Find My Way Home (Harmony Homecomings) (24 page)

“Ooo, samples. Mind if I try one?” Miss Perfect didn’t wait for an answer. “Yes. Keith invited me over the other day and gave me the grand tour,” she said around a mouthful of brownie. “I can’t wait to see what you do with the master bedroom. I love that pale, Tiffany blue you painted the walls. It’s beautiful.”

Master bedroom! Bertie’s heart slammed into her chest so hard that it fell out and dropped to the dirt in front of her feet. She didn’t think she could turn around and finish the transaction, because she was in the process of dying as her heart sputtered on the ground. “I’m glad you…er, like—”

“Gail…where’ve you been? My dad has been look—”

Bertie turned in time to catch Maddie bouncing toward her booth. “Bertie! I didn’t know you were here.” Maddie ran to the side of the booth.

“Hey there, girlfriend. You having fun?” she managed to say in a normal voice.

“I’m gonna climb the rock wall. You wanna watch?”

“Well, I have to man this booth and—” Bertie stopped. The hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention and the air turned so thick it felt like pudding. She didn’t have to turn her head to know that Keith stood behind Gail.

“Keith, I’ve just met your designer. Well, we haven’t actually met. Hey. I’m Gail Spencer.” Gail extended her hand.

“Hey.” Bertie clasped Gail’s well-groomed hand in hers for the briefest of moments.

“This is Bertie. She’s a designer, and she owns the Dog, a really cool restaurant in town where they have skating and karaoke.” Bertie’s insides shriveled as Maddie listed her pathetic accomplishments. “That’s Gail. She sells children’s books at Barnes & Noble.” Bertie jerked her gaze to Maddie at the note of disgust in her voice and caught Maddie rolling her eyes. Bertie never felt the urge to hug Maddie more. She loved that kid and wanted to high-five her in front of Gail and her stupid, gorgeous, stubborn dad.

“It’s…uh…good to see you, Bertie. You look…well.” Keith jammed his fists in the pockets of his white tennis shorts. “Nice booth. Er, did you make all these?” he asked, referring to the sweets.

“I asked the same thing,” Gail giggled. “Bertie made the coconut cupcakes.”

“I want those,” Maddie said. “I love coconut.”

Keith’s dark, hot gaze roamed over Bertie, not in a mocking way but as if he wanted to memorize every inch, down to the freckle on the inside of her right knee. Then he locked gazes with her. And she couldn’t tear her eyes away.

Bertie had no idea how much time had passed, but suddenly she heard Gail clear her throat. “Uh, why don’t we head over to the rock wall, Maddie?” Keith’s head jerked back as if he’d been slapped out of a trance.

“I want to stay here with Bertie,” Maddie said. Gail nervously fiddled with the bag holding her purchases, and Keith’s lips thinned into a grim line.

“Listen, cutie. I need to finish up my shift and then I’ll be sure to come find you with a coconut cupcake. Okay?”

“Maddie, let’s go,” Keith ordered.

“It was nice meeting you,” Gail called over her shoulder as Keith ushered her away, with one hand on the small of her perfect back and the other gripping Maddie’s elbow.

“Bye…bye, Bertie.” Maddie waved, twisting her head over her shoulder.

“What’s your decision?” Francesca asked Keith as he paced the length of her sitting room. It had been three weeks since the festival and Keith had finally realized some hard truths. His deadline for finding a fiancée and getting married was up. He’d called Francesca and asked for a meeting.

“You win.” He stopped and stared out the French doors, seeing nothing. “I’m forfeiting the match, dropping out of the tournament.”

“What do you mean?” Alarm laced Francesca’s voice.

“You heard me.” Francesca sat forward in her favorite French chair, wearing a coral silk sheath dress and a concerned look on her face. Hands clenched by his side, Keith said, “I’m not getting married.”

“I see.” Her lips pressed together and an eyebrow quirked. Clearly she didn’t.

“I’m not marrying Gail. I refuse to marry another woman I don’t love. Been there, done that, and I barely survived. I don’t deserve that life and neither does Maddie.”

