by Lee Kilraine
I overheard more than a few guests stop my mother and tell her what a wonderful open house it was. How special it felt to be welcomed into their home. You bet I wanted to say I told you so. I had a case of the warm fuzzies over how I’d managed to pull the event together. Proud actually. Even with all the small fires to put out, it had turned out perfect.
My stomach did a flip-flop when my mother called for attention during the height of the open house. The string quartet paused, the catering staff melted into the background, and the bartenders stood quietly waiting.
“Dr. Hollis and I are very happy to open our house to you, our extended family. We couldn’t do what we do without each and every one of you. Thank you. I also want to mention my daughter. I’m so very proud of her. I know I don’t sing her praises often, but tonight, I feel I must.”
Holy crap, in my wildest dreams I never expected a public thank-you. But I’d admit I felt a surge of love that finally my mother got what I did. That she appreciated all I’d done to pull her open house together. Yes, I even got a bit teary-eyed.
“My lovely daughter, Stephanie Hollis, was accepted as a fellow in the department of molecular chemistry, and I couldn’t be prouder of her. Stephanie, congratulations!”
The sad truth was I actually took a step forward before my brain registered what my ears heard. My heart registered it quicker, though. Because my heart felt like someone had kicked it hard against my chest, and it hurt worse than anything I’d ever felt. Is this what a heart attack felt like? I somehow managed to keep a polite smile frozen on my face and made it through the rest of the party and clean-up in a haze. Barely.
Two things made me feel better. First, I had it on good authority that somehow Minerva’s head was carefully detached again and tossed into the bed of Dr. and Dr. Hollis. Was it immature? Yes, and I’d probably feel bad about it tomorrow. But tonight, not so much. And it wasn’t nearly as bad as a horse’s head, so there’s that.
Second, Wyatt was waiting for me on the front sidewalk, and I didn’t even have to ask. I just walked right into his waiting arms, and he hugged me tight, because he knew. I felt his kiss on my temple and his deep voice whispered, “I’m sorry, Rhia.”
Standing wrapped in his arms was like a miracle drug. “I just—” I sighed and sank my face into his neck and breathed him in. I did not want to shed one single tear on account of the Doctors Hollis. Not. One. Tear.
“I know. I know, baby.” He lifted my face to his, placing a soft but firm kiss on my lips. “Come on, let’s get you home. We’re celebrating.”
We walked out to the street where my car sat at the curb, one of Wyatt’s hands rested against the back of my neck while his other held up a very nice bottle of champagne.
“Oh my God, Wyatt, where did you get that?” A laugh sputtered from my mouth. “That’s the most expensive brand stocked for the party.”
“Yes, it is. I was told it’s the best. It sure is nice of your parents to spring for it.” He tucked the bottle under his arm. “They also gave one to Sandy and Molly and the florist…Frank, I think. Just your mother’s way of saying thanks.”
“Not even a little part of me feels guilty. Not about the champagne at least.”
Wyatt glanced down at me with a grin. “Spill it, Rhia.”
“Well, my mother asked me to deal with the bills and payments. You’ll be surprised to find out Dr. Hollis is a very generous tipper. Very.”
“Nice.” His eyes glittered over at me. “Let’s go back to your place, I’ll ply you with champagne, and I’ll show you my generous tip.”
“Wyatt Thorne, did you just make another joke?”
“Totally serious.”
He was.
Chapter 25
Rhia
I followed the aroma of strong coffee and cinnamon rolls into my own kitchen where I found Wyatt sitting at my small table having a stare-off with the newest rescue critter.
“Morning, Wyatt,” I said, shuffling over to the counter and the magic pot with the elixir of life. I grabbed out my least favorite mug—#1 Teacher!—which only reminded me of my failure at life. I should seriously consider getting rid of it. Except it was the emergency mug for when all the rest were dirty, like this morning.
