My computer dinged with an incoming message. I tore my eyes from the sun and flowers and all that hunky-dory shit and opened it. It was an email from my latest client asking a few questions about the timeline I sent to him for the work I was contracted. The guy was a nitpicker, which I wouldn’t have the patience for in the long run. I was upfront about costs and time estimates, so there wasn’t much this guy could argue about—but clearly, he wanted to.
He’d learn quickly how far that got him.
Taking the jump to work for myself as a freelance graphic designer had been full of hiccups, but it was liberating. I had spent more than enough time making other people money, toeing someone else’s line. When I thought of the woman I was for those few years after college, I wanted to scream. Somehow I had turned into the type of person I had always loathed—oblivious and spineless.
My ex-fiancé had a large hand in molding that temporary Skylar Murphy into someone who had allowed herself to be made a fool of. I still couldn’t believe how long it took me to realize he had squandered away most of our nest egg on watching underage girls take their clothes off on the internet. He hadn’t even tried to hide his duplicity, I simply hadn’t been looking. Because at some point I had become the sort of woman who willfully took whatever bullshit she was spoon-fed.
I hated that Skylar and was happy to kick her butt into the sun.
So I came back to my hometown—the one place I had sworn to stay far away from. Mostly because it was my only option. I didn’t have much money. I had been laid off from my job. My heart had been battered and bruised beyond all recognition. Moving in with my emotionally stunted parents had seemed the lesser of all kinds of evils.
I really should have been questioning my decision-making abilities.
Eventually, I waded through all the shit and ended up here—in my little slice of heaven—or something close to it. The house had been a fixer-upper, which was real estate speak for an absolute money pit. But I hadn’t cared. I took one look at the hand-crafted spindles on the wooden staircase and the gigantic backyard, and I threw my money at it. Well, I made an offer, and since I was the only one interested in a dilapidated property ten miles from town, mine was also the only offer. I got the place dirt cheap, which was good because most of what little savings I had left went into making it livable.
I was lucky that one of my best friends also happened to be a stellar handyman. Kyle Webber—aka, Web— and I had been friends since he moved to Southport in middle school. He had his own landscaping business and knew his way around a hammer. I was no slouch either when it came to project initiative, but YouTube only got you so far when it came to home DIY. Together we sanded and sealed the hardwood floors and built a pretty new deck off the back of the house. I painted the living room and kitchen all by myself though, and it turned out pretty great if you ask me. I had help installing the new kitchen appliances, but that is another story…
“Oof, what is it, buddy?” My massive blood hound mix, Edgar came barreling full speed into my office, knocking over the potted plant and heaving himself into my lap. He pressed his body against me and nuzzled my chin. Even though the dog was easily over a hundred and forty pounds, he had been a lap dog in a previous life. One of my first acts as a new homeowner had been to adopt Mr. Least Likely to Find a Home from the local animal shelter. Edgar was a mess of drool and shedding fur, but was fiercely protective of me, which is all you could ask for from man’s—I mean, woman’s best friend.
I scratched behind his ears and his jowls parted, his tongue lolling out. A drop of drool landed on my jeans, but I didn’t cringe or push him off. Who cares about a little dog drool?
“You really are a needy thing,” I cooed, kissing the top of his head and heaving him gently onto the floor so I could stand up. “Come on, we need to get ready for company anyway.” I turned off my laptop and left my office, closing the door behind me. Edgar followed me out to the living room, panting loudly. I had only just reached the front of the house when the doorbell rang, sending Edgar into fits of howling. He was loud, his bark more than a little intimidating. He may be a gentle monster, but between his size and the implied viciousness of his bark, he’d keep away any would-be burglars. He was the best home defense a single gal could want.
The doorbell chimed again, followed by impatient knocking. I looked at the time on my phone, surprised that it was already seven. I had a bad habit of losing track of time when I was working. I looked down at my torn jeans and paint-stained Foo Fighters T-shirt and figured getting dolled up was out of the question at this point. Good thing my plans for the evening didn’t involve leaving the house.
