by Tawna Fenske
She didn’t though, and Kyle found himself reaching out to touch her hand. “Don’t do this, Meg.”
“Don’t do what?”
“Torture yourself. Compare the proposal you got with the one Chloe got and make it some failing on your part.”
“I want to know,” she said.
“Morbid curiosity?”
“We’re at a funeral. Can you think of a better time to be morbidly curious?”
Kyle sighed. “They got engaged on a beach in Barbados at sunset.”
“Oh,” she said. “I mean, I guess they could have had a fake engagement story, too—”
“I saw photos,” Kyle said. “He had his camera set up on a tripod in some bushes nearby. There might have also been a skywriter—”
“Okay, stop,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re right, I don’t need to torture myself. It’s not a damn competition, anyway.”
Kyle swallowed hard, hating the sadness in her voice. Hating the question he was about to ask her. “Did you still love him? When he died, I mean—were you still in love with Matt?”
“God, no!”
Was it wrong to love the vehemence in her words? Kyle cleared his throat. “You’re sure?”
“Positive.” She shook her head in the darkness, and he watched the glint of light in her curls as they slid over her shoulders. “I know it doesn’t seem possible that I could have stopped loving him that quickly, but the second he told me about the affair, it was like someone flipped off a light switch. I don’t know how else to explain it.”
“Then why do you care how he proposed to someone else?”
“Because I’m a woman,” she said. “Even if I’m glad I didn’t marry him, and relieved that I dodged that bullet, it doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have wanted to be deemed worthy.”
“You’re worthy.”
She laughed and Kyle realized he sounded like a fucking inspirational poster. He could think of a million adjectives to describe Meg—funny, warm, clever, beautiful, creative—but worthy had never crossed his mind.
“What the hell does worthy even mean?” he muttered. “Like it’s someone else’s job to validate your worth?”
“It’s not, I know. But I’m female. I’m human. Deep down, don’t most of us want someone to lay claim to us? To have someone love you so much they grab on tightly and say ‘Mine!’ and never let go?”
“That sounds like a motive for a restraining order.”
Meg reached out and squeezed his hand. “I can always count on you to make me smile, Kyle.”
A dull pang of longing rattled through his gut. His fingers were still linked with hers, so he squeezed her hand back in lieu of any other sort of gesture he might want to make. “He did love you, Meg. In his own way. How could he not?”
“Thanks. I don’t know if that matters now, but it’s nice to hear.”
Kyle cleared his throat. “So are things still going well with your book?” It was an abrupt subject change, but he wasn’t ready to end the conversation yet and he worried she might leave if the silence stretched out. Her hand was warm in his, and he wondered if she’d forgotten they were still touching.
“It’s crazy,” she said. “It’s the number one book on The New York Times Best Sellers list. Well, number one on the Advice and Miscellaneous list. But can you imagine?”
“That’s great,” he said, meaning it, even if he didn’t have much of a notion what any of that meant. “I tried to make one of the recipes the other night.”
“Really? Which one?”
“The risotto. Only I didn’t have risotto, so I tried to use Rice-A-Roni. I also didn’t have white wine, so I used beer instead, and I had to use romaine lettuce instead of basil and margarine instead of sesame oil and—
Meg laughed. “So basically, you made a totally different recipe?”
“Pretty much. It was just as well. I was home alone with Bindi, so revving my libido with an aphrodisiac dinner probably wasn’t the best idea.”
“Bindi?”
“My dog. Australian kelpie. I got her at the pound a few months after Karma died.”
“What’s an Australian kelpie?”
“Picture a normal herding dog like a border collie or a heeler.”
“High energy, you mean?”
“Now picture it on crack. That’s a kelpie.”
“I’d love to meet her.”
“She’d love to meet you. She loves women. Doesn’t see enough of them, so she goes bananas when anyone with boobs and no Y chromosome comes to visit.”
“My double-X chromosomes and double-D boobs will have to drop by sometime. Maybe we’ll bring you a few groceries, while we’re at it.”
“I’d like that,” he said, his brain perking up at the boob comment. He remembered her telling him once that she’d learned to make fun of her own boobs as a self-conscious teen who got tired of being teased and decided to beat her tormentors to the punch. “I looked like two olives on a toothpick,” she’d said, and he and Matt had both laughed.
The quiet between them stretched out in the darkness, and Kyle cleared his throat again. He could hear her breathing in and out, could smell the lilacs in her hair and feel the warmth of her flesh where her fingers joined with his. She hadn’t let go yet, and he wasn’t sure if he should be the one to break the contact between them. Had anyone noticed they were both missing? He should probably get back out there, lose himself in sea of aunts and uncles and co-workers and—
“Kyle?”
“Yes?”
“You know the other night when we said kissing would be a dumb idea?”
His brain started to spin, and Kyle held on to her hand, keeping himself rooted in place. “Yes.”
“It would be. But I still want to do it. Just once, to know what it’s like.”
He tried to think of what to say. Something flippant to make her laugh or something profound to make her feel.
