Page 45 of Now That It’s You (The Can’t Have Hearts Club #5)

Meg nodded as her stomach flipped over. She closed her eyes and pictured Kyle, the way his gray-green eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed, the way he could never remember names or celebrity gossip but remembered exactly how to julienne a carrot when she’d only showed him once.

Then she pictured Matt, remembering him with a fondness that felt more like friendship than passion or true love or any of the things she thought she’d had with him so many years ago.

She remembered the way he made her laugh, cajoling her from a premenstrual funk with goofy faces and raunchy jokes.

She remembered his love of family, the way he took his mother to brunch the last Sunday of every month.

She remembered the hurt in his eyes the instant before she turned and ran from that church.

They’d loved each other once. It wasn’t the kind of deep, all-consuming love meant to last forever, but it was love just the same.

When she opened her eyes again, Sylvia was watching her.

“Thank you,” Meg said. “Thank you for letting me love your son.”

Then she turned to go.

Meg arrived five minutes early for her lunch date with her mom and Kendall. She took a few minutes to study the spotless decor, the creative menu, the cheerful patrons lined up at the door waiting to get a table at Portland’s hottest new restaurant.

“Sorry I’m late,” Kendall said, sliding in beside Meg and dropping her giant purse on the floor beside her. She unfolded her napkin in her lap and looked around. “This place is nice. Very hip.”

“One of Matt’s ex-girlfriends owns it,” Meg said. “Brittney Fox.”

Kendall frowned and picked up her water glass. “Was this a girlfriend he had before, after, or during your relationship?”

“Before. Or maybe after. I don’t remember.”

“Oh-kay,” Kendall said. “You sure you’re doing all right?”

“Positive.” Meg waved to her mother across the restaurant. Her mom spotted her and hustled over.

“Good Lord, parking is atrocious out there. Sorry I’m late, baby.” Patti stooped and kissed her on the cheek before moving on and giving Kendall a hug. “It’s good to see you, girls.”

“You, too, Patti,” Kendall said. “How are things?”

“Good. Better.” Meg’s mom smiled. “I had my lawyer draft divorce documents and I’m looking them over tomorrow. Things are moving fast.”

“Wow.” Kendall looked at her. “I’m not sure whether to offer congratulations, or condolences.”

“I’ll take both,” Patti said. “But thank you.”

Both women picked up their menus and began to skim.

Meg had already made up her mind to order the halibut cheeks with beurre blanc and a side of creamed fennel, but she studied her menu anyway, thinking about how much thought and care and planning had gone into it.

She set the menu aside and folded her hands on the table.

She looked up to see her mom and Kendall studying her. Her mother spoke first. “You’re really doing okay, Meg?”

Meg nodded, and the two women exchanged a glance. Kendall set her menu down and reached for Meg’s hand. “Have you heard from Kyle?”

“No.” She shook her head and trailed a finger through the condensation on her water glass.

“He called once the day after he told me everything, but since then—” She shrugged, looking down at her glass.

“It’s probably for the best. I spent two years having zero contact with him.

I can just go back to the way things were. ”

“Bullshit.”

Meg looked up, surprised to realize the word had come from her mother, not Kendall. “I beg your pardon?”

“Honey, no offense, but you can never go back to the way things were before.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that I’d never seen you the way you were during those weeks you and Kyle were spending time together,” her mother said. “You were all lit up inside.”

“It’s like the bra,” Kendall added. “Now that you know what a properly-fitted bra is supposed to feel like, you can’t go back to wearing something two cup sizes too small with pokey underwire and straps that dig into your shoulders.”

“I can find another bra,” Meg argued as a waiter walked past and gave her a startled glance. “There are plenty of them out there. Lacy bras and silk bras and bras with gel inserts and comfort straps and crazy colors.”

Kendall shook her head and glanced at Patti before turning back to Meg again. “Not one that cups your boobs exactly the right way.”

