Page 13 of Now That It’s You (The Can’t Have Hearts Club #5)

K yle 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’d 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 social media 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 plate of salami and crackers. “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 tray 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.

His gaze 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 next.

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.

“Confession number one,” he said, not letting go of her hand. “I felt bad giving your cookbook away to my client, but I knew I’d never give that second copy to my parents because they’d just get pissed. I wasn’t planning to tell you about it.”

“You’re forgiven.”

Kyle smiled, glad to see she didn’t seem hurt. “Confession number two: In addition to being completely ignorant about TV and movies, I don’t understand anything about publishing. Doesn’t it usually take a long time for a book to become a bestseller?”

“Usually, yes. But this is a fluke thing. I guess it happens sometimes with celebrity endorsements. Pippa Middleton wears a new scarf or J-Lo buys a certain brand of quinoa and suddenly everyone has to have it.”

“I have no idea who Pippa Middleton, J.Lo, and Quinoa are, but the rest of that sounds good.”

Meg laughed and Kyle ached to lean closer and capture those beautiful lips with his. “Confession number three,” he said. “I know we agreed to forget the kiss didn’t happen?—”

“Almost happen.”

“And I know we agreed it would have been a bad idea?—”

“A terrible idea.”

“But I drove three hours to Bend and three hours home last Friday and I’m pretty sure I spent the entire time imagining what that kiss would have been like.”

Meg stopped laughing, and he watched her fingers tighten around the beer bottle. “How was it?”

“Pretty amazing.”

She licked her lips. “I’m happy our imaginary kiss was everything you hoped it would be.”

“All the more reason it can never happen,” he said. “It’s been built up too much.”

“Probably true. Kind of a shame we’ll never get to find out.”

“Agreed,” Kyle said, wishing that weren’t true. “But if kissing your brother’s fiancée—ex or otherwise—is off-limits, kissing your dead brother’s fiancée ranks somewhere between pedophilia and eating the last donut on the list of moral crimes.”

“Sounds like a pretty broad range.” Meg sighed. “You’re right, though. Obviously, it can never happen.”

“Right,” Kyle said, working like hell to project indifference instead of the grim disappointment that threatened to grab him by the throat. “So what was your thing? What were you thinking when you tugged your ear?”

She looked down at her lap and he watched her pick at the edge of the label on her beer bottle. “I was thinking I wish Matt had gotten to see the cookbook take off.”

Kyle nodded, wishing he’d never brought up the kissing thing in the first place. For crying out loud, the primary link between him and Meg was his own brother. The least he could do was refrain from ogling her.

“That’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Kyle said. “Why wouldn’t you want to say it out loud that you wish he’d gotten to see it?”

Meg shrugged, still looking at the bottle. “Because I didn’t think it for the right reasons. I wanted him to see it so he’d know I could be a success and that I was right and he was wrong. And it’s pretty shitty to want to one-up a dead guy.”

Kyle shook his head. “He would have been happy for you.”

“I doubt that.”

“It’s true. We didn’t talk about you much. Not after—” he cleared his throat. “Not after the wedding. And yeah, he had a rough go of it at first.”

“He was pretty pissed?”

“Yes,” Kyle said cautiously, not willing to break his brother’s trust and admit Matt’s emotional state had gone well beyond pissed . “He got over it, though,” Kyle added. “I think he’d moved on.”

“You think he’d forgiven me?”

“I like to think so.”

“Me, too.” She looked up, and he felt relieved to see there were no tears in her eyes. Unfortunately, what he was about to say might change that.

Kyle cleared his throat. “Speaking of Matt, that’s part of the reason I stopped by tonight.”

Meg blinked. “Oh. I never thought to ask. I just started blathering about my cookbook and never gave you the chance to get a word in edgewise. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I wanted to tell you about Matt’s memorial service.”

He watched the color drain from her face, and he hurried to fill the silence that followed. “You don’t have to go. No one’s expecting you to, and under the circumstances?—”

“Do your parents know you’re inviting me?”

“Yes.”

“Are they okay with it?”

He nodded, and watched a flicker of relief in her eyes. “We were going through old photos last weekend and my mom pointed out how many of the shots had you in them. ‘She was part of his life for a long time.’ That’s what she said.”

“That’s sweet.”

“When I told her yesterday I’d like to invite you to the service, she said, ‘I think that’s a nice gesture. I have some things for her.’ Probably some of the pictures. Anyway, she’d like to see you there. We all would.”

“Thank you.” She swallowed, and he noticed her eyes had gone glittery. “I figured I’d already missed the funeral. It’s been almost two weeks, so I just assumed it already happened.”

Kyle shook his head. “My mom wanted to wait. Give more family members a chance to fly in. It’s more of a memorial service than a funeral.”

“Oh.” She nodded and plucked at a loose thread on one of the throw pillows. “When is it?”

“Saturday afternoon. It’s at the Presbyterian church in Tigard at two p.m. We’ll have a short service and then walk across the street to Salvador’s Brewhouse where we’ve reserved this huge reception area—” he stopped himself, shaking his head. “God, I’m describing it like it’s a social event.”

“That’s how he would have wanted it.” Meg offered a small smile, and Kyle realized it was true.

“You’re right. Matt would have wanted it to be the event of the season.”

“Thank you for inviting me.”

“Will you come?”

“Do you think I should?”

“Yes. So do you think you will?

She seemed to hesitate, then nodded. Her eyes locked with his and then she said the two words Kyle had spent her whole engagement guiltily hoping she wouldn’t utter.

“I do.”