by Tawna Fenske
“Please,” Jess scoffed. “It doesn’t sound like he was exactly repulsed by your figure. Men like a little squish.”
“They like squish in some places. Not all places.”
“So you’re doing this for Kyle?”
“No way,” Meg panted. “I’m doing this for me. I’m not seeing Kyle again. Not like that, anyway.”
“Liar!”
Jess’s declaration was louder this time, but Meg just shook her head. “Nope. Come on, Jess. I told you it was a stupid idea for me to sleep with him. His family’s spent the last two years hating me, and now they’re suing me. Can you think of a worse person for me to be fraternizing with right now?”
“Fraternizing, huh? Is that what the kids call it these days?”
“Can we talk about something else?” Or nothing at all. Meg was feeling short of breath, and they hadn’t even gone a mile yet.
“Fine.” Jess turned off on a narrow path leading toward the river, and Meg’s mind flashed to the last time she’d been here, running through the woods with an imaginary dragon and Kyle with a bag of marshmallows. Had only three weeks passed since then? It felt like a lifetime ago.
“Did I tell you I’m having coffee with my literary agent tomorrow?”
Jess laughed. “You don’t know how much I love hearing you say ‘my literary agent.’”
“You don’t know how many times I had to practice saying it before it rolled off my tongue.”
“So is she going to tell you how much money you’ve made?”
Meg shook her head. “I don’t think publishing works like that,” she panted, wiping a sweaty curl off her forehead. “You don’t start seeing checks roll in right away, not even for a bestselling book. Hell, maybe I won’t make much money at all.”
“Please. You’ve been in the number-one slot on The New York Times Best Sellers list for two weeks. Pretty sure that’ll earn you more than a cup of coffee and a donut.”
Meg frowned. That’s precisely what Matt’s parents were assuming, too. She knew her attorney had been talking with their attorney, and the thought that she had an attorney at all was as mind-boggling as the idea of having a literary agent. So far, she’d avoided talking further with Kyle about it.
Hell, she’d avoided talking to Kyle at all. It had been four days since they’d slept together, and though he’d phoned several times, Meg kept dodging the calls. She didn’t know how she felt about the unexpected shift in their relationship, and she wasn’t ready to talk until she’d sorted it all out.
“Everything’s just moving so fast,” Meg said, not sure if she was talking about the cookbook or what happened with Kyle.
“You know what’s not moving fast?”
“Hm?”
“Us.” Jess reached over and patted her butt. “Come on, let’s kick it up a notch.”
Meg groaned. Why hadn’t she remembered how much she hated running? It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now, with sweat pooling between her boobs and her lungs feeling like someone had taken a blowtorch to them, she was reconsidering. How many calories did yoga burn? Or maybe gardening. Anything without so much jostling.
She reached into her sports bra to adjust the girls, nudging her iPhone out of the way and saying a silent prayer her waterproof phone case was sweatproof, too. She should have left the damn phone at home, but her agent had ordered her to stay available. Apparently her lawyer was brainstorming new ideas to defend Meg’s cookbook royalties, and they needed to be able to reach her at all times.
Meg jammed the phone deeper into her bra and thought about investing in one of those cool armband phone holders. Maybe if she had something like that, or maybe a dog to go running with every day—
“So anyway,” Jess said. “I was thinking about changing my—”
“Starting FaceTime with Kyle Midland.”
The voice echoed from the depths of Meg’s cleavage and it took her a moment to realize what was happening.
“What?!” Her shriek ricocheted through the park as she skidded to a stop on the trail. Meg stuck a hand in her bra, fumbling to retrieve the sweat-slick iPhone. She felt it vibrate, then heard the distinct buzz of a video-call going through.
“Holy shit, end call!” Meg panted. “Stop FaceTime! Abort!” Meg yanked the phone out of her bra and stabbed at the screen with sweaty fingers. Her thumb skidded off the plastic screen protector, having zero impact on any of the controls. Panicked, she shoved the phone at Jess.