Meg rolled her eyes, annoyed to be having this conversation with her best friend and her mother. She was spared from having more of it when the server came over. “Would you ladies like to hear about our chef’s specials?”

“Please,” Meg said, turning her attention to the eternal comfort of food.

“We have a caprese salad with fresh heritage tomatoes, buffalo mozzarella, and basil from our own garden. For entrees, there’s an apple-brined pork chop with apricot compote and tahini roasted cauliflower on the side.

You’ll also want to make sure you save room for dessert.

There’s a key lime tart I think you’ll really enjoy. ”

Meg nodded, wondering if it was a coincidence two of the three specials were variations of Matt’s favorite dishes. Probably not. Somewhere back there in the kitchen, even Brittney Fox couldn’t escape the relics of past love.

“I’d like the halibut,” Meg said.

“The chef’s salad for me,” Patti said, handing over her menu.

“I’ll try a small Caesar salad and the pork special,” Kendall said, looking at Meg. “We’ll see how it compares to that one you always used to make.”

Meg took a sip of her water as the waitress walked away. “So really, Mom, you’re doing okay?”

“I’m fine, Meggy, but I don’t want to talk about me. I want to talk about this thing with Kyle.”

Meg rolled her eyes, feeling like a petulant tween. “There’s nothing to talk about. Weren’t you the one who stood there in his studio not two weeks ago and said there’s a point where you have to put your foot down? Where forgiveness might be possible, but forgetting never could be?”

“I did say that,” Patti said. “And there’s no way you should forget. Neither of you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That you’ve both learned so much from your past mistakes. You’re works in progress, and it would be a shame to have you both come this far, only to throw in the towel and waste all those lessons learned on someone who’s not really your soulmate.”

“Soulmate,” Meg muttered, picking at the bread basket. “I’m not sure I believe in the idea of soulmates.”

“Believe or don’t believe,” Kendall said, tearing off a thick hunk of sourdough and casting a look at Patti. “It doesn’t really matter. We both watched you for ten years with Matt and for one month with Kyle, and there’s no question which man made you happier.”

“That’s different,” Meg said, not sure whether to feel intensely loved or intensely picked on. “Infatuation doesn’t last. And I didn’t know the whole story when I got involved with Kyle.”

Her mother’s eyes clouded with sympathy. “Honey, you knew the things that mattered. You knew he loves his family. You knew he’ll help you out in a pinch. You knew he’s a man with flaws who’s willing to own those flaws and learn from them.”

“But above all,” Kendall said, “you knew he loves you like no one else ever has.”

Meg shook her head and took a big pull of ice water. “Can we please talk about something else? Please?”

Kendall gave her a pitying look, then turned to Patti. “So you’re moving ahead with the divorce?”

“That’s the plan.” Patti looked at Meg. “Your father said you two had dinner last night?”

Meg nodded, wondering if she should feel worse about the breakup of her parents’ marriage. She knew she ought to feel a certain level of sadness or nostalgia, but mostly she felt relief.

“I’ll always love you, Daddy,” she’d told him last night after dinner as she handed him a Tupperware container with two slices of her homemade blueberry pie. “But liking you hasn’t always been easy.”

Her father had regarded her with tired, kind eyes. “I know that, sweetheart. Liking myself is no picnic, either. Especially right now. Will you tell your mom—” He’d stopped, then shook his head. “Never mind. I owe her more than sentiments relayed through a third party.”

“You do. But you can tell me anyway.”

“Tell her she deserves better. And I hope she finds it.”

Now, Meg reached across the table and squeezed her mother’s hand. “You deserve the best, Mom.”

Patti smiled and squeezed back. “So do you, baby. So do you.”

Kyle kicked a dirty sock under his couch and wondered if he should have done a better job tidying up before inviting a big-shot Hollywood producer to his home.

