But that didn’t mean I was a SWERF. I wasn’t. It wasn’t like I had anything against sex. I’d had plenty of sex! I wasn’t a prude. No, I think it was more like I believed there should be a time and a place for these things—like anywhere else. Almost literally anywhere else but my family’s inn.
Even though the rain had slowed, I was alone on the sidewalk. Cars streaked by, their tires making a whoosh on the wet pavement. What was wrong with everyone? I wondered. Driving around in their cars on a night like this. Walks in summer rain were delightful! An SUV flew past and splattered me with rainwater. “Goddammit,” I mumbled. My leggings were soaked. But I continued on to the center because I wanted to make amends to Brett, who was my only friend in the entire town. And because I needed to pick something up for dinner.
By the time I reached the general store, I was shivering and wet. I tore Brett’s phone number off the people-walker flyer, stuck it in my windbreaker pocket, and continued inside. Sigh. The disorder of it all. I ordered some soup in a to-go container at the deli counter and located a box of crackers next to the diapers. When I went to pay, I was relieved that the woman with the mole—the one who’d called me “exotic”—wasn’t working. I hurried back out into the rain, but stopped to call Brett’s number. He picked up on the second ring. “This is Brett.”
My breath caught in my lungs. “Hey,” I finally managed. “It’s Mindy.”
There was a brief pause before Brett said, “Hi, Mindy. You’re calling me on the people-walker line.”
“You mean you have multiple lines?” How weird.
“Of course. One for work, one for personal use.”
“Oh. That makes sense.”
“Do you need a walk?”
“What? No. I can walk myself.” I immediately regretted sounding so snippy and rude. “That came out wrong. I mean, I am walking, but alone, and that’s okay.”
“All right.”
The rain had slowed to a thick mist that pooled into droplets and ran down the sides of my face. I wiped them away with wet fingers and began the climb back up the hill to the inn. The conversation with Brett was not going the way I’d hoped. He was being all cold and professional, and it was throwing me off. Brett had always been kind and friendly. This made me think he was actually angry with me. “Can we talk about what happened before? I got upset with you.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“But I’m angry at Vaughan and I wanted you to take my side.”
My voice broke. Why is it so difficult to tell people the truth about what we feel? I think that’s what makes apologies so uncomfortable, that we have to say what is true. And I barely knew Brett. He seemed like a nice enough guy, but people can fake it for a while before the rest of us catch on. There was the possibility that Brett would take my apology, say something awful to rub it in my face, and then hang up. So for a long moment, I held my breath and wondered why I was taking such a risk to apologize to some guy I didn’t even know who could use my honesty against me. Because some people are worth the risk. And yeah, if Brett was everything he seemed to be, then it was worth it to me to apologize.
I still held my breath.
“Jeez, Mindy,” he said. “I’m really sorry about what happened. Of course you were upset. I wasn’t thinking.”
Wait—what? “I’m the one who’s supposed to be apologizing to you,” I said. “I called specifically to apologize.”
“No, no, I shouldn’t have said all of those things about feminism and sex workers. I wasn’t thinking. I mean, it’s your grandmother’s inn, and I can understand why you’d want it to be used a certain way.”
I huffed up the hill toward the inn. The rain clouds were thick and murky, but the evening wasn’t dark yet. “Brett. I’m the one who was wrong. I completely snapped at you, and that was rude of me. If you want to support prostitution—fine. Just maybe understand that this is a sensitive topic for me right now.”
“I don’t care about prostitution. I don’t. I was being an idiot—”
“Oh my God, would you let me apologize?” I couldn’t believe we were arguing about who was more wrong. This guy! “I’m trying to tell you what a jerk I was, and you keep making it your fault!”
There was a pause, and then Brett’s low, sexy chuckle came through the phone. “Are we arguing about our apologies?”
“Yes, we are! And I’m getting angry again!” But I laughed a little. “I’ve never had an argument with someone while apologizing.”