I stared at the mug, trying to decide if part of my problem was hanging on to the past—like this mug—instead of taking a leap into the future. Nah. I leaped into the future with the event planning, and right now I felt like the burnt-up bits you’d scrape off your cast iron pan after frying up bacon.
Oh, God. Even my metaphors sucked this morning; that’s how bad off I was. Knowing Wyatt was in my kitchen was the only reason I’d crawled out of bed today. If I’d spent last night alone, I’d still be lying depressed under my covers. At least this morning I was up and dressed and depressed. I poured coffee into the mug. I needed the caffeine.
“Morning, Rhia. Did you know you’ve got a porcupine in your kitchen?” He didn’t even look at me when I sank into the chair next to him, but kept staring at the critter.
“Yeah. Just a baby one.” I took a long sip of my coffee. I was too tired to get up for milk and sugar, so it tasted bitter, but wasn’t that the perfect metaphor after last night. Bitter coffee. That suited me just fine this morning.
“Hey, how are you doing?” Wyatt asked, his head now turned my way.
“Better than I would be if you hadn’t stayed. Thanks for helping me block out the world last night.”
He smiled and winked. “Anytime. Of course, the bottle of champagne you drank between the bed and the shower probably helped with that.”
“I sort of remember some action on the kitchen counter too.”
Wyatt took a drink from his mug, but not quick enough to hide his smile behind it.
“We didn’t have sex on the counter?”
“No. I made you a sandwich.”
“I drank the whole bottle? No wonder my head is killing me.” My brain felt like it was squeezed into a skull three sizes too small. I took a bigger sip of coffee, hoping to beat back my hangover.
“Probably closer to a half. I don’t think you’re a big drinker.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Your performance of show tunes.”
“Oh, well, you knew I like to sing.” I shrugged, calling up a hazy memory of singing songs from Oklahoma and The Music Man.
“I knew that, yes.” He rolled to his left to access his back-right jeans pocket. He pulled out a wad of bills and handed it over to me. “Here you go.”
I looked down at the money, all ones and fives, then quirked my eyebrow at Wyatt. “What’s this?”
“Your tips.”
“Excuse me?”
“You performed your show tunes on your balcony. People stopped to watch. And left you tips.”
“Was I that good?”
“Well, you were cute. But most of the tips were a bribe to get you to stop.”
“Oh, please tell me I stopped. I’ll never be able to face my neighbors again.”
“I got you to stop. With a bribe. But I got you to stop.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask…. What’d you bribe me with?”
“Actually, you bribed me.” Wyatt’s mouth slid into a crooked grin. “With sex.”
“Ugh. I actually do remember that. The sex was hot.” I plopped my head down onto the table with a moan. “I’m an idiot. I’m so sorry, Wyatt.”
His hands ran through my hair, massaging down onto my scalp and then firm strokes on the nape of my neck. It felt like heaven, if in heaven angels massaged you with their strong, calloused hands until you melted into a puddle. That was pretty much my idea of heaven.
“You aren’t an idiot. You were adorable and sexy. We’ll have to do it again without the champagne, so you can see how adorable and sexy you were. Trust me. You were fucking cute.”
“Did you sing with me? I sort of remember singing a duet of ‘Surrey with the Fringe on Top’ with someone.” I turned my head toward him on the table to see his sexy smile.
“I did.”
I am an idiot if I was too tipsy to remember Wyatt singing. Darn it. I bet he had a beautiful baritone voice. Double darn it because that was such a sexy song. I sat up, rubbed a hand over my eyes, and took another sip of coffee.
“You know what the dumbest thing is?” And there were a lot of dumb things from last night.
“That your parents are horrible snobs and horrible parents?”
“Ha! That the open house was a smashing success. And I still walked out of there feeling like a failure.” I stood abruptly, refilled my mug, and thought through the evening while I dumped some food into the bowl for the porcupine. “I pulled off the impossible—albeit with the help of friends I will owe forever. You, Gray, and Eli for starters. I don’t know how I’ll ever pay you guys back.”
