The Party Girl

by Tamara Morgan

  “He’s the one who doesn’t trust me,” she said, sounding defensive.

  “He doesn’t trust himself around you, Kendra. It’s not the same thing.”

  She burst into tears. She wasn’t even sure where they came from. One minute, she was doing just fine, reevaluating her life like a grownup and playing Taylor Swift on repeat like a teenager, nary a tear in sight. But here, facing Lincoln, preparing to dump him as proxy, she was a blubbering mess.

  “Oh, fuck. I’m sorry.” He searched around the office, empty save for an oversized wooden desk and a paperweight that looked like a meteorite, and told her to hang tight. She was planning on taking advantage of his absence to slap her face and pull herself together, but he returned in under a minute, a wad of toilet paper in hand.

  She had a package of unopened Kleenex in her purse she would have much preferred to place next to her nasal mucous membranes, but the gesture moved her enough to put sanitary concerns aside. She clutched the tissue in her hand and sniffled loudly instead.

  “I didn’t realize you were so upset.” He crouched next to her chair, concern making him appear much more human than he normally did. “Do you want to...talk about it?”

  She let out an unattractive sobbing sound comprised, surprisingly, of laughter. “No, but that’s sweet of you to offer. There isn’t anything you could say to make this easier.”

  “I know.”

  She grasped his hand firmly and gave it a squeeze. He squeezed back. “I’m really sorry, Lincoln. I don’t think I was as nice to you as I could have been this past year. I was so preoccupied with seeing things from my own perspective, I never took the time to consider things from yours.”

  “Don’t worry about it. After seeing what you have—” he coughed heavily, “—I mean what you had with Noah...well, we both know my feelings for you weren’t even close to being on the same level, were they?”

  She sobbed harder.

  Damn it—she’d broken up with dozens of men without falling into hysterics, had done a fine job of keeping herself together when Noah told her flat out that he considered her nothing more than a mercenary piece of fluff. But facing Lincoln and telling him that her sister had moved on was going to kill her. And him. By the time she was done, there’d be nothing but bodies in here and no private investigator to tell their families why.

  “Nikki doesn’t want to see you anymore,” she said, the words muffled between each gasp for air.

  “What?” Lincoln’s hand grew unnaturally still over hers. “What did you just say? I don’t think I heard you right.”

  She couldn’t force herself to meet his gaze, though she took a deep breath and tried to still the train-wreck rattle of her nerves. “Nikki is breaking up with you. She’s young and foolish and not ready to settle down.” All those things could reasonably pass for the truth. “And she wanted me to be the one to tell you.”

  “You’re lying.” He shot to his feet. “Is this some kind of prank? Did you tell her about the PI stuff?”

  “No. And no.” This time, she didn’t hesitate to blow her nose in the wad of toilet paper. Screw it. Things were bad enough in here that an infectious plague could only lighten the mood. “It wouldn’t matter to her either way. She was just playing around. Or maybe she really did care for you and changed her mind. I don’t know. All I know was that she didn’t have the guts to pick up a phone and tell you herself.”

  “So she sent you to break up with me?”

  It was either that or he’d just continue schmoozing along in his regular Lincoln way, wondering why Nikki never answered her phone. Kendra knew she hadn’t been a model of consideration when it came to ending things with this man, but at least she’d never hesitated to say what she felt to his face.

  “I wish there was something I could say...” More ineffective words didn’t exist on the planet, but they were all she had.

  She thought for the longest time that Lincoln was going to cry. His face did that thing where it screwed up in pain, the swelling of a dam before it broke, an outburst waiting to happen.

  But the outburst never came.

  He braced his hand on the desk, his shoulders sagged and his back to her—and stood that way long enough that she assumed the worst. Tearing off the clean end of her tissue, she shoved a wad at him and made a cooing noise. “It’s okay, Lincoln. Let it all out.”

  “Jesus, Kendra. I’m not crying.”

  “You’re scaring me, is what you’re doing.” She moved her hands in circles on his back. It was a soothing pattern, one she remembered her mother offering her when things started to hurt too much but it was difficult to locate the exact source of the pain. “Do you want to go outside for some air?”

  “Air?” He looked around and straightened. “That’s a good idea. Open a window, would you? I want to make sure they’re not painted shut or anything.”

  “Are you...going to lease this place?” Maybe he was going to act as though she’d never said anything about her sister. Maybe he was going to regress back to before they’d even started dating. She couldn’t decide if that would be a good thing or the sign of some kind of mental break.

  “If the windows open, I’m signing on the dotted line today.” He tugged on the small paned glass along the back wall, and other than the puffs of dust that filled the air, nothing seemed amiss. “Okay. It’s official. These are the new offices of Lincoln Fuller, PI. I think we should grab some champagne and celebrate.”

  “I think maybe you should sit down.” She pulled the chair closer and gestured for him to sit, but he just shook his head.

  “I know what you’re thinking, but it’s okay. I’m okay.” Surprisingly, he looked it. It didn’t seem fair. She’d almost been looking forward to the pair of them burying their collective relationship woes in a bottle of Cristal. Now she’d just be a sad thirty-something woman, drinking and crying alone. “I mean, I’m not, but...”

