“I’m far too old for that. No, of course not.” Gloria craned her neck to see down the street and made shooing movements with her hands. “Send him away.”
“I don’t send anyone away who comes bearing coffee,” Meg said, opening the door. She needed more caffeine to fight against a strong and desperate desire to crawl back into bed and stay there for the morning. Or the day. Or month. “Hi, Maurice,” she said as she opened the door.
“Top of the morning to you, my dear. I brought you ladies some coffee to start the day.”
Meg took the coffee gratefully. “What a pleasant surprise.” He walked over to Gloria, who was focusing so intently on the computer screen she could’ve been filing her taxes.
Maurice set down a bag on the desk, which made Gloria startle. Her spectacles dropped.
“Brought you something,” he said with a smile.
Gloria peeked into the bag, her blush becoming even more furious. “Chocolate croissants. How did you—”
“Ted told me you liked them. Well, I’ve got to be going. Have a good day, ladies.” A mischievous look filled his blue eyes, even though he nodded solemnly as he backed away and left the shop.
Meg examined the bag. “Can I have one?” Caffeine and chocolate, two legal drugs to fight her sorrows.
“Have both,” Gloria said. “I won’t touch them.”
“Gran! Why not? He’s sweet on you.”
“Bite your tongue! I’ve had one dog and one man, and I’ll never change.”
Meg bit into the chocolaty croissant and washed it down with a swig of perfect coffee. Suddenly, her day was looking a little brighter. Or at least survivable.
“Oh, come on, Gran, he’s nice and maybe he just wants to be friends.”
“I don’t care how old men are, they never want to be just friends. I’m too old for that nonsense.”
“What nonsense?” she teased.
“Hanky-panky,” she said throwing up her arms in frustration.
“How is it you could give me the sex talk without batting an eyelash but you get flustered when a gentleman caller brings you pastries?”
“I loved your grandfather.”
Oh. “Of course you did, Gran.” Meg put a hand in her grandmother’s and squeezed. “We all did.”
“I have wonderful memories. I—don’t want to sully those by getting involved with someone else, if that makes any sense.”
“It’s like you’d feel unfaithful to Gramps?”
“Oh, I really don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
Meg smiled. “You’d much rather spend your time tormenting me about my love life.”
“Since you look like hell today, we can give you a break and tease Samantha about hers, can’t we, dear?” Gloria said.
“Oh, no,” Sam said. “There’s nothing to tease me about. I’m just minding my business under this dummy’s skirts, staying away from trouble.”
“Speaking of trouble, here he comes now,” Gloria said.
Meg followed her grandmother’s gaze. A tall man with longish black hair, dressed in a black T-shirt, jeans, and motorcycle boots, was striding purposefully across the square. Even from a distance, he cut a dramatic figure.
“Lukas Spikonos,” Gran said.
“How do you know him, Gran?” Meg asked.
“Oh, everyone knows about the Spikonos brothers. Had a hard time of it, they did. Both parents were alcoholics, and all four boys ended up in different foster homes.”
“That’s a shame,” Meg said. “Is he engaged?”
Samantha snorted. “Why on earth would you ask that?”
“Because I’m trying to figure out another reason why he’d be headed to a bridal shop.”
Sam popped her head up from pinning the gown to stare as Spike skirted the rest of the distance across the grassy square and crossed the street, keeping the shop in his sights. As he approached, Meg noticed that even the cast on his arm was black. Before Meg could say Johnny Depp, he was opening the door to the shop, its telltale bell tinkling as he entered.
His gaze honed in immediately on Sam, who had bent back down and was pretending to be hard at work. He gave a cursory nod to Meg. “Ma’am.” Then he turned all his testosterone onto Sam, who had suddenly found fitting the gown to the manikin fascinating. “I need to talk to you.”
A head poked out from underneath the dress. “I’m working now, Spike.”
Spike turned to Meg. “Ma’am, would it be okay if Sam took a break for ten minutes?”
