by Melissa Blue
"Well, hello to you, too."
"Lynne."
"Everything is fine. The place hasn’t burned down, and no one’s quit. I’d say it’s been a good day. Mrs. Nelson came by and bought a crapload of sweaters. I unpacked another box of those bad boys. She might come back with friends. What else? Oh, UPS guy came by to flirt with you and got me. He left slightly disappointed. Other than that, nothing. How are things on your end?"
Megan stopped herself from asking more questions. Lynne was competent to handle anything, and if something was out of her range of knowledge she wasn’t the type to hesitate about calling. Megan sucked in a breath, reminding herself she was technically on vacation. A very long arduous vacation, but a vacation, nonetheless. "I’ve decided to be nice to the woman who birthed me."
"Oh, she’s back to that?"
"After today she is. I agreed to be her maiden of honor. Bad idea. She made me try on every dress in the tri-state area. I want to know who invented pastels?"
"LSD," Lynne said dryly.
"I mean, really, that stuff is toxic to any skin tone. Finally I talked her into this chic mauve dress."
"Hmm," Lynne said in a thought tone. "You sound excited about this. One would start to think your mother isn’t so bad for you."
Megan sat up, realizing the tone of her own voice. It did sound optimistic. She did not come home to get a personality transplant. She had better watch herself. "I’m still waiting to see what the catch is. My mother isn’t going to hand over the house to me without looking back or making sure she still has a hand in how I’m going to deal with it."
"You’re not going to take this at face value, are you?"
"What do you mean?" Megan kicked off her shoes and considered changing before dinner.
"That your mom wanted you there, and that she wants you to have the house, and the only way she could have both was to convince you to stay for the wedding."
Feeling smothered, Megan pushed the pillows to the end of the bed. "I’m cynical, and that’s why you love me."
"True." Defeat filled Lynne’s sigh. "How’s Aiden?"
Megan closed her eyes, seeing him again. The way his dimple peeked out with every bite of food. The way his teeth sank into the meat made her shiver. God, she’d had to force herself not to watch the unorthodox erotic display.
"I wouldn’t know." Her voice sounded guarded even to her own ears. "I forgot to update you. My mother is marrying his uncle. We’re going to be ex-kissing cousins in every sense of the phrase."
"Hmm, still avoiding the subject of the ex. Why am I not surprised?"
Megan laughed. "Why do I talk to you?"
"I make you feel like you’re not a control freak without a sense of humor."
"I am not a control freak. I resent the implication."
"How many times did you dial the private line and hang up before it rang?"
A zillion. "I have to get ready for dinner."
Lynne laughed. "And that’s why you love me. Now go get a social life, so I can have one. I can’t get laid unless you are happy."
"How is that?"
"Well, when you are like this you call and obsess and obsess. I can’t function under those circumstances."
"By function, you mean…"
"See, this is what I’m talking about."
Megan laughed. "I’ll call you tomorrow."
Megan tossed the phone on the bed and got ready for dinner. Instead of heading straight for the dining room, she snuck into the kitchen, needing an extra few minutes away from her mother after a grueling afternoon. Jane had already changed into slacks and a charcoal gray shirt. The "kiss the cook" apron had faded, but the memory of buying it for Jane was as fresh as the one of standing over the counter drinking coffee this morning.
Had she been missed? Not that she suspected a big hometown welcome, but still, her return home had been a blip. Aren’t I contrary? Megan brushed the thought aside when the pungent tang of garlic reached her, followed by something sweet. The smell thickened the air and made her stomach tighten from hunger. She moved farther into the room, thinking how much the kitchen was Jane’s domain. The only room in the house where Jane’s opinion held weight. Strangely, her mother preferred to do her own laundry, changing of the bed sheets, the general cleaning. But when it came to cooking, Nicole didn’t even attempt to boil water.
Jane flexed her hands in the dough, spreading it on the smooth cutting table. Then Megan noticed the tin already filled with pie crust sitting on the island.