“Skylar, I know you’re in there!” A muffled voice called out.
“Keep your pants on,” I grumbled, but without ire. I tapped my turtle, Morla’s terrarium as I moved, unhurriedly, to the door.
“You’re borderline rude, you know that, right?” I asked my dearest friend in the whole wide world as I let her and the two other women on my porch inside.
Meg Galloway, now Decate, rolled her eyes, shoving a heavy strand of dark red hair out of her eyes. There were flecks of paint on her chin, which wasn’t unusual for the professional artist. “We had been out there for five minutes already, my arms were getting tired,” she quipped with a grin.
“She bought enough alcohol to knock out an army regiment,” Whitney Webber, Meg’s older sister and Kyle Webber’s wife snarked, lifting a cloth bag, glass bottles clanged tellingly.
“It’s a good thing I didn’t get out of my grunge gear then. No sense in getting sloppy drunk in nice clothes,” I deadpanned, leading the way to the kitchen.
“This is the first time I’ve been out of leggings in weeks, I wanted to make the most of not being covered in spit-up for once,” Lena Wyatt stated, dropping her purse on the table while Meg started filling the refrigerator with wine and beer.
“You’re telling me! I thought we’d be out of the waking up three and four times a night thing now that Tyler is eighteen months. We had to put him in his toddler bed already because he started climbing out of the crib and Adam was worried he’d hurt himself,” Meg sighed and I could see how tired she was.
“Katie wakes up every morning at five on the dot and climbs into our bed. She thinks if she’s up, we should all be up,” Whitney grumbled good-naturedly. I knew there was no bite to her complaint. She loved her stepdaughter as much as any mother could love a child. I had been on the fence when she and Web had decided to fake a marriage for Kyle to get full custody of his daughter, Katie. We all knew Web had been batshit crazy in love with Meg’s older sister for most of his life but it seemed destined to end in heartbreak and tragedy.
It was one of the very few times that I was happy to be proven wrong.
My three closest friends started talking in animated hand waving about the travails of motherhood while I stood awkwardly off to the side, absently scratching the back of Edgar’s head.
It seemed the conversations among us had become more and more about their kids and their marriages and less about anything else. And I understood why. They were at the changing diapers, packing lunches, and bitching about their husbands leaving the toilet seat up stage of their lives. Me? I was the quirky single friend living with her behemoth of a dog and ten-year-old turtle she had stolen from her evil ex. I couldn’t add anything to the debate about which daycare was best or the signs of lactose intolerance in babies.
And I was okay with that.
The last thing I wanted was marriage and babies. I liked my space. I liked my privacy. I liked being able to focus on myself and not worry about the wants and needs of anyone else.
I was an independent woman, damn it!
Meg glanced my way and grimaced. “Sorry, Sky. You don’t care about our kids’ sleep schedule.” She handed me a bottle of my favorite microbrew beer. “Just tell us to shut up.”
I waved away her comment. “It’s fine. You know I love all of your kids. Your husbands not as much,” I teased. I wou
ld never be that single friend who they had to tiptoe around. I had made my life choices and I was happy with them. If they wanted to talk about their kids and marriages, then I was happy to lend them a listening ear.
Even if it bored me to fucking tears.
Whitney, always the classy one of the bunch, poured herself a glass of white wine. “God, I love this space, Skylar. It’s absolutely beautiful,” she breathed, walking into the glass conservatory that I used as a breakfast nook.
“It really is stunning,” Lena added, following her.
“Yeah, it turned out nice,” I agreed. The glass conservatory was one of my favorite additions to the house with its vaulted glass ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the forest behind the house. In the morning it was bright with the morning sun that warmed the space. I had filled the room off the kitchen with house plants and it now resembled something like a tropical greenhouse. The flooring was the mosaic stone that was cool under your feet, which contrasted nicely with the heat during the day. The back of the conservatory consisted of massive pocket doors that I had opened to let in the chilled evening air.
