Page 14 of Now That It’s You (The Can’t Have Hearts Club #5)

K endall squeezed Meg’s hand so hard she thought she heard the bones crack. The pain was oddly comforting, and Meg squeezed back as the final notes of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” echoed through the church.

Meg looked around, wondering if the song was from the CD Matt bought when they vacationed in Hawaii seven years ago.

She remembered him buying a ukulele in a gift shop and pretending to serenade her on the balcony of their hotel.

He’d hammed it up wearing boxer shorts and a lei made of plastic flowers, making Meg laugh until she snorted mai tai out her nose.

“It’s almost over, hon,” Kendall whispered, handing Meg another tissue. “You’ve got this.”

Meg nodded and wiped her nose, her gaze drifting to the front row of seats. Kyle sat holding his mother’s hand, his head bowed low. She couldn’t see his face, and she wondered if he’d mustered up the tears he’d been so worried about.

Next to Kyle sat his father. Robert’s shoulders were rigid and his navy suit jacket looked like the same one she remembered him wearing at his fortieth anniversary party with Sylvia. A fresh wave of memories hit her, and Meg tore her gaze off the family.

“Thank you for coming with me,” she whispered to Kendall.

“No problem,” Kendall whispered back as their fellow mourners began to rise. “You came with me for my first Brazilian wax. It’s a similar level of discomfort, with the bonus of not getting stuck to the seat afterward.”

“Ew,” Meg whispered back, trying not to smile. The last thing she needed was to be caught grinning like an idiot at her ex’s funeral.

The other mourners shuffled toward the door, so Meg stood up.

Her legs trembled like she’d just done a barre class, and she stuffed her crumpled tissue in her purse.

Kyle and his family were making their way up the aisle, shaking hands and thanking people for attending.

Meg watched, heart frozen in her chest, as Kyle drew closer.

“Meg,” he said softly, his hand enveloping hers as his gaze settled on her face. His eyes were clear and bright, but not tear-filled. “Thank you for coming.”

“Thank you for inviting me,” she murmured as he released her hand. She turned to Sylvia, who gave her a stiff nod of acknowledgement.

“I’m so very sorry for your loss,” Meg whispered.

Sylvia nodded again and grabbed Robert’s arm. “Thank you.”

They moved past her, Sylvia’s platinum-blond hair glowing orange and blue in the sunlight streaming through the stained-glass window.

A pretty brunette with shoulder-length curls hustled forward and fell into step beside Sylvia, touching her arm, and Meg tried to remember if she was a cousin or one of Matt’s college friends.

Maybe she was someone Matt dated after her, the woman whose voice Meg had heard at the hospital that day.

More people shuffled past, their faces blending into a blurry sea. Kendall grabbed Meg’s elbow. “You still up for the reception?”

Meg nodded. “Yes. At least it’s in a bar. Matt would have liked that.”

“Somewhere out there he’s already lifting a pint.”

They slipped into the ocean of bodies and Meg bobbed along murmuring words she hoped sounded comforting to family members she barely remembered meeting.

When they finally reached the door, Meg stepped outside and gulped a huge lungful of air, grateful to be free from the press of bodies and the threat of contagious tears.

The afternoon light looked eerie and thick, filtered through clouds that couldn’t decide whether to be yellow or gray.

It had been drizzling when they first arrived, but the rain had stopped and now puddles lurked everywhere like muddy landmines.

She started across the street, tiptoeing around one puddle, then the next.

She dodged sideways and felt herself starting to topple, but Kendall grabbed her.

“Damn high heels,” Meg muttered.

“Hon, you’d trip barefoot on a gymnasium floor.”

“Been there, done that.”

“Seventh grade gymnastics?”

“And the sock hop dance our freshman year. And that basketball game in college when we all rushed the floor and I lost my flip-flops under the bleachers.”

“You’re hopeless,” Kendall said as she pushed open the door to the reception hall. “Please, dear God, let there be readily available alcohol.”

“It’s a bar. I’m guessing there’s alcohol.”

“Right, but I need to be able to obtain some in under five minutes.”

They both surveyed the room, Kendall looking for the bar and Meg looking for— not Kyle . She ordered herself not to think of him as she let her gaze travel from face to face, giving nods of acknowledgment to people she wasn’t certain she’d met before.

“Bingo,” Kendall said, and Meg turned to see her pointing toward a bar in the far corner.

“I don’t need anything,” Meg said, but Kendall was already trotting off in that direction, probably with vodka cranberry on the brain. Just as well. Meg needed something to do with her hands, and holding a glass seemed marginally better than shredding snotty tissues.

