by Katy Regnery
They watched the fire in companionable silence for a few minutes until Merit spoke again. “So what are you going to do?”
“Fire my father and merge with Alice,” she said softly, surprised by the words. “I can’t downsize. Some of these people have worked for Story Imports since I was a little girl. I can’t sell to someone else because this was my mother’s company. But she’d be okay with me selling to Alice because it would keep the company in the family. In fact…I think she’d like the idea of a business co-owned and run by her daughters.”
“So you’re going to do it? Really?”
Elizabeth nodded, though her heart felt heavy. “I wouldn’t have done it like this. Ideally, I would have let my father age out. It would’ve been a gentler process. But Alice’s offer is too good to pass up. If I don’t accept it, we’ll go bankrupt in a matter of months.”
“And you’ll tell your father?”
“I’ll have to at some point.”
“After it’s done or before?”
Elizabeth shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter. It’ll be official by the end of the day tomorrow. It’s not like he’ll have enough time to come back and try to stop me.”
“He can’t stop you anyway. You have the power of attorney.”
“Thank God. This deal would never happen if my father was in charge. I think—I don’t know…I stopped believing in fate a long time ago, but if I still did, I’d say that all the stars were aligning right now. And when they do, it’s rare. I need to act fast.”
“So there it is,” said Merit. “Decision made.”
“I’ll call the board in the morning, sign the papers for Alice, and file them before noon.”
“Do you feel okay about it?”
“I guess so,” she said, turning to face him, feeling her lips tilt up in a smile. “He’s going to be furious.”
“You’re his daughter. He’ll forgive you.”
He won’t, thought Elizabeth, but the two things Elizabeth loved more than her father were, one, the memory of her mother, and, two, Story Imports.
When she’d returned to Philadelphia two years ago, it had been with blinders that she’d placed over her own eyes. She had a plan, and she would not veer from it: she would ingratiate herself to her father, gain his trust, rise into a position of power at Story Imports, and then steer her mother’s company into safer waters, hopefully with her father’s blessing. Had she hurt her sisters in the process? Yes. She knew that they’d been confused by her sudden and absolute loyalty to their father. But once Story Imports was safe under Alice and Elizabeth’s control, they’d understand. They’d see that she’d been working a long game and that the company that had meant so much to their mother was back in the hands that deserved it, that would love it and nurture it back into respectability and profitability.
“Yep,” said Merit. “I can see it on your face. You’re making the right choice.”
She turned to him, finding an easy smile of gratitude. “You know what?”
“No. Tell me.”
“You were telling the truth. You’re a good listener.”
Merit stared at her from the other end of the couch and mumbled something about déjà vu before blurting out, “I’m not crazy.”
“Huh?”
“I felt it before in the lobby, but now I’m positive. We’ve met,” he said definitively, locking his eyes with hers. “When?”
“It was a long time ago,” she whispered.
“I knew it. When? Where?”
She sighed, placing her beer bottle on the coffee table before drawing her knees to her chest and holding them there.
“At the Englishes’ summer party. You’d just turned fourteen, and I was about to turn fifteen. I was going into sophomore year, and you were headed into freshman.”
“W-Wait a sec—holy…shit,” he murmured, staring at her face like he was memorizing it…or, more likely, remembering it. “You’re…you’re…Betsy.”
She couldn’t help herself. She chuckled softly. “Already established.”
“No! No, no, no! You’re her! That Betsy! From that day! We spent the whole day together. We had the best time! Best day of my—”
“Yeah. It was fun,” she said, turning away from him to stare at the fire.
At the time, all day long, and for two weeks after, she’d thought the same: that it was the best day of her whole life and that no day before or after could ever hold a candle to it.
Merit lifted his knee, shifting on the couch to face her. “We threw water balloons from the roof of Haverford Park! And you nailed the uh…uh, the French guy—Madeline’s dad.”