“Me neither. What do you think that means?”
That you’re different. That you’re humble and forgiving and great. “I don’t know. Maybe we need to move on?”
“Okay. Then let’s move on. What are you doing now?”
“I bought some soup. I’m going to eat it with the cat, who actually allowed me to touch him tonight.”
“That sounds like a great evening.”
“Do you want to come over?”
I kind of wanted to see him. Something about Brett, just the sound of his voice, was comfortable. But he had other plans. “I can’t,” he said. “I’m … in the middle of something. Work.”
“You have a client walk?”
“No. It’s something else.” He exhaled. “Thanks for calling. I hope you enjoy your soup.”
I was in front of the inn by then. The rain was picking up again. “Wait. I was wondering if you want to do something tomorrow? I’m going to a party back home, and it’s fine if I bring someone, so if you want to come—”
“I’d love to. What time should we leave?”
I told him the time and then he said, “Enjoy your soup, Mindy.”
“You too.”
That made no sense, and Brett chuckled and disconnected the call. The plastic grocery bag hit my leg rhythmically as I walked up to the cabin. I had that funny feeling in my stomach, a confusing combination of nausea and butterflies and this lightness. And that’s when I realized that I liked Brett. I liked him very much, and he didn’t even want to have soup with me. But he’d go to the engagement party, so that was positive … right?
I opened the cottage door and kicked it closed. Everything was just as I had left it and Beau was nowhere in sight. All alone. I ate my lukewarm soup from the to-go container while I watched TV, but what I kept thinking was that I wondered what Brett was working on.
CHAPTER 11
BRETT
THIS WAS NOT a date. Except maybe it was a little bit of a date? I wasn’t taking any chances. I shaved my beard. Time to stop looking like a degenerate. Time to stop moping around, hiding behind my facial hair and comfortable clothes that had definitely seen better days. Mindy was hot, and if I was going to go somewhere with her, I wanted people to think that we were together and not that she’d taken pity on a homeless guy. Time to make an effort.
I was feeling good about things that Saturday. I’d spent the morning on a couple of pleasant walks with some out-of-towners, and then I’d made a pot of coffee and sat outside by the empty pool to make phone calls. If I was going to get back to work in the fall, then I needed to have some conversations with the right people. It wouldn’t hurt if I figured out exactly what I wanted to do, too.
The first person I needed to speak with was Lisa. She was my business partner and my most trusted colleague. I set up the video conference—planned that morning—and a thrill darted through me to see her smiling face in the old office again. To me, this was a sure sign I was ready to get back in the game. “Well, well. Brett,” she said. “Let me guess: you’re leaving the monastery.”
That was the joke, that I’d sold everything to become a monk. “Lisa. Good to see you’re still smiling.” I took a quick sip of my coffee and leaned back in the lounge chair. “I’m not leaving here yet. I’m just planning my escape.”
“How lucky for us. And how lucky for you that I’m still here working my ass off.” Her tone was light, and she punctuated her words with a laugh.
In my business, I work with lots of smart people, so it mean
s something when I say that Lisa is a genius. I was fortunate to meet her at just the right time, when I was starting my company. We happened to meet when we grabbed the last two chairs in a crowded coffee shop in the middle of a downpour. She asked me what I did, and when I told her I was running a software start-up, she said, “Who isn’t running a start-up in this town? Tell me something interesting about yourself.”
Lisa had dark, honest eyes and an engaging air of self-assurance. She had a tattoo on the inside of her left arm that said simply, Work hard. I’d meant to get a coffee, wait out the rain, and move on with my day. Instead, coffee had turned to lunch, which brought us back to my office plotting the organizational structure of my new company on a piece of card stock. Lisa was giving me free advice, telling me why my start-up was never going to get off the ground. “You’re all over the place,” she said, pointing to my project board. “You’re designing fitness apps and warehouse inventory apps and telling me that your real niche is in communication and social networking.” She shook her dark braids and threw her hands into the air. “What is it that you do, Brett? You’ve got to focus.”