“Do something!”
“What am I supposed to do?”
Jess grabbed the phone and looked around, then down at her own clothing. Her shirt was drenched with sweat, but her shorts looked dry. Before Meg could stop her, Jess was wiping the phone on her rear end.
“Hello?” Kyle’s voice echoed off Jess’s butt. “Meg? Is that you?”
Jess drew the phone back and held it up so Meg could see. Kyle’s face was framed in the center, looking bemused and a little sleepy. Jess angled the phone so Meg’s face was in the frame, too, which was a mistake. God, she looked horrible. Red-faced and sweaty and—
“Meg?” he asked again.
Meg stared open-mouthed, trying to think of what to say. Jess started to hand her the phone, then stopped and pointed at Meg’s top.
“Fix your boob,” she whispered.
Meg looked down to see her right boob making a valiant escape attempt from the sports bra. She reached down and adjusted herself, using her arm to shield the view as she shoved everything back into place.
“Kyle,” she said, trying to sound as casual as she could. “Um, good morning. How are you?”
“I’m fine. Looks like you’re exercising?”
“Right.” Meg wiped a hand over her brow, then took the phone from Jess. “You know me, I live to get fit.”
“Since when?”
“Since—shut up, Kyle.”
He laughed. “Why did Jess tell you to fix your boob? Is it broken?”
She shot a look at Jess, who was laughing so hard she had to hold on to a flagpole to keep her balance. “Look, Kyle. Sorry, but I didn’t mean to call you.”
“It was an accident?”
“Exactly.”
“How do you accidentally FaceTime someone?”
Meg blew a sticky curl off her cheek and sighed. “If you must know, my boobs called you.”
He stared at her. “Your boobs,” he repeated. “What did they want to say to me?”
“Nothing. They acted on their own without consulting me.”
“They do that sometimes.”
She hadn’t thought her face could get any redder, but she’d been wrong.
Kyle wasn’t done. “So, was that Jess’s butt on the screen just a second ago?”
“Hi, Kyle!” Jess crowded in behind Meg and waved at the screen. “Meg’s boobs might’ve called you, but my ass wanted in on the conversation.”
“The more the merrier when it comes to video calls.”
Jess laughed and pulled her foot up behind her, stretching her quad. “It’s good to see you,” she said.
“Good to see you, too. You’re looking—sweaty.”
“We’re out for a run. Good for the heart, you know.”
“Absolutely,” Meg agreed, thinking she might not mind dying of a heart attack on the spot. “So listen, Kyle—”
“I heard you on the radio the other night,” he said. “You sounded great.”
“Thank you,” she said as something inside her softened a little. “NPR did a special on the cookbook.”
A dumb thing to say, since he’d obviously heard it. But if he saw the opportunity to tease her, he didn’t seize it. “Sounds like things are going great with the book.”
She nodded, resisting the urge to bristle. He was just making conversation, not fishing for information to relay to his mother. “That’s true.”
Kyle cleared his throat. “So, Meg. I’d still like to talk. It’s been four days.”
“I know,” she said, closing her eye
s. She’d avoided him like a big, fat chicken, and he had every right to call her on it. It’s just that she had no idea what to say now that she’d gone and mucked everything up by sleeping with him.
But standing here with her eyes shut tight and his voice low in her ear, it was impossible not to remember the feather-light kiss he’d skimmed across her cheek when she’d gotten out of the car that night.
Meg swallowed hard and opened her eyes to see Jess eyeing her curiously. “I’ve just been busy.”
“Running?”
“Running. And dealing with cookbook stuff and catering jobs and—”
“So how about Friday evening?”
“Friday?”
“Sure. The day after tomorrow. Are you doing anything?”
“Actually, yes. I’m catering a bachelorette party Saturday and I have to prep a buttload of food for it. I’ll probably be at it all night since my assistant called this morning with the flu.”
“So I’ll be your assistant.”
“What?”
