by Tawna Fenske
Jess looked thoughtful as she scooped up another handful of popcorn and chewed. “Why is it stupid?”
Meg rolled her eyes. “Um, because I spent ten years in a relationship with his brother?”
“At least you already know the family.”
“The family hates me. Besides, nothing really happened. Thank God.” She hesitated, rolling an unpopped kernel between her fingers. “There was this other time about three years ago, actually.”
“What?” Jess gaped. “You kissed Kyle three years ago?”
“No! Absolutely not. Not even close.”
“Then what?”
“It’s nothing,” Meg said, wondering why she’d even brought it up. “We were out for a walk and I saw this dead dove on the ground and a living one on a wire overhead, and I know they mate for life and—” she stopped, surprised to feel her eyes welling after all this time. “Anyway, I kept thinking about it all evening and getting choked up, so I ducked into the den so no one would notice.”
“Kyle noticed.”
Meg nodded. Kyle, not Matt. She didn’t need to ask how Jess had guessed, and knew her friend understood it was about more than just a dead bird.
“Yes,” she said, clearing her throat. “Kyle noticed, and he came back to check on me.”
“Did something happen?”
“No. Not exactly.”
Meg shook her head, remembering the way he’d stepped into the room smelling like cloves and firewood, his gray-green eyes glinting in the amber light from the desk lamp.
“I googled it,” he’d told her, his voice soft and urgent. “You’re right about the doves. They mate for life.”
Meg had nodded, not wanting to say anything for fear of bawling like a stupid baby.
“But the thing is,” Kyle had continued, “if something happens to one of them, they almost always re-partner.”
A lump had risen in Meg’s throat, and the tears inched closer to the corners of her eyes. She’d glanced toward the door, but the clatter of dishes in the kitchen and the blare of football-fueled shouting in the family room told her the rest of Matt’s family was nowhere near.
She’d turned back to Kyle, startled to realize how close he was. “Thank you,” she’d whispered, not needing to say anything else.
He looked at her then—really looked at her. The first time anyone had done that for a long time. Neither of them said a single word, but their gazes seemed frozen together like a tongue on a metal flagpole. They were still at least a foot apart, but it was the closest she’d felt to anyone for years.
Maybe ever.
“Nothing happened,” she told Jess now, her voice firm enough to jar her back to the present. “There was this—connection, I guess. But we didn’t even hug. He did touch my elbow.”
“Your elbow?” Jess gave a mock gasp, pretending to be scandalized.
Meg smiled and looked down at her lap. How could she explain that with that single, half-second touch, he’d left her feeling more unraveled than she’d ever felt before?
She looked up again to see Jess studying her. “You think he wanted to kiss you? Or you wanted to kiss him?”
Meg dropped the popcorn kernel back in the bowl, not willing to answer either question. “I never would have let that happen. Seeing how infidelity shaped my parents’ relationship—it’s not a line I’d ever cross.”
“Not like Matt did.”
“Not like Matt did,” Meg repeated, feeling hollow. “Anyway, it’s possible the connection with Kyle was all in my head. He moved to Montana a week later, and I was so busy with wedding planning that I put it out of my head. I really hadn’t thought about it until last night.”
Jess nodded, looking thoughtful as she grabbed more popcorn. “I always liked Kyle. I wish he had kissed you. Last night, I mean.”
“Not a good idea.” Meg shook her head. “Can you even imagine?”
Jess shrugged. “I’m not sure it would be the weirdest thing in the world.”
“No? Look at the underside of the popcorn bowl.”
“What?”
“The bowl you’re holding. Look at the bottom of it.”
Jess frowned, then raised the bowl overhead and peered at it. “M plus M equals butt cheeks?”
“It’s supposed to be a heart,” Meg said. “My grandmother painted it before she died, which is why I can’t get rid of it despite the fact that it’s really damn creepy to eat popcorn out of a bowl with my dead ex’s initial on it.”
“Your initial is there, too,” Jess pointed out as she lowered the bowl.