“Ah, well, you paid me back last night in triplicate. And Gray made a couple hundred dollars in tips at the party. The ladies do like his pretty face.” Wyatt’s gaze fell to the coffee cup in his hands before darting over to me and away. “And Eli…went home with your sister.”
“What? My sister? My sister, Steph?” That can’t be right. I looked over to see if he was pulling my leg, but nope. Mr. Serious was back. “You’ve got to be kidding. Steph’s type is the nerdy professor with the dorky bowties. Eli is…like a Nordic Viking biker dude.”
“Yup, well, it happened.” Wyatt nodded and frowned. “Yeah, we just became those guys—brothers who date sisters.”
I patted his hand. “Technically, we’re only fake-dating, so I think you’re off the hook.”
Huh. That didn’t seem to cheer him up the way I thought it would. Kitty whiskers! Did Wyatt want to date—for real? I was pretty sure dating Wyatt—for real—would go a long way to helping me feel better. If disappointing my parents for the millionth time was the poison, Wyatt could be my antidote.
“Anyway, Rhia, the point is, you don’t owe any of us. Definitely not me. It was my pleasure to help.” Wyatt leaned forward, stretched his hand out, and tucked a few wild curls off my face. “You’re right. You knocked it out of the park last night, and I’m sorry your parents don’t appreciate how talented you are or how hard you work.”
“They really don’t. I’m beginning to wonder if they ever will.” I sighed and laid my cheek back on the table, too depressed to even hold my head up. “I don’t know why I need their approval so badly, but I do. I just want once in my life for them to be proud of me the way they’re proud of my brothers and sister, you know?”
Wyatt reached out and rubbed my back with his big hand, and I felt better. I looked across at his dark blue eyes and finally noticed he didn’t look so great, either. I lifted my head and looked closer at him, even reaching my hand out to smooth the crease in his forehead.
“Hey, what’s up with you? And don’t deflect because I know you. I can read your eyes. They turn light blue when you’re happy, and dark when you’re angry or turned on, but they go gray, like right now, when you’ve got something on your mind. So spill it.”
He ran a hand along the back of his neck, staring out my kitchen window before looking at me. “Got my latest test scores for my ARE cert yesterday. Failed it.”
“I’m sorry, Wyatt.”
His gaze avoided mine. He got up, poured more coffee, and moved to stare out the window. “My mentor is questioning my dedication, and fuck if I don’t blame him.”
“Well, maybe you just had an off day that morning.”
“It was the easiest section of the test. I didn’t have an off day. If anything I had an off month leading up to it.” I watched his head jerk in frustration.
“Are you saying sharing an office with me interfered with your studying?”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying. It’s just—” He turned to face me with a shake of his head. “I shouldn’t have failed. I’m not mad at you; I’m mad at myself. I owe my brothers everything, and I can’t begin to repay them if I fail at this. That’s all. Trust me when I say, you weren’t the only one trying to block out the world last night. I was more than happy to let you be my diversion from reality.”
“Right. Well, it’s back to reality today. Maybe after my mother gets some compliments at work this week, she’ll call me and tell me she’s proud. What do you think?”
“I wouldn’t hold your breath.” Wyatt came back and sat in his chair, taking my hands in his. “The thing is, Rhia, you’re an excellent event planner. So stop worrying about your family and be proud of the business you’re building.”
Uh huh. The only problem with that was I’d come to a conclusion over the last few months. Yes, I was good at event planning. Excellent even. And I enjoyed it. A lot. But I didn’t love it. I wasn’t as passionate about it as I thought. I think what had driven me to succeed so fiercely was the goal of making my family proud.
Now that I was facing the truth—no matter what I did, it wasn’t going to happen—I wasn’t sure what to do. I didn’t know where I should go from here. At least I had time to figure it out.