He was still thinking about it when he felt her hand on his cheek. He reached for her then, forgetting all his hesitation as her lips met his in the darkness. Her mouth was as soft as he’d always imagined and she tasted like sunshine and white wine, even though he didn’t think she’d had anything to drink. He drew his free hand up to cup her face, marveling at the silkiness of her skin, the soft whimper in the back of her throat, the fact that he was really here kissing Meg—Meg, for crying out loud.
When she drew back, he had to bite back a scream of frustration. Her breath sounded faster in the darkness, and her grip on his fingers was so tight he wondered if she remembered she was touching him.
“So that’s what it’s like,” she whispered.
He laughed, his voice echoing off the walls, and he hoped no one walked by right then and heard them.
“That’s what it’s like,” he said.
“It was different than I thought,” she said. “Sweeter.”
“You thought I might be the type to shove you up against the wall and have my way with you?”
“Jesus.” Her sharp intake of breath told him he’d just shocked her, but before he could apologize, she was whispering again.
“Yes. I’ll admit it, that’s always how I imagined you.”
“You imagined me?” The thought intrigued him.
“I don’t mean when I was with Matt,” she said, her words soft and rushed. “I just meant since the night on the sofa.”
“Right,” he said, not wanting to admit he had a different definition of always.
From the first moment I met you . . .
He considered asking her about that Thanksgiving night three years ago. Had she felt something, too, or was it all in his head?
“We should probably get out of here,” he murmured, wishing he could do anything but that. Wishing he could stay here forever.
“You’re right. Jess has probably sent out a search party by now. How long have I been in here?”
Not long enough, his brain telegraphed, but instead he answered, “Ten or fifteen minutes.”
<
br /> “Wow. You move pretty fast.”
He laughed. “Me? You’re the one who kissed me.”
“I did, didn’t I?”
“Damn straight.”
“Well, in that case, this was the best kiss in a cleaning closet at a funeral that I’ve ever experienced.”
“Likewise.”
“I’m going to slip out now. Maybe give it a few minutes before you leave?”
“You don’t think it would be a good idea for someone to spot us ducking out of a closet together at my brother’s memorial service?”
“Probably not. Especially with my lipstick smeared all over your mouth. Here, I think I have a tissue somewhere—ew, wait, that one’s used.”
“It’s fine,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His lips were still tingling, and it seemed like a damn shame to remove any traces of the best kiss of his whole life.
She took a deep breath and let go of his hand. “Okay then,” she said, stuffing her feet back into her shoes and gaining a few inches of height. “Thank you, Kyle. I feel better now.”
“Don’t mention it.”
There was a sliver of light creeping through the edge of the door, and he watched her press her ear against it, listening for voices. “Sounds like the coast is clear,” she murmured.
“Good luck.”
She pushed the door open, and Kyle heard the clamor of voices coming from upstairs. Light washed over the inside of the closet, and he stepped back a little, not wanting anyone to spot him if they did happen to walk by.
But the hall must have been empty, because Meg stepped out into the light. She turned and gave him the barest hint of a wave, then pushed the door shut behind her. He listened to her footsteps echoing down the hall as she walked away, and he felt a pang of sadness that had nothing to do with the fact that he’d just attended a memorial service.
Your brother’s memorial service, you disloyal ass.
Kyle closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall, listening to the thud of his own heartbeat. He waited until it slowed down a bit, listening at the door as a pair of voices trickled past talking about a memory of a time Matt shared his glove with another player at a Little League game.
That was me, thought Kyle, not sure if it mattered. Me who shared the glove, not Matt.
But it had been Matt who made the kid laugh. The boy had a drunk dad and a dead mom and a lower lip that would quiver when he looked up into the stands and saw his father hadn’t come. Matt took him under his wing, telling him filthy jokes and glowering at anyone who mocked the kid’s hand-me-down uniform.
That’s the Matt I want to remember, Kyle thought, his throat swelling tight with the memory. The Matt who gave wedgies to defend a poor kid’s honor.
He wasn’t sure if five minutes had passed, but the coast seemed clear and he was sure he’d heard Meg’s footsteps fading up the stairs several minutes ago. He pushed the door open, squinting as the light hit him in the face.
A woman was walking down the other end of the hall toward the bathroom, but she had her back to him, so Kyle slipped out the door. He shut it softly behind him, hoping he didn’t smell too much like cleaning products. He lifted his shirtsleeve and sniffed, but didn’t notice anything especially fragrant. Maybe a trace of Meg’s perfume, but that was probably all in his head.
He took the stairs slowly, not eager to get back to the crowd upstairs. He hadn’t hit the bar yet, so maybe he’d grab a beer or a plate of food and—
He froze at the top of the stairs. Ten feet away, Meg was standing at the edge of the railing, her fingers clenched so hard around it her knuckles had gone white. Beside her, Kyle’s mother was talking fast, her cheeks flushed as she thrust an envelope at Meg.
Kyle stepped forward, a cold prickle moving up his arms as he heard his mother’s words.
“This is your official notice of legal action,” Sylvia said. “You can contact our attorney if you have any questions.”
Meg’s face was ashen, and she looked at the envelope like Sylvia had just blown her nose on it. She reached out and took it, and Kyle could see her hands were shaking.