“You’re giving up? Just like that?” Her words cracked between them like a whip.

Keith pushed frustrated fingers through his hair. “Yeah, I guess I am. Although, you can’t say I didn’t give it a valiant effort.” He moved next to the piano where a shallow crystal bowl sat and his gut spasmed at the sight of gardenias floating in the water. He squeezed his eyes shut. “Go ahead with the custody proceedings.” His voice sounded hollow. “I can see that Maddie will benefit from your influence, and I’m not going to fight you on it.” He picked up a bloom, hesitated, and dropped it back in the bowl.

“What? Where will you go? What will you do?” Agitated, Francesca stood, crossing the antique carpet to reach the bar. With shaky hands, she decanted a bottle and poured a liberal amount of scotch into a glass.

“I’m not sure, but I’m making plans—”

She turned suddenly and pierced him with a fierce glare. “You’re leaving? Abandoning your daughter?”

He flinched at her incredulous tone and then watched as she swiped a tear from her cheek. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ve made a home here.” No. Bertie had made him a home. He sucked in a breath. “I’m not bailing on Maddie or Harmony, but I refuse to marry for the sake of marrying. I’d rather be celibate for the rest of my life than force myself to marry another woman I don’t love.”

Keith covered the distance between them and clasped Francesca’s hand and squeezed. “I think this is for the best.
You’re
the best. Maddie loves it here, and she loves you.”

“This is not what I want.” She fiddled with the silk Hermes scarf around her neck. “I want you to be happy. I want the best for you.” Stress and tension lines creased her forehead.

“I know. But I wouldn’t be happy if I married for all the wrong reasons.” He tugged on her soft hand. “Come, sit down. Let me explain what my plans are.”

***

Keith stared at the melting ice watering down his fourth Mount Gay and ginger ale for the night. Patrons at the Dog laughed and sang to some bluegrass band playing on the stage, but Keith didn’t hear a thing. The voice yelling inside his head had taken over, and he couldn’t seem to shut it up no matter how drunk he got.

It had been almost three months since that horrible day at the Downtown festival. The last time Keith saw Bertie. The last time anyone in town had seen Bertie. After that awkward meeting with Gail over cupcakes, Keith found out later that evening that Bertie had skipped town without leaving a forwarding address. Even her brother was clueless. Keith should know, he tried beating it out of him a few weeks ago and came away with a bloody lip and bruised ego for his efforts. Cal didn’t fare much better, with a swollen eye.

Gary had shut up tighter than a clam and only spoke to Keith when absolutely necessary about decorations for the house. And even Aunt Francesca had walked around wringing her hands and calling everyone in Harmony for any news of Bertie. She could not understand why Bertie had left when only two weeks remained before collecting her bonus. She’d been so close.

Keith knew.

The horror on Bertie’s face when she realized who Gail was painted a crystal-clear picture.

Keith had tried for days after the festival to forget about Bertie. He even went ring shopping in hopes of solidifying his commitment to Gail. But the only ring he could focus on was a perfect emerald cut, three-carat diamond flanked by two peridot baguettes…the color of Bertie’s green eyes. Not suitable for Gail.

Keith gave dating Gail his best shot. He had doubled his efforts in trying to get Maddie to accept her, but Maddie refused to bend and had fallen into a funk that Keith couldn’t shake. Finally, it took sweet, sensible Gail to read the writing on the wall. She’d called Keith and asked him to meet her for coffee and proceeded to dump him. She’d spewed the line he’d used a million times before: “It’s not you; it’s me.” Then she lobbed another ball and told him she’d met someone else. And before she left him to flounder in his cup, she told Keith that she’d suspected all along his heart never belonged to her, but to someone else. And the more she got to know him, the more certain she was. When he feigned surprise and tried back-pedaling, she narrowed her eyes and told him to get off his dumb ass and do something about it. Speechless, Keith could only stare at the back of her blond ponytail as she walked out of the coffee shop. Sweet, young Gail had the gumption to jilt a famous ex-tennis player and yes, had used the words
dumb
and
ass
. He sat in wonder at the absurdity of his life.

