by Tawna Fenske
“A cookbook,” she told him. “I think I might like to write one. Something with recipes using aphrodisiac ingredients.”
“You’re pretty damn delicious.” He’d squeezed her knee, and Meg had felt herself glowing with the compliment, even if it wasn’t precisely what she’d wanted him to praise right then.
“Thank you,” she said. “I thought I’d include something about the history of aphrodisiacs. Maybe a few sidebars with interesting science stuff behind the ingredients. I think there’s a market for it.”
“Could be,” he’d said, flipping a page again as he chewed the end of a toothpick he’d removed from one of the scallops. “You’ve gotta have a platform to write nonfiction.”
“I’m a chef,” she said, a little hurt he didn’t seem more enthusiastic about the idea. “And I have a degree in biology, so I know a few things about pheromones and human nature and—”
“Damn, can you grab me a napkin, honey? This sauce is getting everywhere.”
A hand on her shoulder jolted Meg from the memory and back to the present—to her kitchen and Kyle holding out a bowl of tropical fruit salsa with a curious expression on his face. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“You didn’t.”
Kyle cocked his head to the side and gave her a knowing look. “You just did it again.”
Meg felt a flush creeping into her cheeks and she dropped her hand from her ear. “I did not.”
“You did, you tugged your earlobe.” He grinned. “Come on, let’s go eat this in the living room while the rest of dinner cooks. Grab us some wine and I’ll come up with three embarrassing things to tell you.”
Meg rolled her eyes and tried to muster up some indignation. The man was bossing her around in her own kitchen and acting like he knew her every thought and feeling when she hadn’t even seen him for two years. Who the hell did he think he was?
The guy who knows your every thought and feeling when you haven’t seen him for two years.
Hell. Meg grabbed the bowl of warm cinnamon tortilla crisps and a chilled bottle of Viognier and headed into the living room. She set both on the coffee table and started to head back to the kitchen for glasses, but realized Kyle had beaten her to the punch.
“How’d you know I’d bring white wine?” She picked up one of the thin, mouth-blown glasses with its narrow stem, a little startled to remember it had been an engagement gift from one of her aunts. She set the glass down and looked at Kyle. “I’ve got a whole cabinet full of red wine glasses, but you grabbed the ones for white wine.”
“Educated guess,” he said, popping a chip in his mouth. “White wine pairs better with tropical fruit. I might play with welding tools for a living, but I’m not a total Neanderthal.”
Meg snorted and dropped onto the sofa beside him. She grabbed a corkscrew off the table and opened the wine. “Pretty sure no one would ever mistake you for a Neanderthal.”
“You did.”
“What?”
“I think it was nine years ago. No, eight. It was during my ‘primitive period.’ You and Matt stopped by to check out the new sculpture I’d been working on and you said it looked prehistoric.”
“That’s hardly calling you a Neanderthal.” She poured the wine, careful not to fill the glasses too high. She hadn’t eaten much these last two days, and the last thing she needed was to have the alcohol go to her head. She set the bottle down and took a sip, enjoying the bright crispness of the wine and the warmth of Kyle’s body beside her on the couch. She leaned back against the couch, feeling her shoulders relax for the first time in days.
“I’m sorry, though,” she said, “if I discouraged you as an artist.”
“You didn’t.”
“I’m sorry if Matt did, then.” She winced as she heard her own words on instant replay in her head. She’d apologized for Matt plenty of times in their years together, but never to his brother.
And never when there was no chance of Matt doing it himself.
But Kyle didn’t seem to react so she took a small sip of wine and continued. “I know he said some kind of lousy things about your work over the years,” she said. “Creative differences, I guess.”
“I guess,” Kyle said. “Brotherly rivalry can be fierce enough without both guys working in artistic professions.”
“Right,” Meg said, plucking a cinnamon-dusted chip from the bowl. “Anyway, I hope I wasn’t insulting. About the prehistoric piece or any other.”