I smiled. I needed Lisa on my team. “Join me,” I said. “I’ll make you CEO.” She did, and so I did.
At Riverstock Industries, Lisa ran the day-to-day operations, freeing me up to work on the creative side of things. Without her, I would’ve always been waist-deep in staffing issues and minutiae, and I never would’ve had the opportunity to follow my vision. She was one of my greatest support systems. When David died and I told her I needed to take some time to heal, Lisa didn’t demand to know how much time. She didn’t list all the responsibilities I was burdening her with by leaving, or inform me that I was putting the company in jeopardy by taking time away. She could have. Instead, she pulled me into a big hug and said, “I’ll hold down the fort.”
Now I felt a swell in my chest as I thought of all that Lisa had given to me. “I know I’m lucky,” I said. “I’ve never not known that.”
“Don’t get sentimental,” Lisa said. “But tell me, are you coming back to work? And what are we doing?”
I went through my notes with her, giving her all of my ideas. We talked it through. Most of my suggestions were garbage, or at least not yet ripe. They were too complicated or too unoriginal. We agreed to put those on the shelf. But there was one suggestion that we both liked: a program that allowed users to easily compile stories of their vacations based on GPS information and photos. “Think about it,” I said. “You come home from vacation and what’s the first thing you have to do?”
“Unpack.”
“You’re too practical. If you’re most people, you want to share your photos—assuming you haven’t been sharing them during your entire trip. Now what if there was a program that could create an interactive photo album for that, complete with music and captions explaining the highlights of your trip?”
“I like it. All at the click of a button?”
“Click of a button.”
I couldn’t claim credit for the idea. I’d walked with enough tourists to know this was an issue. A lot of them were still collecting paper brochures to stick into their photo albums so they wouldn’t forget the spots they’d visited. It seemed like a lot of work following a vacation, especially considering the vast resources of the Internet. “Say you go to a zoo,” I said, “and when you get home, you can create a digital photo album of your day, complete with information about the zoo on the day you visited, or interesting facts about the animals you photographed.”
“Can you print it out?”
“Sure. Order a bound paper copy, customized to your trip.”
“I love this.” She sat back in her chair to think. Her eyes moved around the room as she considered the proposal, and it was almost like I could see her gears spin. “I do, I love it. This will take some work—”
“I know. I’m going to head back to Seattle in the fall, but for now I can work remotely. I’d like to stay out here a little while longer.”
I was thinking of my garden, and the summer in New England and the way everything sprang to life. I was thinking that I needed a little bit more time to heal, just a little bit. And yes, I was thinking of Mindy and how we were going out together that night. I should stay put long enough to see where things led … right? “Maybe I’ll be back in early September.”
“I actually don’t care when you come back, physically,” Lisa said. “I mean I care, but I don’t care—”
“Yeah, break my heart.” I took another sip of my coffee.
“You know what I mean. I’m happy you’re back on the team.”
She crossed her hands in front of the camera and I saw the glint of a very large diamond. I nearly spit out my coffee. “Holy cow. Is that what I think it is?” I pointed to my left ring finger. “Are you engaged?”
Lisa broke into a broad smile. “Yes. Joe proposed.”
“And you didn’t tell me?” Something about that hurt a little.
“It only happened a couple of days ago,” she said quickly. “We’ve been caught up in telling our families. You were on the list, I promise.”
Her smile was warm and her eyes were sincere, but for the first time I felt like maybe my move east had turned me into something of an afterthought in my own company. Maybe I’d been selfish and self-indulgent, leaving my team behind. Lisa wasn’t like family. In my mind, Lisa was my family. She was the one who’d tracked me down when the medical examiner was trying to reach me to tell me about David. She’d been with me through all of that grief, but she hadn’t called when Joe proposed.