  Kendra sat motionless, prepared to wait however long it took for Lincoln to gather his thoughts. He did so almost by force, moving his hands through his hair as if bunching everything into one easy-to-handle ball.

  “I guess I kind of saw this coming.” He gave a slight frown. “Your sister was pretty enthusiastic in person, but that tapered off as soon as she boarded the plane. She stopped returning my calls a while ago.”

  “Yeah. She does that.” She didn’t say what she was thinking—that Lincoln was the same way. His feelings for her had never been stronger than when they were in the same room together, always forgotten in the months in between. Kendra knew now that love—real love, the kind that could break you—was in the room with you no matter where you went. It cozied up to her in bed at night. Stared at her in the tranquility room at work. Hid with her in the supply closet for a few minutes while she struggled to keep from breaking down.

  “It’s ironic, you know?” he said. “I never would have had the guts to do all this if I hadn’t been trying to impress Nikki—show her that I was man enough to take what I wanted, personal fears be damned. And here it turns out she couldn’t care less what I do. You should probably thank her for me.”

  “You want me to thank her? For dumping you? Via her sister?”

  He nodded and offered a rueful grin, looking very much like both a little boy and a competent man all at once. The latter was taking over at an alarming rate these days. “C’mon, Kendra. You knew it would never work out with Nikki. Admit it. Maybe you thought we had a chance at first, but she was obviously just into my body—she was always asking me to pose in nothing but my shoulder holster.”

  The sound she emitted was more laughter than sob. Of all the upside-down things in her life right now, the most bizarre had to be Lincoln trying to cheer her up. “Please don’t tell me that kind of stuff. It’s gross.”

  He shrugged. “I guess I thought that if I could make this PI thing work
out, she’d look past that and we might be able to move things forward. But ever since you and Noah jumped on board like you have, I realized I don’t need her. Not when I have you guys.”

  Oh, damn. Now she was near tears again.

  “Besides,” Lincoln continued thoughtfully. “She’s too much like you in looks and personality. I’d have always wondered if it was really her I cared for, or if I was trying to find a substitute for what you could never give me.”

  “But...” She didn’t even know where to start. That was reasonable and likely and still a little bit weird. There was a reason sisters should never date the same man.

  “Actually, I lied.” He slung an arm around her. “Your personality is better than hers. You never would have asked your sister to do the heavy lifting. That’s what’s so great about you. You aren’t afraid to take on the unpleasant tasks no matter how intimidating they might be.”

  She was going to protest, but he winked at her and leveled her with his next statement before she got the chance.

  “Even if you are too chicken to tell Noah how you feel.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Hey, Noah. I didn’t know you were coming into town today.” Lincoln crossed the street, purpose and a spring in his step. For the first time in his life, through years of give and take, Noah realized he was jealous of Lincoln. He was jealous of that step—so happy and light, never very far away. His own feet dragged, his heart weighted down and pulled along on a string a few feet behind.

  “Yeah, well.” He shoved the receipt he held deep into his pocket, feeling foolish to be caught with it, a kid with his hand stuck in the half-full cookie jar. Or, as his more realistic side would say, the half-empty cookie jar. The jar was definitely feeling more on the empty side these days. “I’m not staying.”

  Lincoln jerked his head toward the street, where Noah had managed to park the Nelsons’ truck in an almost straight line. “Your neighbors still letting you drive that heap around?”

  “I bought it from them, actually.”

  “You what?” Lincoln’s appraisal of the vehicle this time held a mercantile interest. “Shit, Noah. You should have let me know you were in the market. There’s this tight little Maserati coming up on the auction block next week. Word is it belonged to a major identity thief they caught last week.”

  Noah shook his head with a chuckle. Lincoln might have his name on an office door and an actual chance at succeeding now, but he was still Lincoln. Nothing would ever change that. “Thanks but no thanks. I’m practically drowning in luxury as it is, what with the eight-track player and air conditioning that works for a full ten minutes before it cuts out.”

  “Enjoying the wind in your hair and the freedom at your fingertips?”

  “Something like that.”

  Lincoln’s expression was largely hidden behind a pair of aviator glasses. “Well, if you’re free for lunch later, let me know. I have to go kiss the sheriff’s ass this morning. With tongue, most likely. I have to get him to write a letter confirming that I was a patrolman for four years, or the license is a no go.”

  “I’d like that,” Noah said, and meant it. He had fond memories of one particular diner in town—one that was built out of a converted train car. He used to love it there, considered it the height of his week when they’d roll into town for his Sunday treat. His grandfather had only been a semi-recluse, had known the value of the occasional cheeseburger and milkshake for a twelve-year-old city boy forced to live on a farm four weeks out of the year.

  Noah had conveniently forgotten that about his grandfather. The more time he spent in Pleasant Park, the more he realized he’d conveniently forgotten quite a few things. He saw a couple argue on the street only to kiss and duck into a movie theater minutes later. He witnessed an older woman meeting her newest grandbaby for the first time, crying over the infant’s tiny perfection in the middle of the park. He’d even purchased a corkscrew at the kitchen store and run into a man—fat and happy and a father five times over—who he’d worked with in his early years at the PR firm.