“You weren’t. And that piece did kinda look like a drunk caveman chiseled it out of melted crayons.”
“Well—”
“But it sold for twenty thou last summer, so I can’t complain.”
Meg dropped her chip. “Twenty thousand dollars?”
Kyle laughed and shoved a chip in his mouth. “Sorry. I don’t usually throw dollar figures into conversation. That’s me being an insecure prick who urgently wants his big brother’s girl to know he’s made it as an artist. No more couch surfing or begging my parents for loans.”
“I’m happy for you.” Meg set her wineglass down, her gut twisting a little on the big-brother’s-girl comment, but she let it go. She caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of her eye and looked up to see Floyd sauntering back into the room. Her cat cast a wary glance at Kyle, then moseyed into the dining room where he leapt onto a barstool to keep a watchful eye over them.
“That’s my first embarrassing confession, by the way,” Kyle said.
“What? Oh.” Meg bit her lip. “Are we really going to do this? I’ve already forgotten what I was thinking about in the kitchen.”
“No, you haven’t.” Kyle stretched his arm out, and for a moment, Meg thought he was going to rest his hand on her thigh. Instead, he grabbed the chip she’d dropped and handed it back to her. “Let’s see, confession number two. I didn’t cry when Cara left me this past August or when I found out Matt died two days ago, but I did cry when I had to put Karma to sleep last fall, and I’m pretty sure that makes me the worst human being on the planet.”
“Jesus.” Meg swallowed hard, fighting the urge to reach out and touch his arm. “You’re not the worst human on the planet. Not by a long shot.”
“Thanks. You’re wrong, but that’s kind of you to say.”
“She was a good dog,” Meg said. “Karma, I mean. Not that Matt wasn’t a good brother or Cara wasn’t a good girlfriend, but—”
“I know.”
Meg picked up her wineglass again, twisting the stem in her hand as she stared down into the pale liquid. “This won’t make you feel any better, but I think I’ve cried enough for the both of us since yesterday. And then I think maybe I’m the worst human on the planet, because what the hell entitles me to react like some sort of grieving widow? For God’s sake, I hadn’t seen Matt for two years, and I’d barely stopped hating him, so I hardly—” she stopped as her brain caught up with the words coming out of her mouth. She looked up at Kyle. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t talk about hating him. Not now. Not with you sitting here in my living room.”
Kyle reached out and caught her free hand in his, offering a quick squeeze before drawing his hand back. It was an innocent gesture, something comforting and friendly, but it sent an arc of heat up her arm just the same.
“It’s okay.”
Meg took a shaky breath, but said nothing. On the barstool just over her shoulder, Floyd gave a disdainful look and closed his eyes.
“You’re entitled to feel sad,” Kyle said. “Hell, you and Matt lived together almost ten years before you got married. Er, almost got married.”
“Almost,” Meg repeated.
“You earned whatever it is you’re feeling, Meg. It’s not like the rest of the family cornered the market on emotions.”
She nodded. “On the same note, I think you need to go easy on yourself. Feeling sad doesn’t always require tears.”
“How about we both agree there’s no right or wrong way to grieve and we cut ourselves some slack.”
&nb
sp; “Deal.”
“Okay.” Kyle took another sip of wine. “Third confession: I kept tabs on you the last couple years. Nothing really creepy—I mean, I didn’t stalk you in public bathrooms or anything. But I wanted to make sure you were okay after the split.”
“I was,” Meg said softly. “Better than I expected to be.”
“I know.”
“It’s how I knew I made the right choice. I was sad, obviously, and heartbroken. But I also felt like this huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders.”
Kyle looked at her for a moment, and she waited for him to tell her Matt felt the same way. She braced herself for the sting of hearing the man she’d loved for ten years had walked away from the church that day feeling grateful to escape being shackled to her for life.
But Kyle said nothing, probably because he had more tact than she did.