"I hear you and your mother went shopping today."
Megan moved to the sink and turned on the faucet. She snatched her hands back when the water scalded her skin. Without looking up, Jane moved the cold dial up. "I figured since I’m here…"
Jane scoffed. "You can start by spooning the cherries into the pie crust. It’s the covered pot."
Megan lifted the apron off the hook by the stove. Before she could think to do it herself, Jane had the tray filled with pie crust in her hands.
"You remember how to do it?"
How long had it been? Very long, but when the flimsy tin touched her fingers, "Yes, I remember."
Jane nodded and went back to her own work. Megan placed the tin on the counter and began filling the crust with the syrupy fruit. Funny, she hadn’t realized there were some things she missed about home other than her father. Nostalgic memories assailed her, of summers spent making sandwiches with cold cuts, because it had been too hot to turn on the stove. Winters staying warm over a simmering pot of gravy for a pot roast stew. She steadied her breathing as the emotions overwhelmed her. Jane seemed to sense her mood and let the silence thicken like blackberry molasses. It took another moment longer for the tremble in her hands to ease.
Concentrating on not overfilling the pie, Megan answered the unasked question. "I had a good time. I found a dress that fits the wedding colors and fits me without too many alterations needed."
"And it doesn’t hurt to be nice until the house is signed over to you, right?"
The dig didn’t go unnoticed. "Correct, because it’s hard for me to believe that she’s doing this out of the kindness of her heart."
"And the end is still more important than the means."
Maybe she hadn’t been missed. "I don’t understand how I’m being condemned when she threw out her 18-year-old daughter over a man, who it turns out I was right about."
"We all make mistakes, and we all feel the regrets of those decisions. It shouldn’t define us—or worse, follow us to our grave."
True, if that was the only reason she stayed angry at her mother. Her mother kicking her out had been the one incident neither woman could bury and hide. From the day her father died, Nicole had treated her as an annoyance, a pesky little detail on her to-do list. This woman standing beside her, with her graying hair, straight back and admonishing tone had been more of a mother in a day than Nicole had been in the years she raised Megan.
That was why Megan bit her lip as she placed the spoon back into the pot. She turned to the freezer, where she was sure she would find the top layer of the pie. It was there, covered in wax paper. She took a fork from the drawer and got to work. Her temper cooled at the mundane task, and she was able to answer Jane.
"She never put me first, or had me in mind when she made decisions. Why should I trust this change? Why should I believe that it’s all turned around for the good? You, of all people, didn’t raise me to give away my trust, but to make the person earn it."
"What about what I taught you about forgiveness?"
"You also taught me to never forget." With an unsteady hand she pressed the edges of the dough with the fork. Megan’s intent hadn’t been to argue with the only person she felt cared about her.
"You’re going to mash that pie if you keep that up."
Megan gazed at her handiwork and agreed. She blew out a breath and pressed the fork lightly into the dough. "You’re making two pies. Are we getting guests again?"
"The same. Shep
and Aiden come at least three times a week to eat. I think it has more to do with them being male and not wanting to cook than with the company." Jane wiped her hands on her apron. "You can slide that one into the oven."
Megan checked the temperature and then slid in her pie. Not bad for not doing it in years. Jane handed her the next pie crust. Megan couldn’t meet her gaze, not yet, not with the news that she’d be seeing Aiden again so soon. By now, shouldn’t she be feeling matter of fact about the situation they found themselves in? For the next twenty-six days they’d be stuck near each other.
Maybe it wasn’t so hard for him, because he’d gotten over the shock. He would have expected to see her the moment he found out his uncle was marrying Nicole. But the news was practically new to her. She was still having trouble wrapping her brain around Shep wanting to marry her mother, given Nicole’s track record. That little nugget gave her pause, because if her mother still had old-Nicole-like tendencies, Shep wouldn’t have gone out and bought a diamond the size of a paperweight.
Jane’s words broke her thoughts. "The least you can do is give her a second chance."