“Monsieur Rousseau,” said Elizabeth, unable to hold back a little snort when she recalled the exploded shreds of hot-pink balloon perched atop his soaking head.
“Ha! He screamed ‘merde’ so loud, I thought my mother would faint! Remember hide-and-seek?”
“I remember you cheating! You kept asking the English brothers to help you find me.”
“What can I say?” he said . “You lived in that neighborhood! You knew the best spots!”
He paused for a second. “Do you remember the elevator?”
Her cheeks flushed as she looked down at her knees. “I remember it got stuck because we kept taking it up and down to the fifth floor and jumping at the same time.”
“Is that all you remember about the elevator?” asked Merit, his voice lower and more intense.
She blinked at him before turning her gaze to the fire.
No. No, it wasn’t.
How could she forget the touch of his lips on hers, the light pressure of his tongue sliding against hers, the way she had felt that kiss in every cell of her body?
“Mr. English had to reset the gears,” she said casually, trying to keep her voice even. “I was sure we’d broken the—”
“You don’t remember anything else?” he asked.
Raising her head, she found his eyes but forced herself to keep hers cold. “Nothing that matters.”
He inhaled sharply, his eyebrows furrowing. “Wow. Okay.”
The snap and crack of the fire eating wood was the only sound as they sat in uncomfortable, charged, simmering silence.
“I guess it’s time to go to bed,” said Elizabeth, dropping her legs to the floor and scooting forward. “Thanks for the—”
“You raised the bar high that day,” said Merit, a soft bite to his tone. “No one else was as fun for a long, long time.”
Freezing where she perched on the edge of the sofa, Elizabeth was quiet. Fun. Sure, she was fun. But being “fun” didn’t get a girl a date to homecoming. Being “fun” wasn’t enough. She’d learned that lesson the hard way: from Merit Atwell.
“Why didn’t you call?” he pressed her. “I gave you my number. I remember specifically you told me not to call because your parents were strict and your mother didn’t allow her daughters to take calls from boys. But you promised to call me.”
“I think that’s enough,” said Elizabeth, bracing her hands on the couch to stand up.
“No,” said Merit, sliding over and covering her nearest hand with his. “No, it’s not enough. I’ve wondered about this for a long time, and I think I deserve an answer. Tell me. Why didn’t you call?”
“You don’t deserve anything,” said Elizabeth softly, lifting her eyes to his and hating that he would see tears in them. She jerked her hand out from under his and stood up, crossing her arms over her chest and staring down at him with contempt. “I believe what your cousin said was, ’I’d sooner kill myself than date a whale.’ Ring any bells?”
His face twisted, and he blinked at her. “No. None. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You can cut the act,” she said, reaching up to swipe a tear rolling down her cheek. “Your cousin Connie and I took riding lessons together.”
“Connie? Okay. So…?”
“So…I asked her to ask you,” said Elizabeth, her voice ratcheting a trifle higher as she rememb
ered how it felt to be rejected by the first boy who’d ever really liked her—who she thought had liked her. But goose bumps rose up on her arms because nothing about his expression or eyes seemed sorry or guilty. It was almost like he didn’t know what she was talking about. “About homecoming. If you’d go with me.”
“Connie was supposed to ask me? To escort you?”
Elizabeth nodded, a feeling of confusion seeping through her. “My mother was always around. I couldn’t call you. But one day after riding, Connie said she was spending the weekend in Boston with her cousins. I asked her to ask you if you’d come down to Philly to be my date for the dance.” A tear rolled down Elizabeth’s cheek as she remembered the punch to her gut when Connie had pulled her aside to break the news that Merit had no interest in her. “Next week she gave me your answer. She asked you. She asked you and you said—”
“No,” he said, shaking his head, his eyes wide and intense.
“Yes! She asked you, and you said you’d sooner die than take ‘a whale’ to a dance. She told me.”
“No! Absolutely not! I never said that.”