“I’m glad you landed on your feet,” he said finally. “You always were resilient.”
“Thanks.” Meg folded her legs under her, conscious of her knee brushing his on the sofa before she settled. “Wow, we’ve kind of moved on a bit from tortoise penises and clogged toilets.”
“Maybe we’re evolving.”
“Is that what it is?”
“Or maybe I’m just nosy. Want to tell me what you were thinking in the kitchen, or do you want me to butt out?”
Meg bit her lip. “It’s okay. Honestly, I didn’t realize how often I censored myself until you brought it up.”
Kyle rubbed the back of his hand over his chin, and the soft scritch-scritch sound was oddly soothing. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he said. “I’m not trying to pry. Just thought you might like to get something off your chest.”
“Maybe I would.” Meg took a shaky breath. She couldn’t tell him everything she’d been thinking about the cookbook and her bitterness over Matt’s disinterest. She couldn’t tell him about the silly argument they’d had later that night over how often bath towels should be washed, and she really couldn’t tell him about the make-up sex that left her feeling cold and disconnected from the man she’d intended to marry.
She couldn’t say any of that, but she settled for something close.
“I guess I was thinking about the cookbook. How I wish things had gone differently with that, and that people would have gotten to read all my delicious recipes or see Matt’s beautiful photos. It would have been nice to have it out there in the world for more than just my mom and Jess to enjoy.” She took a sip of wine and shrugged. “I know that’s unrealistic. You’re an artist. Obviously you’re a lot more acquainted than I am with the fact that disappointment comes with the territory.”
“It’s a beautiful cookbook,” Kyle said. “Truly.”
“Thanks. You want to know a secret?”
He quirked an eyebrow at her. “How did I earn another confession?”
“By being a good listener.”
“Yes,” he said, smiling a little. “I want to know another secret.”
Meg sighed. “I always kinda hoped that cookbook would be my big break. Like it might lead to more cookbooks and maybe even my own cooking show on television and maybe—” She stopped, not wanting to get carried away. “Well, it doesn’t matter now. I’m happy being a caterer. And I’m glad I at least took a stab at chasing my dream, even if it didn’t work out.”
“Sometimes dreams run off in different directions when you chase them,” he said. “Like herding cats.”
They both looked at Floyd. Floyd gave a low growl and closed his eyes.
“Anyway,” Kyle said. “I think you should be proud of the cookbook, even if it didn’t sell like hotcakes.”
“I never understood that expression. I’ve worked in retail and in a lot of restaurants, and hotcakes aren’t really all that popular.”
“What sells better?”
Meg shrugged. “Bacon. Chewing gum. Romance novels.”
He laughed. “How about stuff like toothbrushes and toilet paper?”
“Sure. Or porn.”
“Aren’t they pretty much giving porn away on the internet these days?”
“True. Same’s true for the cookbook. Help yourself if you want one. Take a couple. Maybe your parents would like one.”
“I’ll do that.”
He didn’t say anything again for a moment, and Meg wondered if they’d run out of things to discuss. When he finally did speak, his voice was low and soft. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For what Matt did. With Annabelle, I mean.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Still.” He cleared his throat. “I wish things had ended differently.”
It struck her that he didn’t say he wished things hadn’t ended at all, but she let it pass. It wasn’t like either of them were choosing their words very carefully right now.
She was suddenly very conscious of the fact that he sat close enough on the couch for their knees to touch. So close she could feel the warmth radiating from his forearm where it rested behind her on the sofa. So close she could hear his heartbeat if she leaned forward and rested her ear against his chest.
Stop thinking about that.
She should go check the pork. She set her wineglass down and stood up. Too fast. Swaying a little, she reached out and grabbed Kyle’s shoulder.
His arms went around her waist to steady her, or maybe it was something else. Instinct? Maybe that’s what she felt pulling her down onto his lap, or maybe it was gravity. She’d always been clumsy, and surely that’s how she ended up sprawled across his thighs, his hands warm and solid on her back.