“I’d kill for something like this in my house,” Meg said, standing in the open doorway looking out into my backyard. “The light would be perfect for painting.”
“This must have cost a fortune to build,” Whitney commented, sitting down at the farm-style table I had in the middle of the room.
“Not really. I got a great deal on it,” I told her, my stomach doing that annoying somersault thing.
Lena snorted. “Good deal meaning you only had to pay for it with your company.” She gave me a saucy wink and I narrowed my eyes in warning. A warning she of course wouldn't take.
“Oh that’s right, Rob’s friends built it, didn’t they?” Meg asked, sitting down beside her sister.
“It was a contractor out of Philly. They came highly recommended,” I replied vaguely.
“That was a friend of Rob’s,” Lena interjected. “I remember him telling Jeremy they owed him a favor and were doing the work for next to nothing.” Lena raised an eyebrow. “Funny how he went to so much trouble given you weren’t even together or anything.”
Lena Decate Wyatt was like a dog with a bone when she wanted information. Which is what made her a fantastic attorney. But it was more than a little annoying when that particular talent was turned on you. It was a good thing I had learned the art of the poker face from an early age.
“We were friends. He was helping me out.” I shrugged. I could do blasé with the best of them.
If Lena’s eyebrows went up any higher, they’d disappear altogether. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a friend that called in pricey favors on my behalf unless we were sleeping together.” Now those eyebrows were wiggling. “Or they wanted to sleep with me. So which is it, Murphy?”
I rolled my eyes, not bothering to respond.
“You guys seemed close there for a while. What happened?” Whitney asked.
I glanced at Meg and she gave me a sympathetic smile. She knew what happened. There wasn’t a single thing in my life that Meg Galloway Decate wasn’t aware of. It was both the blessing and curse of best friendship.
“I hate to disappoint you, but there’s nothing sordid or dramatic to report. We were sort of friends for a while. Now we’re not. End of story,” I brushed off. I really didn’t want to talk about my almost...whatever...with Robert Jenkins, attorney extraordinaire.
“Sort of friends?” Lena prodded. “There was nothing ‘sort of’ about it. You guys were up against each other’s asses for months. I have never seen that man on the phone so much. Everyone knows Jenkins is allergic to all social activity.” She gave me a loaded look. “But for you, he seemed to make all kinds of exceptions.”
I felt stiff. I didn’t want to talk about Robert, Lena’s law partner. I didn’t want to talk about how I found myself liking the shy but incredibly intelligent man. How I hadn’t been swayed by his sexy good looks, but by his thoughtfulness and his huge...brain.
I had just come out of a too serious, too shitty relationship. I was brittle and raw and Robert seemed to sense that. He wasn’t a pushy guy. He was so laid back he was in danger of becoming horizontal. He didn’t speak much, but when he did, you listened, because it was usually something interesting that made you think.
For a brief moment, we had spent time together. I couldn’t get enough of talking to him. We started sliding toward the beginnings of something. But then I realized that the more we talked, the less Robert actually said.
Sure we had conversations about everything from the death penalty to our favorite Bruce Lee movies. We talked about all the little stuff but none of the big stuff. And when I told him about Mac and how torn up I had been even as I tried to hide it from everyone else, he never shared anything about himself. When I asked him questions about his past or his family, he somehow never really answered them.
So, no, I couldn’t call him a friend, because at the end of the day I knew absolutely nothing about him.
“Look, he’s a nice guy, but I don’t have time for a man who is all mystery and no substance,” I snapped, picking up my beer and walking into the living room, hoping my friends would clue in on my not so subtle cue.
“Dude, that’s a little harsh, don’t you think?” Lena called out, following me. “Sure, he’s kind of boring, but we’re talking about Mr. Morals. The man who once drove back to the city when he realized the restaurant he had gone to undercharged him.”
“It’s not about his personality. That wasn’t the problem,” I found myself saying. I sat down heavily on the couch and put my feet up on the coffee table. My mother would have screamed her head off if I had dared to do that when I was younger, so now I found myself putting my feet up on anything and everything—just because I could.