“Let me assist you. I’m not the world’s greatest chef, but I can chop things.”
Meg bit her lip, considering. She could always ask her mom for help, or get it done by herself with a few extra hours of work.
But there was a small, traitorous part of her that desperately wanted to see Kyle again. To work side by side in the kitchen while he hummed tunelessly and chopped carrots and told her about his day. Wasn’t that the thing she’d missed most in the past two years of silence?
He must’ve sensed an opening in her hesitation. “Come on, Meg. Let me help. Besides, I have something for you.”
Jess bounced with glee, then pantomimed a few hip-thrusts. Swatting at her friend, Meg tried to steer the phone away so Kyle wouldn’t see. “What do you have?”
“I’m not going to give it away on the phone. You have to see me in person. Besides, I need to see Floyd again. I’m determined to make him like me.”
“By forcing yourself on him?”
“Nah, I have a new strategy,” he said. “What time do you want me?”
Her libido got hung up on the last part of his question, and it took her a moment to answer. “How about five?”
“I can do five.”
“Okay, but you have to let me pay you. And we won’t be at my place, we’ll be at my commercial kitchen.”
“You can pay me with dessert.”
“That hardly seems fair, but I did just make a flourless chocolate cake.”
“Excellent. Are you still working in that culinary space off Oak Street?”
“Yes.”
“Perfect. We’ll get the prep work done, and then you can take me back to your place.”
“What?”
Kyle laughed. “To eat cake and pet your cat. Get your mind out of the gutter, Meg.”
“I—”
He was still laughing when he hung up.
“It’s good to finally meet you in person, Meg.”
Nancy Neel picked up her cocktail glass and took a sip of her dirty martini. The drink made Meg wish she’d ordered something more exotic, and Nancy’s manicure gave her the urge to hide her own battered hands under the table.
“I still can’t believe you’re here in Portland,” Meg said. “I didn’t think I’d get to meet my agent in person so soon.”
Hearing the phrase my agent trip off her own tongue gave Meg a tiny thrill, and she picked up her mug of herbal tea and took a sip to hide her giddy smile.
“Yes, well, it wasn’t really any trouble to reroute my trip. Besides, you’re not just any client. The Food You Love is the hottest thing since—well, I was going to say sliced bread, but that’s hardly sexy enough to describe an aphrodisiac cookbook, is it?”
Meg laughed and set her tea down. “I’m drinking chamomile tea and wearing clogs. I can assure you being sexy isn’t a regular part of my repertoire.”
“Hm, actually, I think you’ve got some good raw material to work with.” Nancy eyed her up and down, and Meg wondered if she was supposed to stand up and twirl. “You’ve got great hair and nice curves. The camera tends to add a few pounds, but you can get away with that when you’re a celebrity chef.”
“Camera?”
“Yes, I’ve had a lot of inquiries about television interviews and the like.” Nancy twirled her martini glass in one hand. “Of course, we do need to get things settled first with the photography rights and Mr. Midland’s estate.”
Meg bit her lip and tried not to let the nervousness show on her face. “I’m working on it,” Meg said.
“You’re sure you don’t have any sort of signed contract that can clear this mess up once and for all?”
Meg shook her head. “Like I told you, we didn’t think we needed one.”
“You always need one,” Nancy told her. “Even when you’re collaborating with a loved one.” She gave a brittle laugh and waved her hand. “Especially when you’re collaborating with a loved one. God, if I had a nickel for every ruined romance that screwed up a perfectly good publishing deal, I’d buy a condo in Bali tomorrow.”
Meg gripped her mug a little tighter and stared into it, not wanting to meet Nancy’s eyes. “I wish I’d known. I wish like hell I could go back in time and do everything differently . . .” She trailed off, not sure she was still talking about the book.
“Well, lesson learned.” Nancy reached out and patted her hand, then took a big swig of her drink. “We’ll have you making smarter business decisions in no time. No more sentimental muck for you! In the meantime, let’s just hope we can get your ex’s family to back down.”