“Yes. You…” A small sob escaped from her throat. “Yes, you did.”
“Betsy,” he said, standing up across from her, “I never talked to Con about you. She never asked me anything. And I never said that about you. I swear.” He gulped, reaching for one of her hands and untangling it from her crossed arms. Gently, he lifted the back of it to his mouth and pressed gently. When he spoke again, his lips brushed her skin. “I swear to God, I never said that. Never thought it. Never thought anything close to it. I would have been honored to take you, Bets.” He released her hand, replacing it by her side. “And we would have had a great time.”
For sixteen years Elizabeth Story had carried hurt in her heart.
Such sharp hurt that it had, in part, helped to shape her into the woman she was today: thin, smart, and tough.
Thin girls weren’t called whales.
Smart girls didn’t take chances.
Tough girls didn’t get their hearts broken.
“Tell me you believe me,” whispered Merit, reaching forward to slip a finger under her chin and tilt her face upward to face him.
An important part of Elizabeth’s job was to discern when someone was being honest or when he or she was lying. She knew he was telling the truth—she could see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice. Not to mention, Elizabeth had heard stories of the Atwell sisters. It was well within the realm of possibility that Connie would have kept Merit and Elizabeth apart for her own reasons…or just for her own twisted amusement.
“You didn’t say that about me?”
“Never.”
“That kiss in the elevator was…good,” she admitted softly.
“Better than good.” A sad smile crept across Merit’s face. “My first.”
“The best,” said Elizabeth as she wiped another tear away.
“Agreed.” His smile grew wider, and he took a step toward her. “Wouldn’t mind trying it again sometime.”
She closed her eyes as Merit Atwell’s lips dropped to hers for the second time in her life. As she stepped forward, pressing her chest to his, his arms encircled her, holding her fast. He tasted like beer and warmth and second chances, and Elizabeth moaned softly into his mouth as his tongue slid along the seam of her lips and she opened her mouth to his.
For years she had held onto hurt, to anger, to shame…but she felt years of heaviness slide from her shoulders as she leaned into him. For the first time in a long time, she knew peace, and it made her feel like her almost fifteen-year-old self all over again.
Plumbing rushed through the pipes of the house, alerting them that one of their siblings was using the bathroom, and they broke apart from one another breathlessly, both golden in the firelight, staring into each other’s eyes.
“That was worth the wait,” said Merit, his blue eyes dark and dilated as they lingered on her lips before sliding up to meet her gaze.
She grinned up at him. “You weren’t this tall at fourteen.”
“I’ve changed,” he said. His hands, which had been laced behind her back, lowered to her ass, which he squeezed. “So have you.”
“Are you saying something about my ass?”
“No,” he chuckled. “I liked your ass just fine when you were fourteen. I like it now too. I’m all for curves, baby.” His lips landed on hers for a peck before he leaned back and smiled into her eyes. “I’m just noticing that you’re a woman now. A woman who’s just as beautiful as the girl you were.”
A rush of warmth made her lean closer to him, savoring the feeling of her sensitive breasts pressed against his hard chest, with only the thin cotton of T-shirts between them.
“It’s late,” she said, twisting her lips into a pout, “and neither of us has our own room.”
He sighed, loosening his arms. “True.”
“But you know what, Merit?”
“Nope. Tell me, Bets.”
“I have my own room back in Philly.”
“Damn, woman,” he said, smiling down at her as she backed out of his arms and headed for the stairs, “you’ll give a man dirty thoughts.”
“I can live with that,” she called from the stairs, teasing him. “Hope you can. ’Night, Merit.”
“Betsy!” he whispered.
She turned to look at him over her shoulder. “Hmm?”
“Let’s have some fun tomorrow. You and me.”
His eyes sparkled with mischief, and the word “fun,” which she’d long held in disdain, suddenly became her favorite word in all the world.
“It’s a deal!”
Chapter 4
Amity and Jane
“Is that coffee I smell?”