“I’m just saying. There’s too much baggage there with me and Kyle. No matter what, we’d never escape all the ghosts of that other relationship.”
Jess shrugged and drained her wineglass. “I disagree.”
“No, it’s true. There’s no way around the fact that I was engaged to his brother.”
“Of course. I’m just saying that it’s not insurmountable.”
“It is,” Meg insisted.
“It’s not,” Jess replied. “But I’d rather watch that cupcake show than argue with you. What channel is it on?”
“Not a clue.” Meg stood up and grabbed the empty wine bottle as she headed toward the kitchen. “You want to stick with Pinot Grigio, or do you want something else?”
“You don’t have any red open, do you?”
“Half a bottle of Chianti from when I made lasagna a few days ago.” She picked the bottle up off the kitchen counter and studied it. “It’s probably still good. That was the night before Matt died, actually.”
Meg thought about the lasagna, remembering how she’d carefully layered the cheese and sausage and noodles and sauce while rehearsing in her mind what she’d say to Matt at the hospital the next day.
Look, I know we both did some things we regret, but I wanted to tell you I’m sorry and that I’d like to put it all behind us and maybe even work toward renewing our friendship if—
“Meg!” Jess shouted. “Get in here now!”
“What?”
“Hurry!”
Meg felt her pulse speed up and she started back toward the living room with the Chianti bottle still clutched in her hand. “Did you spill the popcorn? It’s okay, just—”
“No, right now, come here!”
The volume on the television slid to a deafening level and Meg sprinted out to see Jess aiming the remote at the screen with a wide-eyed look on her face.
“. . . So, yeah,” the blonde actress was saying as she crossed her legs saucily. She leaned into Jimmy Fallon’s desk, making her sequined gown twinkle. “I’ve already made three recipes from this book and I have to tell you, I’ve never felt so—”
“Horny?” Jimmy Fallon flashed a salacious grin at the audience, who responded with applause and loud whoops of encouragement.
“Oh, stop!” The actress gave Jimmy a playful swat, flashing a wedding ring that could have doubled as a paperweight. “I’m not kidding, I can’t believe this aphrodisiac stuff works, but if you read the little sidebars—”
“That’s my book,” Meg said, dumbfounded.
“No shit, Sherlock,” Jess said.
“My book is on The Tonight Show.” She gripped the back of the sofa, not believing her own eyes.
“It would appear that way.”
“How did Kiki-Fucking-Corso get my book?”
“I have no idea. Can’t anyone order it on Amazon?”
“Well, yeah, but no one has. I’ve had the link up there for almost three years and I’ve sold less than a dozen of them. None in the last year. How did the most famous actress in the universe get my—”
“So, Kiki,” Jimmy said, and Meg stopped talking. “Are you the new pitchwoman for this book or something?”
“Of course not,” she said, tossing her trademark blond tresses. “I’m just enjoying the benefits of it, and also really loving the little details. You know, the character I play in my new movie is a chef, so I’ve been reading everything I can get my hands on a
nd—”
Kiki continued prattling on about her new movie, but Meg stood staring at the cover of her cookbook perched on the edge of the host’s desk.
“I don’t understand,” Meg said.
Jess picked up her phone and hit a button. “Siri, how many viewers does The Tonight Show have?”
Meg swallowed hard as Jess stared at the screen of her iPhone. She held it up, though Meg couldn’t possibly see anything from this distance. “Four-point-five million. Four-point-five million people just saw Kiki Corso recommend your cookbook.”
“I have to sit down.”
Meg felt her knees start to buckle, but she gripped the edge of the couch tighter to keep herself upright. Somewhere in her hazy peripheral vision, she saw Jess stand up and set the popcorn bowl on the coffee table and walk around the sofa to Meg’s side, but Meg’s eyes were still glued to the screen.
“Are you okay?” Jess grabbed the wine bottle from her hand, and Meg looked down to see she’d spilled some on the floor.