Sam spoke up preemptively. “No, Meg, that’s really not nec—”
“It’s fine with me,” Meg told him, “but it’s up to Samantha whether or not she wants to talk with you.”
Spike eyed Meg patiently, as if she were just one more obstacle he had to surmount before he could get what he wanted. And it was clear what he wanted, because he looked at Sam with a gaze that seemed like it could burn a hole in one of the old plaster walls. “Please, Sam,” he pleaded in a voice that sounded deep and Jack Daniels smooth. “Just a few minutes.”
Suddenly, Meg understood why the Rushford brothers were so worried. He had large brown eyes, almost doe-like, set into a fine oval face with olive-colored skin. Thickset brows and the shadow of stubble completed his lady-killer look. Heavily inked tattoos peeked out from under his cast and all along his uninjured arm. Every pore of this guy’s body oozed heartbreak with a capital H.
“C’mon, Gran, we’ve got boxes in the back to sort.” Gran was gawking, but Meg managed to steer her firmly to the storeroom. “Nice to see you again, Lukas. Glad you’re out of the hospital.”
Spike gave a brief nod in response. Meg and Gran weren’t more than four feet away when he said to Sam, “You let that preppy son of a bitch take you parking.”
Meg dragged herself and Gran into the back room, but they could still hear the conversation. And there was no way they were missing this. She and Gran huddled near the door, barely catching a glimpse in between racks of dresses.
“It’s not your business,” Sam hissed right back.
“What do you see in him? He’s not good enough for you, Sam.”
“No. I’m not doing this. You pushed me away with both hands last summer. You crashed your bike into a chicken truck. It’s none of your damn business who I’m dating.”
Spike trawled his hands through his hair. “For the record, the chicken truck braked suddenly and I avoided it—and all the other traffic—by swerving. It wasn’t my fault.”
“Whatever. You almost died.”
“So you do care about me.”
“I care like one-human-being-to-another cares. That’s it.”
“You don’t even look like yourself anymore.”
“How dare you. Just because I’m not wearing ratty old jeans doesn’t mean anything.”
“You’ve changed the way you dress, the way you wear your hair. You’ve lost sight of who you are. You’re turning into his puppet.”
“Why do you care?” she asked.
“God knows I shouldn’t.” A heavy sigh. Another long pause. “When are you going to realize you’re like an angel and . . . and he’s clipped your wings.”
Silence. A lot of silence. Meg peeked around the curtain that separated the back room from the shop. Gloria pushed on her shoulders from behind, struggling to see.
A movie kiss moment was taking place, right in her own store. Powerful, possessive, testosterone flying everywhere. Spike cupped Sam’s delicate neck in his long-fingered hand, which tangled in her hair. They were flush up against one another, making Meg feel like a bad chaperone at a school dance. She slunk back into the storeroom, stifling a sneeze.
One vote for Spike. She had to hand it to the kid, he had quite a presence. Lots of passion. And a hot bod to boot.
Finally, the bell over the door tinkled, signaling Spike’s exit. Meg made sure she and Gran got busy sorting boxes.
“He’s a hottie,” Gran said. “He might just be more of a bad boy than Prince Harry.”
> “Gran, shhhh,” Meg said.
“I’m going to work on the computer,” Gran said. “Maybe you two can have girl talk while I’m gone.”
Talk? Meg had to admit she was impressed by Spike’s on-the-nose assessment. She’d long suspected Sam was trying hard to please her family in the wake of her brother’s death, as she’d done herself. And still tended to do. But her own love life was a mess and she had little to offer in the way of advice. Especially about a boy the family was convinced was the devil’s spawn.
Samantha walked into the back room and flopped down on an antique settee near the shop’s old runway, where many past brides had walked down a pink carpeted runway to a large three-way mirror to view themselves in their dresses.
From the corner of her eye, Meg saw Sam sitting curl-into-a-ball style, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. “You know,” Meg said, “if you ever want to talk, I’m happy to listen.”
“Thanks, but I’m okay.”
