by Tawna Fenske
“I like that plan.” He squeezed her hands in his. “I promise to make you happy, Meg. Or at least to spend every damn day trying my best to do it.”
“Okay,” she breathed, conscious of the flutter just beneath her breastbone. “So here’s to learning from past mistakes.”
“And future mistakes.”
“And mistakes we haven’t even considered making yet.”
He grinned. “I love you, Meg.”
“I love you, too.”
He kissed her then, softly at first, then with an urgency that left her swaying a little on her feet. He held her upright, steadying her, supporting her, kissing her silly. It seemed to go on for years maybe, for more than a decade. Maybe that’s the way it had always been, even when she hadn’t known it.
The sound of applause broke through her consciousness, and Meg turned to see the production crew standing in front of the stage, their headphones looped around their necks and goofy grins on their faces.
“That’s perfect,” Kelly said. “A little more passion like that and you’ll have this baby nailed.”
Meg laughed and pressed her hands to her face, trying to cool the flames. “How much of that did you hear?”
“You’re still miked, honey,” Kelly said. “We heard every word. We even got the heavy breathing.”
“That might come in handy sometime,” the soundman called, grinning at Meg from the edge of the stage.
She grimaced and turned back to Kyle, who squeezed her hands in response. “I’m okay with broadcasting it to the world,” he said. “I love you with all my heart, Meg. Here’s to fresh starts and second chances.”
“Cheers to that,” Kelly said, grinning from the side. “Go for it, Meg. We’ll start the audition over if you like. Just show us more of that passion.”
“Okay,” Meg breathed, but she wasn’t looking at the producer. She was looking at Kyle, whose gray-green eyes held a question she didn’t need him to ask.
Or maybe she did.
“What do you say, Meg?” he asked. “Can you see yourself giving us a shot? Taking a stab at a real relationship?”
Meg nodded and looped her arms around his neck. “I can.”
EPILOGUE
One year later
Kyle kicked his toe through the big pile of leaves, breathing in the scent of wood smoke and pumpkin pie spice clinging to the sleeves of his wool coat. Or maybe it was in Meg’s hair. The cinnamon had kinda gotten everywhere.
Thanksgiving-morning kitchen counter sex was definitely worth scratching off the bucket list.
Meg’s mitten-sheathed fingers were warm in his, and he squeezed her hand tight, then let their linked hands fall between them, swinging as they walked. He looked at his mother, who was smiling, albeit a little stiffly.
But it was still a smile. When had she started to do that again? It must’ve happened gradually, like a slow thaw. Kyle could still see sadness there, too—it would probably always be there—but warmth seemed to seep into her eyes more regularly now.
His mom caught him staring and reached out to touch the side of his face. “You have whipped cream on your cheek.”
“Thanks,” he said as she brushed it off.
His mom dropped her hand and glanced at Meg. Perhaps sensing the gaze, Meg looked back and gave her a shy smile. “How are you doing, Sylvia?”
“Fine.” She seemed to realize her reply sounded terse, and she offered a sheepish half shrug. “Thank you, dear. I’m glad you could be with us.”
Meg’s smile widened. “I’m glad to be included. I always loved being part of your family holidays.”
“It’s nice to have you. And we’re proud of how well your new cooking show is doing.”
Such a simple exchange, but one Kyle knew meant a lot to both of them. Things were still a bit awkward, but they were trying. All of them were.
Kyle’s dad put his arm around Sylvia. He didn’t say anything, but the gesture spoke of a deep, easy affection between them. It was something Kyle had always admired.
On the other side of Meg, Patti walked hand in hand with a tall man with a gray beard and a gentle smile. Meg’s mom had only been dating Gary a few weeks, but he’d seemed delighted when Patti had asked him to join their dual-family Thanksgiving celebration.
Patti caught Kyle staring at her, and gave a small wink. Right. She knew what was about to happen.
They were approaching the spot now. Kyle looked up at the overhead wire. It was bare now, but he remembered the shape of that dove. The lonely shadow teetering above while its mate lay cold on the ground below.
But Bindi pranced happily beside him, reminding him of new life, new beginnings, new paths to joy.
Kyle dug his hand into his pocket. His fingers closed around the metal circle, warm from being pressed against his leg. He felt his heart start to gallop as he stopped walking and let go of Meg’s hand. She took another step, then turned, surprised either by the movement or by the sound of his voice.
“Meg Delaney.” Her eyes flashed with astonishment, then joy as he dropped to one knee on the cold, dry asphalt.
“I love you,” he said, reaching for her hand again. “The past year with you has been amazing, every single day, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
He caught the tip of her mitten in one hand and gave a tug, sliding it off as she gasped in wonder. He dropped the mitten on the ground and slid the band onto her finger—a perfect fit, beautifully snug. She looked down at it, and he watched her eyes as she recognized the layers of Damascus steel, the glimmer of the blue sapphire at the center.
“My grandmother’s birthstone.” Her eyes met his. “You remembered.”