After that breakup, Keith’s options had hit an all-time low, and he thought it best to concede to Aunt Francesca and give in to her demands. He’d finally gotten Francesca to settle down the afternoon he met with her and explained his plans for the future. Harmony would soon be the home of the new Keith Morgan Tennis Academy. Keith had worked out a deal with the city council, pledging his support and money to rejuvenate the Jaycee Park and use the adjoining property to build his academy, which would teach tennis to all levels, including the underprivileged kids in the area. Francesca had remained quiet and listened and once he’d finished, she gave a curt nod, removed her reading glasses, and then exploded.

In a nutshell, she accused him of being a shortsighted, selfish bastard. And told him if he didn’t get off his ass and go after the best thing that had ever happened to him, life was going to pass him by. And yes, she used the words
bastard
and
ass
.

Keith pulled some bills from his pocket and tossed them on the table when a feminine hand reached out and scooped them up.

“Thanks. You can buy me a drink.”

He didn’t disguise his groan as Liza slid in the booth opposite him. She waved Sara Jean the waitress down and ordered a dirty martini.

“You look like shit,” she said.

“Don’t sugarcoat it or anything.”

“Oh, I don’t plan to. I can see that you’re dumber than a bucket of lint when it comes to your personal life, and I’m going to have to intervene.”

“Fuck. Spare me. I don’t need another person telling me what to do with my life. I’ve got the whole town coming after me with pitchforks and shotguns, or whatever you crazy Southerners carry.”

Liza gave him a slow, deliberate smile. “We Southerners like to tar and feather. How do you think we got the name Tar Heel State?”

“Yeah? Well, I don’t see how I’m the bad guy. I’m going to put Harmony on the map with the tennis academy. You guys should be kissing my ass for pouring money into this hick town.”

Liza thanked Sara Jean for her martini and brought the chilled glass to her lips. “The only way this town is ever going to kiss your fine behind is if you bring Bertie home.”

Keith pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping to ward off the beginnings of a massive hangover. “And how do you propose I do that? Hell, her brother doesn’t even know where she is. How the fuck am I supposed to know?”

“Oh ye of little faith. That’s where I come in.”

“Last time I checked, Bertie hated you.”

Liza fiddled with her cocktail napkin. “She doesn’t hate me. She has simply disliked me for about fourteen years, but that’s about to change.” Liza signaled Sara Jean over again. “Bring the Prince a big pot of hot coffee. He’s going to need it.”

Keith buried his head in his hands. “Why me?” he groaned.

“Don’t look so pathetic. I’m doing you a huge favor.”

Keith raised his brow. “Bullshit. What’s in it for you?”

Liza took a slow, deliberate sip of her martini, and then said, “Precious time for myself. I don’t know how much longer I can deliver meals to Mr. Carmichael and babysit Sweet Tea. So, just sit there and look hot and sexy while I tell you a story.”

“Does it have a happy ending?”

“That’s up to you.”

Shit.

***

Bertie flipped through a design magazine as she lolled on the sofa in Lucy’s living room. She’d been holed up in Lucy’s tiny apartment in Atlanta since she bolted from Harmony almost three months ago. The only person she’d told when she shoved all her personal belongings inside her beat-up Honda CR-V was Gary. She’d handed him the key to her house and made him swear on her most coveted Manolo Blahniks and his favorite glossy of Bradley Cooper that he wouldn’t tell anyone where she was. Not even Cal. Not even Aunt Franny. And not even Keith. Especially Keith.

She had no regrets so far. Okay, well maybe a few…like one hundred and fifty thousand regrets. She’d left before she could collect her bonus, and she’d let Dwelling Place down. And she missed her volunteer work and bringing meals to old Mr. Carmichael. And she even missed babysitting Sweet Tea. But mostly, she missed working on the old Victorian and bringing it back to life. Bertie would never get to see it completely finished. She had no intentions of ever walking through the rooms of that house again as long as Keith still owned it with his perfect, blond, blue-eyed young bride. That was a hurt that just kept on hurting.