“He seems like a nice young man,” Meg said. “Very polite.”
“Well, you’d be the only one around here who thinks that. Spike’s not nice. He’s a tatted-up auto mechanic who eats virgins for breakfast and any smart girl would stay away. Not to mention the fact that my brothers would kill him and me if I ever took up with him again.” She looked at her cell phone. “It’s still early but would you mind if I took a lunch break?”
“We’ll review the vendors’ list for the show this afternoon, okay?”
“I’ve already done that.” She paused. “You don’t need to be nice to me because you want to date my brother.”
Oh, hell, was that what she thought? “I’m not being nice to you because of Ben. I’m being nice to you because I like you. This may be none of my business, but I know what it’s like to want someone who no one else who loves you thinks you should want. It has to be your choice, Sam. Not someone else’s choice for you.” She’d spoken boldly, on gut instinct, but she could be reading it all wrong. She didn’t know Spike and she wasn’t even family.
“I meant what I said about talking to someone. Because if you can’t talk to your family about this and you want a neutral ear, I’m here.” Her speech met with stunned silence. “And you can leave now.”
Samantha mumbled a quick thanks and bolted.
Meg looked around the silent storeroom and sat down hard on the settee, leaning back and staring up at the ancient wood-beam ceiling.
She’d just been forceful and direct, things that tended to scare the shit out of her. Why did she do it? Because she felt she had something to offer Samantha, something that probably no one in her family could see.
Ben and his brothers had characterized the kid as a no-good deadbeat from the wrong side of town, and they’d been desperate to keep their sister away from him.
But she wasn’t so sure. At least, judgment was out for now. Spike had called Sam out on something that maybe she’d needed to hear. He also seemed to be trying, albeit unsuccessfully, to stay away from her.
Meg couldn’t help but wonder if it was the same way with Ben. Confident, easygoing Ben, who clearly had another side.
He had wanted her, yes he had, before he was reminded of Patrick. Maybe he had wanted her for years. But she couldn’t change the past. Couldn’t go back to that one moment in time when she could’ve told her troubled brother to stop taking daredevil risks, especially the foolish one that had cost him his life. She didn’t fully understand the trauma and guilt that Ben felt. He didn’t make Patrick do what he did. He wasn’t even there when it happened.
All she knew was that when you loved someone, you worked through problems, didn’t run away from them. Didn’t say, sorry, I don’t do relationships, and use that as a blanket excuse for not facing the past.
This whole thing was just too large. Too insurmountable. And frankly, she’d had enough heartache. She pulled out her phone and tossed it lightly from hand to hand.
There was only one thing left to do—prove she could go on with her life. She called up Cole Hanson’s number on the screen to text him yes for Friday night.
CHAPTER 14
MacNamara’s Pub was crowded with happy people on a rainy Friday evening. Even the songs sung by Spike and his band, who were set up in a tiny corner, were mellow and surprisingly upbeat. Meg enjoyed the music, sipped a glass of wine, and read a book on her phone while she waited in a booth for her date, who had texted her he was running late. She could do this. Take her first real step in moving on from Ben. Because pretending to be happy was the first step in getting happy, right?
Cole Hanson walked in, shook out his umbrella, and left it near the door. Judging from how wet he was, the rain was really coming down. As he walked confidently through the central aisle toward her, she couldn’t help comparing him to Ben. Not quite as handsome, not quite as tall. She hated herself for being so shallow.
“I wish I could’ve picked you up tonight,” he said, “but one of my old dogs passed away and I did a house call.” He pecked her on the cheek and sat down.
What a nice man. Visiting old dogs and helping them pass on. He’d even sent her a bouquet of flowers to thank her for helping his daughter. And what a nice, pleasant peck. Like Gran’s.
Oh, shame. Stop analyzing every kiss and just have fun.
He ordered a beer and she ordered a second glass of wine. Because she was going to get over Ben Rushford once and for all, no matter how many glasses it took.