I forced a smile and leaned closer to the screen. “That’s all right. I’m sure it’s been busy. Everyone must be so happy for you. I’m so happy for you.”
Those last words squeezed through my tightening throat. I was happy for her. There was no reason not to be. Her shoulders loosened and she said, “Thank you. I’m sorry, you should’ve been one of the first calls. If you’d been here—” She froze.
“No, of course. I’m far away.” I positioned my coffee cup between us and reached out to shut down the screen. “Congrats, Lisa. I should get going.”
“Me too. It was good talking to you. You want me to work on a project board for the vacation albums? What are we calling it?”
“I only got as far as the concept.” My fingers were resting lightly on the top of the screen, ready to end the call. “Vacation something. Photo something.”
“Come on, you’re supposed to be the idea guy.”
She giggled, and I softened. Her laugh was infectious. “Pass it around the office. Someone there will come up with something good.”
“Will do. You take care now. Good talking to you.”
“Congrats again.”
I shut the screen and set my laptop on the glass table beside the lounge chair. I could have berated myself for ages about how this was all my own stupid fault. Missing home. Missing information. Losing touch with people I knew everything about only weeks ago. But I couldn’t waste my time on self-pity. I stood and stretched my legs. Lisa was right—my idea would require a lot of work, and I only had a few hours before I picked up Mindy.
• • •
AFTER I sold the Messages app and became an overnight millionaire, everyone seemed to suggest I buy a sports car. I didn’t care about it. Money was nice. It meant security to continue in my work; it meant I could hire more techs. To me, it didn’t mean much more than that. It was just money, and cars were just cars. Plus the thought of a convertible in Seattle was absurd, unless I wanted to shower on my way to work.
My one big purchase was the house in West Portsmouth, and only after David died and I needed an escape. I never bought the expensive car. I regretted being frugal for the first time when I picked up Mindy in my 2009 Toyota Prius. It was a fine car, but a Ferrari might have actually impressed her.
She was waiting outside of her cottage when I pulled into the driveway. Man, she was a vision, wearing a short white dress that showed plenty
of long, lean leg. And her hair was … sexy. Long, wavy, and thick. I couldn’t stop looking at her when I stepped out of the car. No sense playing it cool. “You look amazing.”
She brightened at the compliment and tugged at the purple ends of her hair. “Thank you. You look pretty nice, too.”
I liked to think so. I’d shaved and showered and even worn cologne. I’d revived some of my more decent clothes, back from when I was working a few months ago. It was only a red polo and some blue jeans, but this was a step up from my usual people-walking attire. “I tried.”
She stepped closer and stroked her fingers along my bare cheeks. “You shaved. I barely recognize you anymore.”
Her touch was smooth and soft, sending jolts through my body. She allowed her hand to trail from my cheek to my arm, where it lingered for a beat. The look in her eyes told me this was deliberate. “You’re much too handsome for a beard,” she purred. “I’ve never understood why attractive men hide behind them.”
The comment hit its mark. Not the attractive part, but the hiding part. “There are different reasons.” I guided her hand off my arm and into my palm. She was so soft. “Are you ready to go?”
She flinched and looked away. “Ready. Of course.”
I led her to the car and opened the passenger door. When she passed me, I smelled her perfume. Mangoes or something. She smelled pretty. I shut the door when she was settled and rounded the car to my seat. “So what is this thing?” I pulled the seat belt across my lap.
“An engagement party.” Her tone was flat, her eyes fixed on the windshield.
I groaned. “Chase. You’re kidding me.”
“Please don’t be angry.”
Her hand came to rest on my arm again, near that soft spot opposite the elbow. Does that area have a name? Mine is sensitive, so every time the car bumped or her hand moved, I was aware of her touch. Very aware. “I’m over him,” she said. “This is closure.”
We fell into silence. I wanted to support her, but I didn’t want to be used. “So what is this with you and me, exactly?”
Losing Mr. Right Page 14