“I remember everything,” he said. “Maybe not names and celebrity gossip, but I remember the things that matter. And I want to make a million more memories with you for the rest of our lives. What do you say, Meg?” Kyle grinned, pretty sure his heart was about to burst. “Will you marry me?”
“I will.” She laughed as a tear slid down one cheek. “I’d be honored.”
Kyle felt his mother step closer and place a hand on his back. He looked up to see she was touching Meg’s shoulder, too. She moved her palm on his back in small circles the way she used to when he couldn’t fall asleep as a young boy.
Then his mother turned and smiled at his fiancée. “Welcome to the family, Meg. Again.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’m grateful to Michelle Wolfson of Wolfson Literary Agency for selling this book before I even had a subject in mind, and then for not freaking out when I explained I’d like to write about death, grief, and infidelity, and that maaaaaybe we could keep that quiet so the editors wouldn’t fret that I was writing the most depressing romantic comedy of all time.
Thank you to Chris Werner and Krista Stroever for ensuring I didn’t write the most depressing romantic comedy of all time. I’d be lost without your guidance, expert suggestions, and careful massage (er, on the book, not me, though I’m open to considering massage as a bonus in future book contracts).
Thank you also to Anh Schleup, Jessica Poore, Kimberly Cowser, Marlene Kelly, Nicole Pomeroy, Hannah Buehler, Shasti O’Leary Soudant, Sharon Turner Mulvihill, and the rest of the Montlake team for doing such a bang-up job getting this book polished and into the hands of so many wonderful readers, and for making me feel like a well-loved member of the Montlake family.
I owe a huge debt of gratitude to my sister-out-law, Tamara Zagurski, for opening up your heart and your brain and letting me sort through all those lovely pieces. I might actually love you more than I love your brother (don’t tell).
Many thanks to the grief counselors, psychologists, and legal experts whose knowledge helped shape this story’s edges. I’m also grateful to Chef Bette Fraser of the Well Traveled Fork for your culinary wisdom, and to Meg West for lending me your name.
I can’t thank my critique partners and beta readers enough for your super-fast turnarounds, brilliant insights, and endless patience. Big
hugs to Cynthia Reese, Linda Grimes, Larie Borden, Bridget McGinn, and Minta Powelson.
Thank you to the Bend Book Bitches for being the best book club a girl could hope for after more than fifteen years together. We’re aging like fine wine, or maybe it’s just that we’re drinking a lot of it.
Endless love and thanks to my family for all your support over the years, especially David and Dixie Fenske, Aaron “Russ” Fenske, and Carlie Fenske. Love you guys!
Big thanks to Cedar Zagurski for naming Kyle. I’m sorry to say that does not mean you get 50 percent of the royalties for your allowance, but you do get a big, sloppy, embarrassing hug, and the knowledge that I love the ever-loving heck out of you. Ditto that for you, Miss Violet. You’re the best stepdaughter anyone could ask for, and I’m pretty darn lucky your hot dad didn’t run away screaming when that crazy romance author started chasing him.
And of course, thank you to Craig Zagurski. Being married to a deadline-crazed, head-in-the-clouds (or under the bedsheets) romance author can’t be easy, but you handle it with grace, patience, and a tireless support for my career. I love you, and there’s no one else I’d rather share this crazy journey with, babe.
BOOK CLUB QUESTIONS
What differences do you note in how the characters handle grief? How does Kyle’s grief look different from his mother’s? From Meg’s? Does unresolved anger make it harder or easier to mourn someone who dies?
What are Matt’s redeeming qualities? What did Meg see in him, and why did she stay with him as long as she did?
Kyle’s complicated relationship with his brother and mother add conflict to his budding romance with Meg. What’s the role of family when it comes to making romantic choices? How much does family approval or disapproval matter? Does birth order make a difference when it comes to a sibling’s ability to influence another’s relationships?
Kyle knew infidelity would be a deal breaker for Meg, but her own mother was willing to tolerate it for many years. What made the difference? Under what circumstances (if any) is it okay to tolerate cheating or forgive the cheater?
We learn that Cara always sensed Kyle had feelings for Meg. Knowing what you do about Matt, do you think he noticed? Why or why not?
How do you think things would have played out if Kyle had kissed Meg that Thanksgiving in his parents’ study? How would the circumstances of that connection have impacted their relationship in the future?
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © 2013 Craig Zagurski
Tawna Fenske is a fourth-generation Oregonian who writes humorous fiction, risqué romance, and heartwarming love stories with a quirky twist. Her offbeat brand of romance has received multiple starred reviews from Publishers Weekly, which once noted, “There’s something wonderfully relaxing about being immersed in a story filled with over-the-top characters in undeniably relatable situations. Heartache and humor go hand in hand.”
Tawna lives in Bend, Oregon, with her husband, stepkids, and a menagerie of ill-behaved pets. She loves hiking, snowshoeing, stand-up paddleboarding, and inventing excuses to sip wine on her back porch. She can peel a banana with her toes and loses an average of twenty pairs of eyeglasses per year. To learn more about all Tawna’s books, visit www.tawnafenske.com.