From across the room, Bindi scurried over and flopped on her belly beside the sofa. With a grunt, she stuck her nose underneath and pulled out the sock. She got to her feet and trotted over, depositing the sock in front of Kyle with an intense look of pride.

He grimaced and turned his attention back to Chase Whitfield. The man hadn’t noticed a damn thing, and probably couldn’t care less about an over-attentive canine or the cleanliness of Kyle’s home.

Chase reached out and stroked a hand over the metal sculpture, his expression more reverent than any Kyle had seen from someone admiring his work. It should have made him proud.

Instead, Kyle just felt empty.

“It’s incredible,” Chase said, circling the piece from the other side. “Even better than it was in the photos. The grace, the beauty, the lines?—”

“I know,” Kyle said. He should probably be more humble, but he was long past that point now. He had a billionaire TV mogul standing here next to the thrift-store sofa he’d never gotten around to replacing. Humility was beside the point.

Spotting a dirty paper napkin on the end table, he leaned sideways and grabbed it. He tried to crumple it into a discreet ball, but Bindi trotted over, ready to fetch. Kyle shoved the ball in his pocket while the dog whined and pawed at his pants.

“I have to admit, I was surprised to get your message,” Chase said. “All that talk about how you’d never sell this piece?”

“I know,” Kyle said. “I still won’t. Not for money anyway.”

Chase nodded, looking at Kyle with practiced patience. He turned back to the sculpture, grazing a palm over the bare thigh, and Kyle had to tamp down the inexplicable flare of jealousy in his gut.

“You know I can’t make any promises,” Chase said. “If she sucks in the screen test, there’s nothing I can do about that.”

“She won’t,” he said. “You saw the clips. The one of her on the Today show , and that interview with the local TV station?”

“Yes, but what you’re talking about—” Chase shook his head and dropped his hand from the sculpture. “It’s different.”

“So is she.”

Chase barked out a laugh. “She must really mean something to you.”

“She does.”

“You want a word of advice from a guy who’s been married four times?”

Kyle opened his mouth to reply, not sure whether a guy who’d been married four times was the best or the worst person to dole out relationship tips. Seeming to read his thoughts, Chase waved a hand in front of him.

“Look here, this is a nice gesture. What you’re doing with this deal.

But you’ve gotta talk to her about it. You can’t go sneaking around behind a woman’s back pulling the puppet strings and trying to make her life turn out the way you think it ought to.

Even if you’re well-intentioned, that shit will bite you in the ass. ”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. Kyle just nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“Manipulating the pieces of someone else’s life?” Chase shook his head, and Kyle got the sense this was a lesson the man had learned the hard way. “No good can come from that.”

“I know,” Kyle said with a grimace. “Believe me, I know. But just this one last time. To make up for what I did before.”

Chase nodded and turned back to the sculpture.

Kyle looked around his living room again, wishing he’d at least run a dust rag over the horizontal surfaces.

A sketchpad lay sprawled on his coffee table, its pages marked with pencil.

A totally normal thing to have in an artist’s home, if not for the doodles of cat faces and cubes.

This was clearly the work of a man whose inspiration had left the premises.

“What did you say the name was?”

“Meg,” he said, then realized Chase wasn’t asking that at all. “Oh, the sculpture? I didn’t.”

“So what is it?”

“ Si Seulement. ”

“French?”

He nodded. “France is where she did her culinary training.”

“She,” Chase repeated, not looking surprised. “And what does si seulement mean?”

A thick lump filled his throat, and Kyle struggled to swallow it back. “If only.”

“I see.” He touched the statue again. “Are you sure about this?”

“About the statue or the girl?”

“I meant the sculpture. If you’re making this deal, it’s pretty fucking obvious you’re sure about the girl.”

“I’m positive,” he said. “More sure than I’ve ever been about anything.”

“Even if it doesn’t work out?”

Kyle nodded and shoved his hands in his pockets. “At least this time I know I’m doing it for the right reasons.”