Amity looked up to see Jane entering the kitchen wearing a pair of broken-in jeans and a black T-shirt, her golden-blonde hair in two long braids.
“Good morning!” he said, struck, once again, by how surreal it was to be sharing a vacation cottage with the college girl he’d never forgotten. “Yes. Fresh pot.”
“Can I steal a cup?”
“Of course,” he said, offering her a mug.
“Mmm. The smell of fresh-brewed coffee. Nobody ever makes a pot anymore. It’s all pods instead of pots.” She filled her cup, then leaned over the mug, inhaling the steam with a big smile on her face. “Thanks for making it.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, putting the whisk he’d been using in the sink. “About to make some eggs over easy too. You want?”
“Yes, please!” She stepped out of the kitchen and perched on a stool at the counter, watching him as he melted some butter in a skillet. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything,” he said.
“Is this your thing?”
“What? Cooking for gorgeous women?” She gave him an “are-you-kidding-me?” look, and it made him chuckle. “Yes. I like cooking. It calms me.”
“Hmm,” she hummed, “I can think of a lot of things way more soothing than cooking.”
“Like…?”
“Taking a nap. Taking a walk. Reading a book. Watching a movie. Um, literally anything else.”
“So you are not a cook, Jane Story. Is that what you’re telling me?” he asked, pouring the raw eggs into the hissing skillet.
“You are very perceptive, Doctor Atwell.”
He grinned at her, nodding as he kept on eye on the yolks so that they stayed intact. Shooting a glance at the ceiling, he asked, “Should I have made extra for your sister?”
“Umm, no, actually. She’s not upstairs. Isn’t she down here?”
Amity shook his head. “Nope. Haven’t seen her this morning. Or Merit, for that matter.”
“Huh. Think they went out for breakfast? To bury the hatchet?”
“In each other’s backs?” he scoffed. “Talk about getting off to a rocky start.”
“They have unfinished business,” said Jane, taking another sip of coffee. “I guess they met once before a long time
ago.”
Amity turned around to grab two plates from the cabinet over the sink. “Like us.”
“Not exactly like us,” said Jane softly from behind him. “I don’t hate you.”
Amity’s heart leapt at this quiet admission.
He went to sleep last night thinking about Jane—about what a stroke of fortune it was that they should show up at the same resort, ending up sharing the same cottage. Amity knew a second chance when it came his way, and this—here and now—was his “shot” with Jane Story. He didn’t intend to waste it.
They’d never hooked up at college. They’d never even kissed. In fact, he’d left for Zimbabwe without telling her or seeing her again because he’d been worried that he’d end up kissing her, end up starting something that couldn’t go anywhere.
At the time, he’d still been working through his feelings about Simone’s betrayal. No matter how sweet and appealing Jane had been, the timing would have been shit for getting involved with her. And totally unfair. If anything, it was sheer luck that he’d had somewhere to go. It had prevented him from making a move on her that he would have regretted.
That said, over the years, Amity had found himself thinking about Jane more than any other woman he’d ever known. And no, he didn’t expect to pick up exactly where they’d left off four years ago, on the brink of turning a friendship into something more, but he’d sure as hell like to get to know her again.
He turned around with the plates and immediately found himself lost in her eyes.
Get to know her again? No, that was a lie.
She was sweet and kind and even more insanely beautiful now than she’d been at Harvard. When he looked at Jane, something burgeoned within him, ripe with longing. His wish wasn’t just about getting to know her again; even after a four-year absence from one another, the magnetic connection between them hadn’t been broken. What he wanted from Jane this time was a lot more than friendship. And happily, his heart was totally unencumbered. He was, blessedly, available. He just hoped that she was too.
“What?” she asked, no doubt wondering why he was staring at her. “What are you thinking?”
“I just…” He shrugged and smiled at her because he couldn’t help himself. “It’s just really good to see you again, Jane.”