Dedicated to the One I Love, page 6
Joe unwound the hose from the side of the house and rinsed the greasy stain from the driveway. Meeting for coffee was a one-time thing. A way to smooth over today. Nothing more.
CHAPTER 5
Kylie placed the bowl of fruit salad in the center of the dingy glass-top table. She pulled out one of the black wrought iron chairs set around the table at one corner of the deck on the side of her house. Her trio of friends, Dylan, Leah, and Zoe, each pulled out their own chairs, the metal legs scraping against the faded wood.
“Early June, and this is the first time I’ve sat outside.” She dusted off the old gray cushion before she sat, then handed the cloth off to Dylan. “Here, use this and then pass it on. The cushions aren’t the best, but at least we’ve got shade, thanks to the trees.”
“I’m good. Just glad to get off my feet.” Dylan arranged the bowls, napkins, and spoons. “That was a good barre class.”
“Agreed.”
“Aren’t you glad we joined?” Zoe stretched her legs so her bare feet rested in the opposite chair.
“You mean, aren’t you all glad I suggested the idea?” Dylan passed the towel to Leah.
“Once we got past the first month of not being able to move.” Leah dusted off her chair and sat.
Kylie tossed the grimy towel on the ground in the corner of the deck. “There was that—and the learning curve for the moves.”
Dylan sipped from her water bottle. “So … have you heard from Joe lately?”
“I’m impressed. You waited until after class—and until we all got back here—to ask me about Joe.”
“Answer the question already. I wanted to ask you all morning.”
Kylie shook her head, releasing her hair from the rubber band that had held it in a ponytail. “Our emails have dropped off since the cookout disaster.”
“It wasn’t a complete disaster.” Zoe was ever the optimist. Her bright pink glasses fit her personality.
“No, his sister Abbie is texting me now. We’re trying to figure out when we can meet up.”
“You gained a new friend.” Leah spooned fruit salad into her bowl. “That’s fun.”
“And Joe and I are having coffee this week.”
Zoe’s smile widened. “There’s still hope, right?”
“Hope for what?”
“That you and Joe have a future … ”
“We do have a future—a literary one, remember? And that’s the problem. We’re writing a book together, and that fact has seriously tested our friendship, which is too bad.”
Dylan leaned forward, her spoon poised above her bowl. “Why do you say that?”
“I like Joe.”
“I knew it!” Leah rapped the table with her knuckles.
“Let me finish.” Kylie sighed. “I like Joe. As a friend. Why else would I have emailed him for five months? We have similar interests. He’s smart. Funny. Am I looking for romance? No.”
“Kylie, do you want to be alone for the rest of your life?”
Dylan’s direct question brought her up short—and the answer that spilled out surprised her.
“I haven’t been alone these past three years since Andrew died.” She pressed her hand to her heart. “Grief is crowded. Crowded with the memories of what Andrew and I had. Crowded with the dreams of the future we’d planned together.”
“Oh Kylie … ”
She sat in the shade of the trees arching over the deck and fought a sudden sting of tears. She hadn’t cried in months. She didn’t want to cry today, even if she was with her closest friends, the ones who had stuck with her during the toughest years of her life. Prayed her through.
She gripped the worn edges of the cushion beneath her legs. She’d ignored so many things since Andrew died. Big things, like her book. Small things, like dealing with the shabby patio furniture.
A broken heart made it easy to ignore things.
“What are you thinking, Kylie?” Zoe’s words were a gentle intrusion on her jumbled thoughts.
“I’m just realizing how … congested life has felt since Andrew died. There’s been so much to do—and so much I’ve avoided doing. I lost Andrew. I lost friends. Not the three of you, of course, but some of our friends. And to answer Dylan’s question, no, I don’t want to be alone like this for the rest of my life.”
“Which means—” Dylan’s words were a gentle prompt.
“I know what it means, but I don’t think Joe is that guy.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s not just Joe Edwards. He’s also Tate Merrick, writer of military suspense novels. And while Joe likes me—well, he liked me—Tate Merrick doesn’t.”
“The story’s not over—no pun intended.” Again, Zoe’s positivity showed up.
“This is a plot twist neither of us saw coming—pun intended—and I don’t know if the story is salvageable.” Kylie stirred the mixture of strawberries, peaches, and melon in her bowl. “I will say one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“I understand why Andrew liked Tate Merrick’s novels so much.”
Leah shifted in her seat, her feathered red hair framing a face dotted with a smattering of freckles. “Why do you say that?”
“Besides reading his manuscript, I started reading his debut novel.”
“And?”
“He’s a good writer. His sense of humor shows up in his novel, and I can see why he writes military suspense. He keeps you on the edge of your seat. Sorry for the cliché.”
“You going to leave the guy a review?”
“No!”
“Why not?” Dylan used her napkin and brushed some dried leaves off the tabletop. “If you like the book so much, leave a review.”
“I’m sure Andrew already did.”
“So? You can still post one.”
“Dylan, stop.” Kylie swallowed a bite of fresh fruit. “It’s not like Joe would notice if I left a review or not.”