She smoothed her palms down the gray and black pinstriped dress she’d chosen that morning after staring into her closet for an hour wondering what the hell Matt would have liked her to wear to his funeral.

Then she’d felt idiotic for dressing to impress a guy she hadn’t seen for two years, whom she’d never see again ever, and the thought had made her want to say “to hell with it all” and dress in the orange tie-dyed sundress he’d always hated.

Luckily, Kendall had talked her down. And accompanied her to the event.

And driven her here like she was some kind of helpless, elderly aunt.

“Pardon me,” murmured a man who brushed past en route to the bar, and Meg realized she was standing in the way.

She turned left and headed into another room, one that seemed blessedly less packed with people.

As she approached a card table lined with framed photos of Matt, she realized she recognized most of the shots.

Matt on the edge of the Grand Canyon , a photo Meg had taken five years ago on a two-week road trip. They’d munched Doritos and laughed themselves silly at the goofy names of brothels lining remote stretches of Nevada highway.

Matt on a mountain bike in a grove of trees . She hadn’t taken that photo, but the shirt he wore was one she’d bought him for his thirtieth birthday.

Matt and Kyle with their arms looped around each other’s shoulders , looking a little drunk at a family barbecue four years ago.

Meg picked up the frame and stared down at the faces.

Her heart twisted a little as she saw how happy they looked, so vivacious and healthy.

Those matching gray-green eyes, Matt’s square, chiseled jaw and Kyle’s stubbled one.

She thought about the soft scratch-scritch sound as he’d rubbed his hand over it the other night, his face close to hers, his lips right there as she shifted on his lap and?—

“What a great-looking man.”

Meg whirled to see the brunette who’d been walking next to Sylvia at the church. She had curly hair and bright green eyes that made Meg think of a lime Popsicle.

“Y—yes,” Meg stammered, setting the picture frame back on the table. “Very handsome.”

“I just can’t believe he’s gone.”

“Gone?” She’s talking about Matt, not Kyle. “Right.” Meg swallowed, wondering who sucked all the air from the room. “Much too soon. And so unexpected.”

“I’m Chloe,” the woman said, shifting an etched water goblet from one hand to the other. Something about the glass looked familiar, but Meg forced herself to pay attention to Chloe’s words. “I’m Matt’s fiancée.”

Meg blinked, pretty sure she hadn’t heard right. “Matt’s fiancée?”

“We were planning our wedding for June. Now?” She shrugged and looked sadly at the photo, and Meg wished she knew what to say.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to get my deposit back from Ponderosa Resort,” Chloe said. “That’s where the wedding was going to be held.”

Meg nodded, really unsure what to say this time. She settled for offering her hand. “I’m M?—”

“Meg, I know. Come on. You should probably meet the others.”

“Others?”

Chloe turned, and Meg followed numbly, allowing Chloe to lead her to the next room, which was smaller and more airless than this one.

She let her gaze drop to the water goblet in Chloe’s hand again, and she realized why it looked familiar.

The etched initials MM twinkled back at her from the rim, and Meg stumbled with the recognition.

Our wedding glasses , she thought, regaining her balance as she hurried to catch up with Chloe. The ones we ordered with our monogram. Meg and Matt, MM.

Chloe turned and caught her staring at the glass. She halted mid-stride and held it up to give Meg a better view. “It’s a nice touch, isn’t it? All the glasses have his initials. Matt Midland. We found them in the garage, and it seemed like he was sending us a message.”

“Right,” Meg breathed, not sure what that message might be. “They’re nice.”

Satisfied, Chloe turned away again and marched up to a trio of women chatting in the corner. None of them looked familiar, but they all had curly hair and wore dark sheath dresses that accentuated curvy figures.

A brunette turned and gave Meg a once-over with silver-flecked brown eyes that nearly matched the pair Meg saw looking back at her each morning in the bathroom mirror.

Beside her was a blonde with longer, looser curls pinned on top of her head. She turned, too, studying Meg with an interest that seemed oddly familiar.

The brunette shifted her monogrammed glass to her left hand and extended her right to Meg. “Cathy with a C . I was after you, but before Chloe.”

“Oh,” Meg said, wishing she could come up with another syllable or two to utter. “It’s lovely to meet you.” She shook hands with Cathy-with-a- C , admiring the silver bracelet that looked like something Matt tried to give her one Christmas before she told him she had an allergy to nickel.