“I’ll get that,” Jess said, hustling into the kitchen to grab a rag as The Tonight Show faded to a commercial. “Why don’t you go sit on the sofa and let me wait on you?”
“What?” Meg blinked and looked away from the television, her gaze shifting to her best friend. “What the hell for?”
“You’re about to be famous, hon.” Jess grinned. “I want to be the one who poured you your first glass of champagne.”
CHAPTER SIX
Kyle glanced at his watch, wondering if it was too late to drop by Meg’s house on a Monday night. He’d tried to call at least a dozen times over the last week, but her phone went straight to voicemail. At first he’d figured she was screening his calls, maybe avoiding him after the disastrous kiss-that-wasn’t-actually-a-kiss incident.
He didn’t blame her.
But when her phone started giving him the mailbox is full message, he’d started to worry. Dropping by her house unannounced was probably a dumb idea, but so were a lot of things he’d done when it came to Meg.
He pressed the doorbell and glanced at his watch again, realizing this was the third time he’d looked at it in the last five minutes and he still had no idea what time it was. Nine p.m. What if she was out on a date? What if she was already in bed? What if she—
“Kyle.”
Her voice washed over him like a warm wave, and he looked up to see her standing in the open doorway.
He swallowed, taken aback by the sight of her. Something had changed in the ten days since he stood here last. Her hair was even wilder than usual, piled in a frizzy ball on top of her head and anchored by something that looked like a chewed-up pen. Her feet were bare as usual, but her eyes looked oddly frantic, and was her T-shirt on inside out?
“I’m sorry, were you on the phone?” He gestured at the iPhone in her hand, and Meg looked down at it like she’d never seen it before.
“God, the phone hasn’t stopped ringing all week. All day, all night—then there’s the email and the Facebook messages and the hits to that silly blog I haven’t updated for three years and—”
“What are you talking about?”
Meg cocked her head to one side. “Haven’t you heard?” She gave a wry little laugh and shook her head. “Sorry, why would you? Just because I’ve been bombarded by this stuff for a week straight doesn’t mean the rest of the world has.”
He stared at her, trying to figure out what the hell she was talking about. “Does this have something to do with Matt?”
Her throat moved as she swallowed, and he watched her fingers clench tighter around the iPhone. “I guess it does.” She pushed the door open wider with her knee. “Why don’t you come in. Unless you’re on your way somewhere?”
He shook his head and stepped into the entry, his shoulder brushing hers as he moved past. She turned and trudged toward the kitchen, leaving him to shut the door behind him and make his way into the living room as Meg banged and clattered in the kitchen.
Kyle looked at the paisley armchair where Floyd was curled up napping. As though sensing Kyle’s gaze on him, Floyd opened one eye and gave him a disdainful look.
“Hey, pretty kitty.” Kyle walked around the chair and reached out to scratch behind the cat’s ear.
Floyd hissed.
Kyle drew his hand back. “Sorry, man.”
Floyd growled and closed his eyes again, while Kyle stood watching him. “You’re kind of a jerk, aren’t you?”
The cat opened both eyes and looked at him a moment, then began to purr. It was a low, soothing sound that made Kyle feel warm all over, so he reached out again and stroked a hand down the cat’s back.
Floyd stopped purring and growled.
Kyle drew his hand back. “Asshole cat.”
Floyd resumed purring.
Kyle shook his head and glanced toward the kitchen. “Your cat is insane,” he called.
Meg emerged carrying two bottles of beer and a tray loaded with fancy-looking meats and cheeses. “I like to think of him as special.”
“I guess you could say that.” Kyle shook his head and turned his attention from the cat to the piles of cheese and salami and prosciutto and crackers Meg set on the coffee table. “How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Whip up the perfect hors d’oeuvres plate no matter what time an unexpected guest drops by?”
She smiled in answer and dropped onto the couch. Kyle took it as his cue to do the same, though he kept a safe distance between them this time. No more near-miss kisses. No more touching or fantasizing or thinking illicit thoughts about his brother’s girl.