Kylie stared at the peeling paint on the deck railing. She hadn’t even finished the book yet—but if she didn’t exert some self-control, she’d stay up too late tonight and read all the way to the end.
“Y’all remember we have our monthly massages this weekend, right?” Dylan pulled out her phone and checked her calendar.
“Thanks for the reminder.” Leah smiled. “Don’t want to miss that.”
“Want me to add on pedicures?”
Kylie groaned. “You do remember I am working under not one, but two deadlines?”
“I remember.”
Kylie scanned the sun-faded wood of the deck. “I don’t suppose you three would like to help me paint this deck, would you?”
“And this fits into your schedule how?” Zoe scrunched her nose beneath her glasses. “I’ll be happy to research some people who could paint your deck for you.”
“That would be great.”
Dylan set her phone aside. “This is why you should be considering selling this house.”
“Again, Dylan?”
“Yes, again.” Dylan rose and walked from one end of the deck to the other, her sandals slapping against the wood. “Do you love this house—or do you love that it was the house you and Andrew bought together?”
Kylie stood and shoved her chair back in place.
Dylan tilted her head. “You’re not answering.”
“Neither.”
“What do you mean?”
“I didn’t love this house when we bought it … and I don’t love it now.”
“I wasn’t expecting you to say that.” Dylan leaned against the railing, stepping away quickly. “Splinters. Why did you buy it then?”
“We didn’t want to live in Denver, even though Andrew’s job was there. And then one of his colleagues was moving and selling this house and offered him a deal, so … ”
“You took the deal,” Leah summarized.
“Andrew thought it was a decent commute, straight up I-25.” Kylie sighed. “But you know when it snows on the Front Range, it always snows up here in Monument. And I hate having to worry about Monument Hill.”
“That’s why Miles and I live in the Springs.” Dylan nodded.
“No need to brag, Dylan.” Kylie softened her comment with a laugh. “This is also a family neighborhood and well, I’m single. Obviously, Andrew and I had talked about kids … ”
There were so many unfinished conversations with Andrew.
“I’m sorry, Kylie.” Zoe’s words were gentle.
“It’s reality, Zoe.”
This house was caught in a time warp between her life with Andrew and her life after Andrew.
Laughter filtered over from the neighbor’s yard. Their family had expanded from two children to three. She was happy for them. Truly happy for them, but she wanted to move on. Maybe Dylan was right and the best thing for her to do was to sell this house and find a place just for her.
“So can any of you suggest a Realtor?”
“Seriously?” Dylan’s eyes widened.
“I’d just like to talk to someone.” Kylie tried to keep her tone casual. “That’s all.”
“I know a Realtor who’d be happy to talk to you.”
“Fine.”
“You’re sure? I’ve suggested this for more than a year now.”
“I said yes. You can give her my number.”
“This is so fantastic!” Dylan smothered Kylie in a hug.
“Calm down. It’s a phone call.”
“I’ll contact her as soon as I get home.”
“And on that note, I should probably head out.” Leah gathered up their bowls and spoons. “Chaz probably thinks I’ve forgotten I’m married.”
“Come on, I’ll walk you all out.” Remington met them at the sliding glass door. “What’s that look for? You hate it out here.”
Zoe stepped over him. “Only an inside cat, right?”
“Yep. Outside cats become take-out food for the wildlife. I’m thankful we saved him before he was injured—or worse.”
“Got it.”
Once her friends left, Kylie showered, dressed in a casual sleeveless top and shorts, and settled behind her desk. The question was which manuscript did she open? Hers or Joe’s? Speaking of Joe …
She checked her inbox. Nope. No email with a funny trivia question or a one-star book review. Nothing since they’d confirmed their coffee-not-a-date five days ago.
Hmm. There was no reason she couldn’t email him just to say she’d see him on Wednesday. She’d keep it brief.
Hi, Joe: I’ll see you Wednesday at Top of the Day Coffee Shop in Castle Rock at 10 o’clock. I’ll toss a trivia question at you: What’s the record for solving a Rubik’s Cube? You can tell me the answer when we see each other. Kylie
There. Nothing pushy about that, right?
She had other things to do besides worry about Joe. Or Tate Merrick. She had imaginary characters demanding her attention too. And right now, they were easier to deal with than he was.
…
Top of the Day Coffee Shop had an industrial steel vibe, with a high ceiling and exposed ductwork, windows allowing lots of light, scattered wood tables matched with black metallic chairs, and some padded booths along the back wall. The pungent aroma of coffee hung in the air, and the hiss of the espresso machine competed with the jazzy background music.
Coffee with Kylie would be casual, and take, what? Two hours max. They’d each enjoy their favorite caffeinated beverage, gloss over the cookout fiasco with some casual conversation, and go their separate ways—while completing their contractual obligations, of course.
Joe carried his straight black coffee to the table where Kylie waited, a denim bucket hat covering her black hair. “Nice coffee shop.”
