reached up and touched her earlobe, then thought of Kyle. She felt her face flush with heat and she dropped her hand to her lap feeling a weird mix of guilt and desire.

  “What?” Jess said, watching her face. “What is it?”

  Meg bit her lip. “I almost kissed Kyle last night.”

  Jess blinked at her. “You did?”

  “Or he almost kissed me. I’m not really sure. It all happened so fast.”

  “Why did you stop?”

  “I’d like to say it was because we both realized it was a stupid idea and we were channeling our grief in an unhealthy way.” Meg frowned. “In reality, the oven beeped.”