But all that was in the past. Bertie didn’t think about Keith or Maddie anymore. Okay, maybe she thought about them like every thirty seconds, but hey, she’d gotten better. It used to be every ten. Bertie took her little victories where she could—like living in a new, exciting city with her good friend. And working at a new, exciting design firm. Well, exciting might be stretching it a bit—or more like stretching it ten miles.

Bertie’s new responsibilities consisted of sorting through tubs and tubs of discarded fabric samples tossed aside by much busier designers. Oh, and then filing away tear sheets from thousands of furniture catalogs. But the highlight of her day had to be making sure all the paint chips were clipped back into their binders in numerical order.

Too bad if her creative juices were drying up like an old peach pit and a trained monkey could do her job; she was in a new, big city. It didn’t matter that she sat in traffic for two hours commuting to and from work. And it didn’t matter that her cubicle was relegated to inside the bowels of the office and she never saw the light of day. None of that mattered. Because this was where she wanted to be and this was what she’d dreamed of for years.

So why did she feel so miserable?

Lucy had been kind enough to open her home to Bertie, but Bertie knew that she needed to get off her butt and find a place of her own. Even though Lucy never complained, Bertie was sure she’d gotten tired of sharing her tiny bathroom with the pedestal sink, cramped shower, and no storage.

Bertie sighed and threw the unread magazine back on the coffee table. It was Thursday night and she had nowhere to go and no one who needed her. She had approached Lucy’s old neighbor next door, Mrs. Bunkins, to help with her groceries, but Mrs. Bunkins gripped her tote full of food as if Bertie was a street thug trying to rob her. And finally, Mrs. Bunkins ordered Lucy to call off her annoying roommate. Of course, Lucy didn’t put it in those exact terms, but Bertie got the message.

Lucy poked her head out from the kitchen. “You hungry for dinner? I’m heating up some leftover pizza.”

Bertie’s stomach growled, but not in a good way. She didn’t think she could eat another pizza for the rest of her life. She missed the food from the Dog, and she missed her kitchen with the cracked cork floors and the broken green subway tile. “Nah. I’m not hungry. You go ahead without me,” she said in a lackluster voice.

Lucy gave Bertie a measured once over. “Suit yourself. But if you ask me, you’re being a complete idiot.”

Bertie’s head jerked up. “What?”

“It’s obvious you’re miserable. You hate it here and you should go back home.”

Bertie scrambled up from the sofa and rushed to her side. “That’s not true, Lulu. I love living with you. I’m sorry I’ve been such a lousy roommate and I know you’re probably sick of me. I promise to start looking for a place this weekend. But I’ve loved the time we’ve spent together. I’ve really missed you. You’re one of my oldest friends.”

Lucy slid Bertie a strange, almost sad look. “I’ve loved being with you too. I hope you still feel that way when…” Lucy mumbled the last part of her sentence.

“When what? What are you talking about?”

Lucy hesitated when the doorbell to their apartment rang. “Are we expecting anybody?” Bertie asked.

“Here, drink this.” Lucy shoved a glass of red wine at Bertie. “You’re going to need it.”

“Huh? Lucy, you’re acting weird. What’s going on?”

The doorbell chimed again. Lucy pushed Bertie down into a kitchen chair. “Drink. Don’t move. I’ll be back.”

Bertie’s hand shook as she sipped her wine. Something had Lucy Doolan, Bertie’s good friend since fifth grade, acting weird, and Bertie didn’t know what it was. Bertie took a steadier sip of wine as she listened for voices. Lucy had been acting kind of jumpy since she’d come home from work, but Bertie had been so caught up in her personal self-pity party that she hadn’t bothered to inquire. Something had put that strain around Lucy’s gray eyes.

“Bertha Mavis, don’t you look like shit.”

Not something—someone! Bertie wheezed as her wine went down the wrong pipe, and her eyes bugged out at none other than Liza Palmer standing in the doorway. Bertie coughed and sputtered, trying to catch her breath.