“Let’s hope,” Meg said softly, wishing she felt more confident.
Kyle rapped on the door of Meg’s commercial kitchen space right at five, hoping she hadn’t changed her mind about letting him help. He tried to remember the last time he’d been here, then realized he knew exactly when it was. The morning before her wedding.
Back then, she’d agreed to let someone else handle the catering for her reception, but Meg had insisted on doing dessert herself. She’d planned a huge display teeming with beautifully decorated cupcakes in exotic flavors like passion fruit and crème brulée, and she’d spent the whole morning decorating hundreds of little paper-wrapped delicacies.
Kyle was still thinking about the cupcakes when Meg threw the door open. “Kyle,” she said. “Thank you for coming.”
“Happy to help.”
Her expression was somewhere between shy and guarded. He’d expected bristly, so this seemed like an improvement. She wore jeans that looked like they’d been washed enough times to give them the texture of velvet, and he ached to run his hand over her thigh. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, and she wore a pink T-shirt that said eff cancer.
“I like the shirt,” he said, stepping over the threshold of the door. No sense giving her a chance to turn him away and insist she didn’t need help. “Lost an aunt to breast cancer a few years back.”
“I know,” Meg said, shutting the door behind him. “I was at the funeral, remember?”
“That’s right, I forgot.”
He hadn’t, actually, though he’d tucked the memory in the back of his mind with so many other recollections of Meg over the years. Had the tiny webs of laugh lines been there at the edges of her eyes back then, or were those new? He wasn’t sure, though he knew his own face had changed in the last decade.
“Thanks again for offering to help,” she said, handing him a long, white apron. “I wasn’t looking forward to working alone all night to get the prep work done.”
“Not a problem.” Kyle looped the apron around his neck and began to tie it in back. Meg was doing the same with hers, and he thought about offering to help her tie it, but held off. Putting his hands on her again seemed like the wrong thing to do, at least right now.
She smoothed her hands down the front of her apron and gave him a slightly sheepish look. “So, uh—I probably should have told you a bit more about what we’re making.”
Meg nodded and bit her lip. “Yes. And the bride has a rather risqué sense of humor.”
“How do you mean?”
She cleared her throat and looked down at the counter. “How do you feel about decorating cock pops?”
“Uh—”
“They’re kind of like cake pops, only they’re shaped like penises.”
She turned and bent down to retrieve something out of the cooler, and Kyle tried not to stare at her ass. When she stood up, she was holding a dick on a stick. She thrust it toward him, and Kyle took a step back without thinking about it.
“Holy shit,” he said, peering more closely at the cock pop. “What’s the stuff around the nutsack that looks like pubic hair?”
“Toasted coconut. I was worried I hadn’t gotten the flesh tone right with the royal icing,” she said, running a finger around the terrifyingly lifelike head. “But I think it’s pretty close, don’t you?”
“If it looked any more real, you could be arrested for holding it in public.”
“Thank you.” Meg beamed and set the cock pop down on the counter. “I just did this one to test out the icing, but I have to do fifty more of them. The cake inside is passion fruit.”
“Of course it is.” Kyle stared at the cock pop and shook his head. “It shames me to realize I kind of want to bite into it.”
Meg laughed. “I made extras so I could practice decorating them. I’ll let you take some of those home at the end of the night.”
“Defective cock pops? Can’t wait to devour one of those.”
Meg grinned and put her hands on the stainless-steel counter. “Actually, I’m thinking I might just have you chop veggies for the penis pasta salad.”
“Of course there’s a penis pasta salad.”
“I made all the little penises by hand, which took forever.”
“I feel like I should be able to come up with a good hand job joke right now, but I’m honestly at a loss.”
“You should have seen me trying to talk the bride out of an alfredo sauce,” she said. “Not the best choice with penis pasta.”
“Good Lord.”
She laughed and brushed a curl off her forehead. “It’s fine now, we’re going with a basil pesto instead.”