Whitney sat down in the recliner as Lena and Meg settled on either side of me. “I can’t imagine there being any problem with Rob. He’s the nicest person I’ve ever met. It doesn’t hurt that he’s freaking gorgeous too,” Whitney chimed in.
“Right? When he’s next to Adam and Jeremy he sort of disappears into the background. But when it’s just him you realize how downright smoldering he is. You forget that there’s a damn nice face behind the glasses,” Meg piped up.
All the women nodded in agreement. Even I had to incline my head in acknowledgment of Robert Jenkins’ level ten hotness. The fact that he dressed like an accountant and had the social skills of an awkward teenager made him weirdly more appealing. It was like being in the presence of Clark Kent. Mild-mannered by day, muscled superhero by night. He had all the earmarks of a guy with a secret identity. I just didn’t have the patience to stick around to find out who he was. If a man couldn’t be up-front about who he was, it led me to believe that there was something about him I didn’t want to know.
“Was it his obsession with gardening magazines? Jeremy gives him so much shit for that. I mean who under the age of seventy has not one, but three subscriptions to gardening magazines? And then there’s the golf. Okay, I think I get it now. He’s a total snooze-fest,” Lena laughed and Whitney joined her. But they weren’t laughing at Robert. Everyone liked Robert. It was impossible not to.
But I was giving it the good ol’ college try.
“What do you know about him though? Except for the gardening magazines?” I countered, taking a long drink of my beer.
Lena frowned and looked at Meg. “Don’t ask me. Adam has always joked that if Rob were a book, there’d be three pages. I’m not sure there’s much to talk about,” my best friend added.
“And that’s the problem. No one knows because the man doesn’t tell. It’s annoying.” I frowned, expressing my displeasure. “I’ve wasted enough of my time on men that give me nothing. I’m not going back down that road again.”
Whitney opened up the bag of popcorn she brought with her and took a handful. “Maybe he’s just being mysterious.”
Lena laughed. “Robert Jenkins, myster
ious? Come on now.”
I let out a sigh. “Well whatever he is, I’m not interested.”
Sure, keep telling yourself that…
I noticed that Lena, Whitney, and Meg shared a look. One that said they had discussed this among themselves already. There was nothing more frustrating than realizing your friends were talking about you behind your back, no matter how well-meaning they were.
“Even if it’s pretty damn obvious he’s still interested in you?” Lena posed.
My stomach knotted again. I wished it would stop doing that.
I reached for the remote and turned on my massive 50-inch flatscreen. It had been one of my splurges when I moved in. I wanted to watch my favorite kung fu movies on a proper television set. No more tiny laptop screens for me.
I remembered Robert coming over with wine and my favorite chocolate cookies to christen the TV with a Bruce Lee marathon. It was one of the most enjoyable evenings of my life, even though he never laid a hand on me.
Nope.
I wasn’t going there.
“I think you’re reading too much into things. Besides, Robert Jenkins is old news. I’m not even sure why we're talking about him at all,” I retorted.
The three shared another look. I was about to throw a pillow at each of them.
Lena crossed her legs and flipped her hair behind her shoulders. She had a way of looking effortlessly cool and relaxed at all times. Her feathers very rarely got ruffled, unless she was with her husband, Jeremy, who seemed to rile her in a way no one else could. “Okay, so if you’re not interested in Rob, then how about I set you up with one of my friends—”
“Nope.” I shook my head vehemently. “Not gonna do it. Put the thought out of your head right this second, Marlena Wyatt.”
Lena’s eyes narrowed at my use of her real name. She hated Marlena and threatened bodily harm on anyone that dared use it. But she knew better than to say anything to me. Even though I had known her most of her life, I was pretty sure she was still a little scared of me since that time when she was ten and I told her I’d cut the arms off her Barbie dolls if she didn’t stop asking me a million questions. What can I say? Lena was an annoying kid and back then I had zero patience.
Say You're Mine: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (Southport Love Stories Book 4) Page 3