  It was life. All around him, moving forward, blooming under the extraordinary pressure of human affection.

  Noah had always thought that in retreating from the world, he was leaving materialism behind, stripping himself of excess to get to the core of what mattered most. But he was beginning to fear that what he’d really done was deny himself what mattered most. And he wasn’t sure how to get it back again.

  “I’ll meet you around noon, then?” Noah asked, naming the diner in question.

  “Sounds good.” Then, because Lincoln could never just let something go, he asked, “What brings you into town today, anyway? I don’t suppose you’re here because a certain someone works just two blocks over?”

  There was no mistaking his meaning—or how heavily the thought of Kendra so near made his heart thud. “No, nothing like that.” To cover his discomfiture, he nodded toward the building he’d just exited, a small artisan shop that specialized in handcrafted wares. “I came to put one of my pieces up for sale. They seemed pretty excited to show it, and priced it way higher than I would have.”

  “No kidding?” Lincoln pulled his glasses down, his pupils narrowing to tiny pinpricks in the bright sun. “That’s awesome, Noah. I mean it. You could totally make a living—a real one—with your stuff.”

  “Well, it’s just one item. I’m starting small.”

  Lincoln put his glasses back on and whistled. “Good for you. Everyone has to start somewhere.”

  Even rock bottom.

  * * *

  The window display never would have caught Kendra’s eye if she’d driven her car to work.

  She gripped her hand-brake firmly and skidded to a halt in front of Village Artisans, a shop that always showcased the most gorgeous scarves. As her own neck was so short, she tended to shy away from anything that decreased the illusion of distance between her head and shoulders, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t drawn to the bright swirls of color.

  Almost all of Pleasant Park was located on a cycling route, and the now-familiar loops of a bike rack sat outside the building. Acting on impulse, she swung her leg over the seat and parked, aware that a few passersby were watching as she did.

  She was used to it by now, though she’d been self-conscious of the impact she’d had for the first week or so. Most of the friends who’d seen her zipping along on her fixed-gear Schwinn were incredulous; a few were horrified. Whitney had laughed outright.

  But she liked it.

  “Good morning,” the woman behind the counter called as Kendra walked through the cheerfully chiming door. “Anything I can help you with today?”

  “Yes, actually. There is.” Kendra tucked her helmet under one arm and pointed. “That box in the window—the one with the pretty scrolls on it—what’s it for?”

  The woman’s eyes lit up, and she bustled forward. She was covered from head to toe in gauzy layers and brightly beaded necklaces, her clothes undulating with the hidden mysteries of the artistic psyche. “You mean the jewelry box? Gorgeous, isn’t it? We just got it in yesterday. I have it on good authority that it’s all handcrafted, made entirely from trees in Lakewood County. Are you familiar with the native woods?”

  More than this woman would ever know. “A little. How much is it?”

  She named a price that wasn’t extraordinary for such an incredible piece of artwork, especially once she pulled the top open and showed off the notched drawers and panels. Kendra knew enough about woodworking now to realize that quite a bit of effort went into the details, that someone’s hands had rubbed and oiled each square inch until it gleamed like stone.

  It was silly, she knew, to feel so attached to something without knowing its history. To fall in love without understanding why or how.

  She bought it anyway.

 
She tucked the box into her basket and pedaled the remaining two blocks to work, warm with the exercise, content with the prospect of her upcoming day. John had located the light switches without a problem—they were all taking turns now with morning opening duty—so she was greeted with the familiar sounds of people settling into work when she arrived.

  “Ooh, pretty. Where’d you get that?” Whitney reached for the jewelry box as Kendra strode past the fountain and ferns to her office, but Kendra just smacked her friend’s hand away.

  “Not now. Don’t you have a consultation in like five minutes?” She traded the box for one of the several pairs of heels she had secreted in her bottom desk drawer, leaning on her desk as she exchanged her sensible biking shoes for something a little more calf-lifting. “I swear, it’s like you all think because I relaxed a few rules, it’s medical spa anarchy in here. Chop, chop, Whitney. Those tattoos aren’t going to remove themselves.”

  Whitney stuck her tongue out but moved in the direction of the hallway. She paused, one hand on the doorframe, and called back. “Drinks after work tonight?”

  “Of course. It’s not like I have any other plans.”

  “You could always go out there, you know. It’s not unheard of for a woman to go after the man she wants in this day and age. Even your mother would agree with that.”

  “True, but a woman usually has some indication that the man wants her back. He knows where I live, Whit. He knows how to find me.”

  “Maybe he’s scared.”

  “Maybe he’s not interested.”

  “Maybe he’s been pecked to death by chickens.”

  Kendra laughed despite her gloom. One thing she knew for sure—it would take a lot more than a handful of chickens to bring that man to his knees.

  She only wished she knew what.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “What do you mean it’s gone already?” Noah stood at the empty spot in the display window, soft folds of silk the only indication that his work had once been nestled there. “I changed my mind. I don’t want to put it up for sale.”