They sat there frozen for an instant, faces nearly touching. She was close enough to feel his breath. Close enough to lose herself in the ash-flecked green depths of his eyes. Close enough to lick his nose.
The giggle slipped out before she had a chance to catch it. Kyle pushed her hair off her face and studied her with a bemused look. “You okay?”
She shook her head. “Embarrassed. Clumsy. But okay otherwise.”
“What’s so funny?”
She reached for her ear, then stopped herself. Dammit anyway. “I was thinking about licking your nose.”
Kyle raised an eyebrow. “Is that what you meant about grief making people do weird things?”
“Something like that.”
He nodded. “You know what I did last night?”
“What?”
“Spent an hour on eBay looking for a record player so I could listen to a Kenny Rogers album I found in some of Matt’s stuff.”
“That’s not so weird.”
“I fucking hate Kenny Rogers.”
Meg smiled. “You’re right. That’s weird. Know what I did?”
“What?”
“Spent ten minutes combing Floyd last night before I realized I was using my own toothbrush.”
“Also weird. And a little unsanitary.”
“I threw it away afterward.”
“Good call.” He blew out a breath that ruffled Meg’s hair, his brow creasing a little the way it did when he was pondering something. “Okay then, I went to the store to get groceries this morning and got halfway through shopping before I realized I wasn’t wearing shoes.”
“No one stopped you?”
“Nope. Not even the produce guy I stopped to ask where I could find cantaloupe.”
“I thought you hated cantaloupe.”
“I do.” He shifted a little, and Meg was suddenly very aware she was still sitting on his lap. “But Matt always liked it, and I wanted to give it another shot.”
Meg smiled. “Definitely weird. But in a nice way.”
“Thank you,” he said. “You know what else might count as weird grief?”
“What?”
“Kissing you.”
“Oh.” She blinked, not totally sure she’d heard him right.
But the way he was watching her mouth told her she’d definitely heard right, and the way her body fizzed with desire told
her she wanted the same damn thing.
She swallowed hard, not daring to breathe. Every molecule in her body screamed for him to do it. To make the tiny space disappear between their lips so she could know after all these years whether Kyle’s were as soft as they looked. She took a breath, imagining she could already taste him. She watched as his gaze lifted to hers and his expression shifted to the one he got sometimes when she set a plate of her chocolate rum cake in front of him.
“That would definitely be weird,” she murmured. “Kissing each other, I mean.”
“Weird good or weird bad?”
“Yes?”
She didn’t move. He was probably waiting for her to get off his lap or put her mouth on his or say something helpful like “kiss me” or “stop” or—
Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep!
Meg scrambled off his lap in a tangle of limbs and cinnamon chips and guilt, hurrying to put as much distance as possible between them as she ran for the kitchen. “The oven!” she shouted, though it was probably unnecessary. The man had surely heard an oven beep before.
But he’d never come that close to kissing her before.
And she’d never come that close to wanting him to.
“That was amazing.”
Kyle grimaced, wishing every other word out of his mouth didn’t sound like he was thanking her for a blowjob. “Dinner, I mean,” he clarified, which earned him a befuddled look from Meg.
He stood up from the table, bumping the fork off his plate and dropping his napkin on the floor while Meg watched from across the table. She stared at him like she was trying to figure out when he’d gone insane.
It was right about the time I almost kissed you.
He thought about the other time that same urge had seized him, though circumstances had been much different. What if he’d acted on it back then, kissing her senseless the way he’d desperately wanted to?
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“What?” It was Kyle’s turn to stare.
“Dinner.” She dabbed the corner of her mouth with a napkin and Kyle grabbed his plate to keep himself from grabbing her.
“Let me get the dishes.” He reached for her plate before he realized it was still loaded with piping hot food. She gave him a funny look and took the plate back, then set it down and speared a piece of asparagus.