“Well, I guess we just pick up the pieces and get back to work. I keep on event planning.” And feel my soul slowly shrivel up now that I knew it wasn’t my passion. “And you hit the books, and you’ll easily pass next time.” And one day he’d be a serious-faced architect who only smiled the few hours a week he let himself craft furniture with his hands.
“That sounds about right.” Serious, used-to-not-having-fun Wyatt was back.
I felt a stab of guilt because I was sure it was my fault. Letting me share his office had been a major distraction for Wyatt, but he’d been too nice and too guilt-ridden over what he owed his brothers to complain.
Grabbing the near-to-toppling stack of mail that had piled up the last week, I sorted it into my usual stacks: bills, checks, junk, envelopes from New York—wait, what? I picked it up for a closer look. Huh.
I tore open the back flap, ouch, getting a paper cut in the process. I slid out the letter and unfolded it before lightly sucking on the pad of my cut finger, trying to ease the sting.
“Listen to this letter: Dear Ms. Hollis, thank you for sending us your novel, but I’m sorry I have to pass on this. Blah, blah, and on and on for another few paragraphs. What the heck?” I looked up at Wyatt, waving the letter around in the air. “Why would some publisher from New York send me this? I didn’t send them my book. I didn’t send anyone my book.”
“I did.” Wyatt sat back in his chair and held his gaze steady on mine. “I sent it.”
“What the hell, Wyatt? Why would you do that?” I tossed the letter onto the table, anger bubbling up my throat. “You had no right.”
“I know. I fucking know—but we’d just returned from Sunday dinner at your parents’—and I swear, Rhia, I couldn’t take one more minute of the way they treated you.”
“I never claimed my parents would win parents of the year.” Part of me was pissed at him, but part of me really really liked that Wyatt cared how my parents treated me. But seriously, most of me was pissed.
“I’ll be honest, I used to think it sucked not having parents. But damn, you know what sucks more than having no parents? Having parents like yours.” He stood abruptly and paced to the window and back, shoving his fingers through his hair so it spiked up, looking wild and hot. I was too mad at him to appreciate the hotness. It was purely an observation by my brain—not my ovaries. “So, I’m sorry. I was wrong. I way crossed over the line. But it’s done. I can’t undo it.”
“I just—I don’t get what you thought you were doing.”
“Your family has no idea how talented you are. They don’t appreciate you. And yes, you’re a fantastic event planner—which they still don’t appreciate even after you pulled off a bloody miracle last n
ight—but you’re an even better writer, Rhia.”
“Ha! Now who isn’t appreciating my event planning skills?” I crossed my arms over my chest and stared him down. Lucky for him he looked guilty. “I’m trying to make a success of my own business. So don’t you lecture me, bucko.”
“You’re not trying to make a success of your business for yourself. You’re doing it for your family. Trying to live up to their idea of success—not yours. I watch you writing away at your desk every day. It’s the only thing you actually never miss. You’re never even late for it.”
“How do you know I’m good?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“I do too.”
“Fine. I read it. It’s fucking brilliant. I’ve been reading each new chapter whenever you leave the office.”
“That’s an invasion of my privacy.”
“You actually invited me to read it.” Yet, he looked guilty.
“Weeks and weeks ago, and you know I didn’t really mean it.” I had a vague recollection of the invitation in the middle of some argument, but I think we both knew I hadn’t meant the invitation. “I’ve never let anyone read it.”
“It was a crappy thing for me to do, and I’m sorry. But my point still stands… You claimed my passion is woodworking, not architecture. What the hell do you know about passion if you can’t see your own when it’s staring you in the face? Don’t get pissed at me, Rhia, when you’re the one living in denial.”
It felt like a slap in the face. Like an ice-cold glass of water got dumped on my life. “I like to write. I always have. But at some point, a person has to grow up and act responsibly. That’s what I’m doing. What you did, Wyatt…gah!”
“I thought if I sent your book off—you’d see, and your family would see, how good you are.”
“Like a much-needed boost of confidence?” I found four more envelopes in the pile, opened them all up and skimmed the top line of each.