Megan placed the spoon down with care and turned to Jane. "I am."
"Don’t use that tone with me." Jane placed her hands on her hips. Megan looked up, hoping for some type of divine intervention, or at least a lightning bolt to get it all over with. Nothing. She picked up the spoon and finished filling the pie. "Going with her to get a dress is a start. You need to talk to her, figure out… "
"Jane, I love you and I’m sure you know that, but you need to understand that ship has sailed, got hit by a massive wave, and sunk faster than the Titanic."
Jane placed a hand on the counter and looked Megan straight in the eyes. "How do you think Aiden feels?"
Oh, low blow, but a good hit. "The difference is, I’m not dangling what he loves most in his face to force him to forgive me." Megan went to the freezer to take out the second top layer.
"There are more similarities between your mother and yourself than you’d like to admit."
"Besides height and hair color?" Megan attempted to joke. This was the one relationship she didn’t need strained. She opened the oven and slid the pie next to the other one, which was already starting to golden.
"You’re not going to get the house if you keep this up."
Megan leaned forward and gripped the edge of the counter. "How can you say that, when you know how much the house means to me?"
"That’s how." Jane shook her head. "Thank you for helping me, but I think I can do the rest." Megan lifted her chin at the formality. Jane sighed and reached for her hand. "You’re stubborn, and I can understand you not wanting to kowtow to what you see as demands. I’m asking you to open your mind, just a little. You might be surprised."
"Well, it’s starting to feel like a lecture."
Jane’s stern features softened. "Because it is." She waved her hand at Megan. "Now get out of my kitchen. I’ve got some cooking to do."
Chapter 5
Two lectures in one day had to be a record for Megan. She had an hour to kill before dinner. There wasn’t any hesitation when she walked out the door, and she fought the urge to break into a run. The spring air felt cool against her warm skin. The buzz of bees mixed with the scent of freshly cut grass welcomed her. Megan took a moment to take it in, and the tightness in her shoulders loosened almost automatically.
She kept going, past the rock marking where her one-time pet had been buried, past the bench marking the first time she’d kissed Aiden. Megan kept going until she reached the tree at the edge of the lake, where she plopped down and leaned against the trunk. The bark bit into her back, but it was a welcomed comfort.
She closed her mind off, not wanting to rehash the recriminations from either her best friend or her surrogate mother. They believed her mother had transformed into a better person and Megan should forgive Nicole for past transgressions. To her, they might as well have asked a sloth to move faster. Forgiving Nicole wasn’t going to happen today, and possibly not in this century.
Megan tried again to clear her thoughts. The last time she felt this conflicted she’d had acne. She took in another breath to relax. This time it worked, but once her mind settled, like whispers in the wind thoughts of Aiden filtered through. Had he forgiven her? She tried to remember him. He’d been gangly, closer to geeky than anything else, in junior high.
Most people hadn’t known his bad-boy streak then. They didn’t know he was the one who thought to toilet-paper Ms. Lettie’s house when she refused to give out candy that particular Halloween. When he hit high school and puberty at the same time, the whole town got to know how much of a hell-raiser he could be. Just like his daddy, they had said. His charm and that smile had shaved off plenty of days in detention.
Everything changed when his father died. The bad-boy role no longer appealed to him as much, but he still held onto it and to her like an anchor. Around that time, Shep came into the picture, and then she left. No, Megan wouldn’t take blame or responsibility for leaving him. He’d turned out fine.
How many sweethearts got married and stayed married? The promises he’d made were those of an adolescent boy dreaming hazy fantasies. Even then she knew reality blew those to hell and always left you to pick up the pieces. The laugh escaped before she could catch it. She’d been eighteen. Her breasts still defied gravity and eating chili dogs covered in jalapeños never woke her up in the middle of the night thinking she’d die. What she had done couldn’t compare to how her mother had treated her.