“What’s going on here?” he asked. He took in his mother’s red-rimmed eyes with dark circles beneath them, and his heart twisted. He looked at Meg, feeling his chest clench tighter at the sight of her pale, bewildered expression.
His mother was first to speak. “I’m protecting your brother’s legacy,” she said as tears glinted in her eyes. “I’m making sure his work wasn’t all in vain.”
“How are you doing that?” he asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.
“By claiming his half of the cookbook.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“So what did your agent say?”
Jess grabbed one of Meg’s cucumber and salmon crudités and took a bite, propping her feet on the edge of Meg’s coffee table.
“She said it’s after ten p.m. on a Saturday on the East Coast, so she needed a little more time to track down the legal team.”
“But does she think you ought to fight it?”
“Of course,” Meg said, glum at the thought of fighting anything. She just wanted to curl up in a ball and savor the notion that someone besides her mom and her best friend had read her cookbook.
“Good,” Jess said, taking another vicious bite of the crudités. “You did all the work on that damn book. You deserve to reap the benefit.”
“Not all the work—”
“Honey, you paid off your debt to anyone else who had a hand in it. That graphic designer you bartered with to lay the whole thing out—she’s not showing up on your doorstep demanding a cut, is she?”
“Of course not. I catered her wedding for free.” She shrugged. “I did send her flowers the other day though, and thanked her for doing such a beautiful job making the book pretty.”
“See? Debt settled. Just like it was with Matt. He took those photos as a favor to his fiancée. Just because you didn’t walk down the aisle doesn’t negate the fact that he’s the one who volunteered to do the pictures. How many of his office parties did you cater without ever expecting a dime from him?”
“Too many to count,” Meg admitted. “And you’re right, it’s not like I ever demanded a share of the business deals he closed over my bruschetta.”
“Exactly. It’d be like the guy who fixed your laptop showing up to demand a share of the book sales because you couldn’t have written it without him.”
“Not exactly like that,” Meg pointed out, feeling a pinprick of guilt between her ribs. “I paid the laptop guy with cash. It’s the barter system that keeps this from being a clear-cut case, according to my agent.”
“Tit for tat,” Jess muttered. “Or in this case, tit for pic.”
“Ew.”
“Well, it’s true. You two were sleeping together. You were engaged to be married. In a way, you were both swapping sexual favors for each other’s work on a regular basis.”
“Thank you. Bringing prostitution into the equation is exactly what we need to make this less complicated.” Meg sighed. “If I’d finished paying off that damn bill right away, this might not be an issue.”
“You were paying off the wedding,” Jess pointed out. “Some arbitrary photography fee he imposed just to get back at you was hardly your top priority.”
“Yes, but it’s the backbone of their lawsuit now. The fact that he hadn’t been fully paid when he passed away.”
Jess chomped another appetizer. “It’s too bad you never had any sort of contract.”
“I never thought we needed to. We were getting married, and we’d had a joint checking account for years by then. Any proceeds would have just gone into that account, and then the book didn’t sell any copies anyway and—”
A knock sounded at the door, cutting off the defense that was starting to sound weak even to Meg’s ears. She and Jess both turned toward the foyer, gazes fixed on the large figure standing on the other side of the frosted-glass panel in her door.
>
“Ten bucks says it’s your closet kissing companion,” Jess murmured.
“No bet.”
“I still can’t believe you ditched me for thirty minutes this afternoon to lock lips among the cleaning supplies.”
“I told you, I was only in the closet ten minutes. The rest of the time I was being cornered by Chloe and the clones.”
“Yeah, after meeting her, I can’t blame you for wanting to run off and gargle bleach.”
The knock sounded again, and Meg pushed herself up off the sofa and headed for the door. Part of her hoped Jess was right and Kyle would be standing on the other side. She’d wanted to flee the funeral right after Sylvia’s confrontation, but it had taken her a while to find Jess. Then she’d had another run-in with Chloe, and in all the confusion, she’d never said a proper goodbye to Kyle.
She heard Jess on her heels, and turned to see her best friend slinging her purse over her shoulder. “You’re leaving?” Meg asked.
“Assuming that’s Kyle, you’re going to need some time alone together. And I need some time alone with my vibrator. Call me later with the details.”
“Ew,” Meg said, swinging open her front door.
“Bye-bye,” Jess said to Kyle, patting him on the shoulder as she breezed past. “Go easy on her, bud. She’s had a rough day.”
“Unlike the guy who just buried his brother?” Meg muttered, looking up at Kyle. “Sorry about that. She doesn’t think sometimes.”
“It’s okay. He wasn’t buried, anyway.”
“Cremated. You know what I mean.” She bit her lip. “Are you okay?”
“Fine. All things considered, anyway. I wanted to talk about what happened today.”
Meg snorted. “You might have to narrow that down a little. You mean the part where Chloe got drunk and called me a filthy whore before your dad dragged her out to the car?”
“Technically, she called you a filthy hoo-er,” Kyle pointed out. “Thanks to the aforementioned drunkenness, there was an extra syllable in the word.”
“Which let me enjoy it twice as much.” She cleared her throat. “Then there’s the fact that you kissed me in a closet.”