Wasn’t she glad she’d told Alex and Olivia she’d had a date tonight? The word was sure to flow through the Rushford pipeline to get back to Ben. Great. Because she wanted him to know she wasn’t sitting around pining for him.
Wasn’t she glad she’d finally decided that whole crazy thing with him was toxic, and wasn’t she really glad she’d finally figured all that out before she’d gone and slept with him?
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” she asked Cole. Dogs. It was something about dogs, and being part of his patients’ families. See? He was a nice, nice man. If Cole asked her to sleep with him, what would she say?
She’d do it, that’s what. Anything to drive Ben out of her mind once and for all. She was ready for the next step with a man who could offer her the things she wanted from life. He was handsome and ambitious and kind to her animals. What wasn’t to like?
Just the fact that he’s not Ben, that damnable voice in her head said. She shut it up with another sip of wine.
Cole reached a hand across the table and grasped hers. “You look amazing.”
She smiled “Thanks.” She’d curled her hair, put on a sparkly purple minidress, and took extra care with her makeup. And she hadn’t even consulted Alex.
Brownie points for trying her hardest.
When he gave her hand a little shake, she realized her mind had been wandering again. “You seem worried about something,” he said.
“Nah,” she said, giving her hand a carefree flap. “Work’s just been a little crazy lately. I’m actually happy to be out tonight—with you.” She smiled again in what she hoped was a sincere way and looked straight into his deep blue eyes. He sort of looked like a blond Bradley Cooper, if she squinted a bit. Another glass of wine, and he would for sure.
You don’t like blond guys. Even hot ones. Another voice joined the torment.
It’s hard to give up when you were so close, whispered the third voice, which she recognized as her deepest most innermost self, and it made her heart break a little more. But the dream has to die.
She was embarrassed to find that her vision was blurred by a sudden spring of tears that she quickly blinked away. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to ruin this for herself. She was twenty-six years old, not old, but thirty was right around the corner. She had to make compromises. Stop dreaming of fairy tales. Stop acting like a high school girl with a stalker crush that kept resurrecting again and again like a creature from a bad horror movie. Nice, good-looking guys she might actually have something in common with were rare enough in Mirror La
ke, and those who were as interested in her as Cole was, even rarer.
“Thanks for the flowers,” she said. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Did you like them?”
He’d sent two-dozen red roses. “Roses are my favorite.” Not true, she preferred something less formal, picked from the garden, like daisies.
“I can’t thank you enough for what you did for Becca,” Cole said. “She—I don’t know, Meg, she seems more like her old self again, something I haven’t seen in a long time. After the last few years we’ve had, that’s a miracle. And she can’t stop talking about camp.”
“She’s a very sweet little girl.”
“I don’t want you to think the flowers are just for helping her. I’ve been wanting to ask you out again for quite a while. Now that she’s doing so much better, I—” He tangled their fingers together.
This is what you wanted, the voices all said in chorus. She waited for the tingle. The zap. The shooting stars.
Nothing. That sexy look in his eyes wasn’t turning her on, nor was his touch, which was warm and gentle. His voice was a little on the high side, not that it was effeminate or anything, but none of it was Ben’s, damn that dimpled devil anyway.
Cole looked eager and intent. “Say, listen, Meg, The Palace is showing the sequel to some road trip comedy. Would you be interested in seeing it with me this weekend?”
Before she could answer, his beeper went off. He took it out of his pocket and squinted at it. “I’m not on call tonight, but sometimes the animal hospital calls me if one of my patients is admitted. Would you excuse me a moment?”
“Sure. I’ll look over the menu while you’re gone.” She didn’t need to look at it, because she’d grown up in this bar and knew the entire thing by heart. In college her standard order was nachos and beer, with girlfriends it was margaritas and quesadillas, and for date night it was a Reuben and fries. She snuck her phone out in front of the menu and kept reading her book. The rugged Navy SEAL alpha hero was just getting ready to grovel to the heroine after being an ass when Meg heard her phone suddenly ping with a text. She glanced down at the screen.
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