“It’s nice that coffee shops also offer tea.” Kylie held up her ceramic mug with a string dangling over the side with a teabag tag attached at the end.
“True.” Joe tossed a tiny Rubik’s Cube on the table. “The world’s record for a single cube is 3.47 seconds for a 3x3x3 cube.”
A quick chime of Kylie’s laughter escaped. “I thought I’d stump you with that question for sure.” She picked up the cube and started twisting the colored tiles. “I never liked these puzzles.”
“Abbie and I used to try and beat each other at solving them.”
“Who won most often?”
Joe slid into the chair across from Kylie, opting to keep his baseball cap on. No need to attract unwanted attention. “I am embarrassed to say Abbie did.”
“Did your sister mention we’re getting together?”
“No. I haven’t talked to her recently. I’m sure when you see her that she’ll tell you how she calls me all the time because I never call her.”
“It’s the way of brothers and sisters, I guess.”
“Do you have siblings?”
“Only child. My mom was a single mom … and you know that story. She worked hard and I was expected to work hard too. We were two independent women at a young age.”
Joe raised his cup to her with a nod. “Abbie was always the tagalong little sister. I gave her such a hard time when we were younger. I still do.”
“Hudson seems like a nice guy.”
“We’ll see. They haven’t been dating that long.” He waved away his words. “And now I sound like the protective older brother, which I assure you, I am not. Abbie’s smart. She won’t date the wrong kind of guy again.”
“So she has in the past?”
“Doesn’t every girl?”
“Doesn’t everyone date someone wrong for them sometime in their life? It’s kind of a requirement for growing up.”
“Spoken like a romance writer.”
“We’re both writers, Joe. We both weave real life into our books.” Kylie fiddled with the tea tag. “I’m sure you pull from your military experience when you’re plotting Remington Gerard’s exploits.”
“Maybe.”
“No maybe. Or you read newspapers and magazine articles … ”
“What do you do? Take notes while family members and friends talk to you? Eavesdrop at parties?”
Kylie tilted her head. And then she laughed and winked. “I take mental notes. Less obvious than pulling out a notebook. And I change names to protect the guilty.”
She could have allowed his comment to get their conversation off-track, but her wink and her laugh, with its bright note, kept things positive. Several other customers in the coffee shop glanced their way. Smiled. They’d already had a more pleasant conversation than they’d had the Monday of the cookout.
“Speaking of writing … ” Kylie tapped the table with her fingernails.
“Something on your mind?
“Lethal Strike.”
“Oh?”
“I’m thinking of naming the heroine Evangeline Day.”
“Evangeline.”
“Yes. It’s a good name for a strong female lead. And it’s nice when the hero gives her a nickname—”
“A nickname?”
“Haven’t you ever given a girlfriend a nickname—something other than honey or sweetheart?
“My last girlfriend’s name was Cassidy, and I called her Cassidy.”
Kylie shook her head. “I was thinking Remington could call Evangeline Eva.”
“Eva.”
“Right. Anyway, she could be an undercover agent working on a separate mission and they cross paths and Remington rescues her—”
“Of course.”
“But here’s the twist—at the end of the book, Eva saves his life, besides opening his heart to love.”
“Wait a minute.” Joe pressed his palms against the tabletop. “You want this Evangeline character to rescue Remington Gerard, the hero of Lethal Strike? How?”
“I thought we could brainstorm that part. And I need your help fleshing out what Evangeline’s mission might be.”
Kylie Franklin was trespassing.
She cupped her chin in her hand. Joe pushed his chair back—right into the person sitting behind him.
“Sorry about that.” He tossed the words over his shoulder and adjusted his chair. “Kylie, you seem to be forgetting you were asked to write the romance for this book—and nothing else.”
The light in her eyes dimmed. “Wait a minute … you don’t like my idea?”
“I would like your idea if it was just about romance. The name Evangeline might grow on me.”
“I can’t believe this!” Kylie’s light brown eyes narrowed.
“Do I have to remind you there’s one hero in a Tate Merrick novel—Remington Gerard?”
“I know what his name is. My cat’s named after him.”
Joe stood. “I’m getting a refill on my coffee before any more people get in line.”
“Sit down.”
“What did you say?”
“I said sit down.” Kylie pointed to his chair. “I don’t know how you handle business discussions, Mr. Merrick, but I don’t walk away when I’m in the middle of a conversation.”
“This isn’t a business meeting—this is coffee between friends.”
“Fine. I don’t know how you handle any sort of conversation, but as your ‘friend,’ I don’t like it when someone walks away when I’m talking to them.”
Joe sat. Pulled off his hat. Scraped his fingers through his hair. Put his hat back on. Backward. “I apologize.”
“Apology accepted.”
Now she should apologize. That’s how it worked. But apparently Kylie didn’t understand the basic rule of apologies.
The line was getting even longer at the counter. He’d never get a refill now. Apology or not, he would leave this coffee shop with Lethal Strike intact.
“Kylie, you’ve already got your name on the cover of my book—”
“Our book, Joe.”