Meg lifted her beer bottle to her mouth and he watched her throat move as she swallowed, then followed her hand as she rested the bottle on her knee. Kyle set his own bottle on the coffee table, waiting. The air felt prickly with tension, and he stared at Meg hoping she’d volunteer the reason for it.
“So you haven’t heard about the book?” she asked.
“What book?”
“My cookbook. The aphrodisiac cookbook was on The Tonight Show, and everything’s gone crazy since then.”
“The Tonight Show?”
“Yeah, Kiki Corso got a copy somehow and started talking about it during her appearance, and the next thing I know, I’ve sold a gazillion copies. The print-on-demand place I was using can’t print them fast enough, so this publisher offered some ridiculous amount for exclusive distribution rights, and all these literary agents started calling me about—”
“Wait—who’s Kiki Corso?”
“She’s an actress.” She looked at him like he’d just admitted to eating dog kibble for lunch, and it occurred to him that he probably ought to be more aware of pop culture.
“Only the hottest actress in Hollywood right now,” Meg continued. “I’m pretty sure you’re the only man in America who doesn’t have her in the starting lineup of his spank-bank.”
“I don’t watch TV. Or movies. Or—” he stopped himself as it dawned on him he was probably missing the point. “Who’s Kiki Corso married to?”
Meg’s brow furrowed, and she took another sip of beer. “I’m not sure. I think she divorced the drummer for that rock band a couple years ago, but then she married a director or a producer or—”
“A TV producer? One with a mole that looks like an avocado?”
Meg looked at him like he had aardvarks crawling out of his ears. “I have no idea.”
Kyle stared, trying to make sense of it all. “He bought one of my sculptures. I gave him that cookbook.”
“You—oh my God, Kyle!” She threw her arms around his neck so fast he lost his breath, or maybe that wasn’t the reason. She was practically in his lap, and it reminded him of the last time they’d been situated like that on this same couch. He knew he shouldn’t get carried away, but her hair smelled flowery and fragrant and her body was lush and warm against him and he wasn’t entirely sure he remembered his own phone number, let alone the reasons he shouldn’t give in to temptation and
kiss her while her mouth was this close to his.
Your brother’s wife. Ex-wife. Ex-fian—whatever.
Meg drew back while he was still puzzling it out. “You’re the reason,” she said. “I’ve been trying all week to figure out how my cookbook suddenly went from being a little no-name, print-on-demand project to being an international bestseller.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“No, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I’m famous, Kyle. That cookbook is the hottest thing since Fifty Shades of Grey.”
“That’s a book or a movie or something, right?”
“Yes.” She rolled her eyes and gave him a punch in the shoulder. “Jeez, you really do live under a rock.”
He shook his head, still trying to digest her news about the book. “So your book is famous?”
“Can you believe it?”
“Congratulations, Meg. You deserve it.” He wanted to hug her again, but he shoved his hands under his ass to resist temptation. Then he remembered that made it damn hard to drink his beer, so he slid one hand out and reached for it. He took a few big gulps, hoping to cool his libido in the process.
“Thanks,” she said. “I’m still sort of in shock. I guess now I know the meaning of the phrase overnight success.”
“That’s a funny way to describe a book that’s been out in the world for three years.”
She laughed and reached for a piece of salami. “Good point.”
“So what happens next?”
“I’m not sure. It’s all happening so fast. I talked to a lawyer and I got a literary agent and she’s already got some sort of bidding war going on over the rights for this book and another one I’ve been thinking about doing. Everything’s been crazy the last few days and I haven’t had a chance to eat or sleep or—” she stopped, sniffing under her arm. “God, I stink. I need a shower.”
Kyle felt a little dizzy at the thought of Meg wet and naked with water sluicing down her bare arms and soap between her—
“I’m happy for you, Meg.” He took a deep breath and another swig of beer. “I really am.”
“Thank you.” She sipped her beer, then set the bottle on the table and looked at him oddly. He watched her left hand rise, and he reached out and caught her wrist before she made it all the way to her ear.