"What’s so funny?" The voice reached to her from her past. Megan’s eyes fluttered open to see Aiden. Figures. When you are thinking of the devil, he usually shows up.
"Thinking how different things used to be."
He made a noncommittal noise and pulled his sunglasses from his shirt pocket, putting them on. Seeing him standing there brought it all back. No wonder his attitude had changed. This is where they first made love. How could she have forgotten that? Since her feet had led her here, maybe she really hadn’t.
Megan turned her gaze to the lake, placid this time of year. In a few weeks fishermen would invade it, hoping for a few bites of trout or at least an easy day on the water.
Okay, thinking of something else hadn’t worked. She could see them in her mind’s eye—naked, sweaty and eager. The quieter it became, the stronger the images flew through her psyche. Remembering them, that night, couldn’t lead to anything good. She clasped her hands in her lap to keep from fanning herself. And Aiden, well, he stood there letting her stew in it. She could be wrong, but the smirk he wore made her suspicious.
Not able to take the silence a moment longer, Megan spoke. "Why didn’t you tell me about Shep?"
"Didn’t think you’d want to hear it from me."
Another silence. What did you say to an ex? If you were lucky, the most you’d ever have to say to an ex was, "Oh, that’s nice," and find the nearest exit. The only place to escape right now was the dinner table…sitting across from Aiden. There was no escape. She tried again. "How have things been here?"
"Good."
Megan glanced at him. She squelched the thought that maybe he hadn’t been fine after she left. "Your mother?"
"Heart’s still ticking."
Megan sighed. No, not fine. He was certifiable. "Why don’t you just ask?"
He crossed his arms. A mirthless laugh escaped from his lips. "Ask what?"
Ah, yes, she remembered now. They both could be stubborn. No wonder they had gravitated toward each other. She summoned all her patience and said with a calm voice, "Why I left."
"Is asking going to change the outcome?"
Megan realized it wouldn’t. She looked across the lake again. "We used to be a lot of things, but we were always friends."
"Now we’ll be family," he scoffed, bringing her gaze back to him. "Fancy that. Family." The irony dripped all over the word. "You’re here for the house, and once you’ve got the deed, I’m sure the only t
hing left will be dust in your trail."
To think for a moment she’d let herself feel guilt. Megan stood up, recognizing the temper but not knowing how to stop it. He knew what to say to get her riled up, but Megan knew all his hot buttons, too. "Try not to get in the way of it. I don’t want you to choke on that dust."
"Still self-righteous, I see."
Oh, that did it. How many times had her mother muttered those same words when Megan didn’t fade into the background? He knew this, and yet he still said it. She stepped up to his face, feeling the heat of him. She let her anger feed off it. "And what are you now? A choir boy?"
The shades blocked her view of his eyes, but Megan knew her comment made a direct hit.
"Still can’t come up with a decent comeback, either. I guess city living hasn’t improved you any."
Megan narrowed her eyes, not able to hear over the roar of temper in her ears. She poked his chest. Aiden didn’t back up and that pissed her off more. "Looks like the backwoods breeding hasn’t made you any smarter."
"You used to like this backwoods boy." The words came out deep and strong but caressed like a feather against her face, and because once she’d really loved the backwoods boy, Megan knew to back up. Aiden caught the edge of her shirt and pulled her to him.
"Scared?"
"No." Even Megan heard the tremor in her voice.
Aiden laughed, then stilled against her. She felt the hard planes of his chest that he’d turned into muscle since the last time she’d been this close to him. That damn zing had replaced the roar in her head. Her lips parted with a shaky sigh. Aiden cursed, then brought his lips to hers. Her nose bumped his glasses off his face, and they thudded near her feet, but he didn’t seem to care. And, oh, neither did she.
This she would have remembered. This was not how he used to kiss. He cradled her head in his hands, and changed the heat level of the kiss by delving his tongue deeper in her mouth. Oh, no, he definitely didn’t used to kiss like this. If he’d kissed her like this when they were young, she’d have been pregnant every year until menopause set in.