“A big one.” Jill said, letting out a gusty breath. “Forget the pity party. Have a real party! Live a little.”
Meredith tapped her fingers against the wheel. “You mean Tanner.”
“Yes, I mean Tanner! The man is smokin’. You should hear his students talk. He’s super smart, and he tells them stuff that isn’t in the textbooks. And he’s into you. Any of the women at Hairy’s tonight would have killed to get his attention. Didn’t you see it?”
Yes, she’d noticed the gazes, the overtures. She’d expected him to give up on her and give someone else a chance. But he hadn’t. It was flattering. But deep down, it also made her suspicious.
Why would he keep dogging her when she said she wouldn’t go out with him? Was he one of those guys who liked the chase more than the catch? His history of working overseas with no roots suggested that he didn’t want a relationship, but what did she really know about him?
You won’t know unless you give him a chance,
Divorcée Woman advised.
You’ve got to stop talking to me, she fired back, mostly because now she had two people making her feel unreasonable.
You’re nuts if you let a man like that slip through your fingers.
She turned to look at Jill. “I’m sorry about what I said before. I love living with you. Even with all your crazy decorations.”
Jill reached for her, and they hugged like two long-lost pretzels. “I’m sorry too.”
“It’s okay,” Meredith whispered, her face cooling from the blistering onslaught of emotion. “We’re okay.”
Jill tucked her head into Meredith’s neck. “I love you, Mermaid. I’m glad you’re home.”
“I love you too, and I’m happy I’m here.”
They separated and smiled. Jill wiped a tear slipping down her face.
“Since we’re having a moment, I think I should tell you something,” Meredith murmured, her face breaking into a grin.
“What is it?”
“Brian said something about you banging Tanner. What the hell did you do?”
“I told him Tanner was my older lover.” She kicked at her purse. “Damn, I was hoping he’d suffer longer.”
“He got pretty upset, watching Tanner beat you.” She filled her in on their conversation.
“He’s right, Mere,” Jill responded flatly. “Once I walk away, that’s it. And anyway, he was the one who left me in the first place.”
“You should think about forgiving him, Jillie. You used to be best friends.”
“It’s different now. We’re different now. Let’s leave it be,” she said in a rush, suddenly fascinated with picking lint off her multi-colored print peasant shirt.
“Who’s running now, Jill?”
“Bitch,” she muttered without heat. “You sound like Jemma. Fine, you’ve made your point. Do you feel better now?”
Meredith’s chuckle carried in the quiet car. “No, but I do feel like a good sister.”
“Okay, so we’ll both think about not running away. Deal?”
Meredith winced when Jill thrust a hand at her. She took it with dread, icicles spreading around her heart. Could she live up to her end of the bargain?
Even so, she murmured, “Deal,” and put the car into gear, taking them home.
Chapter 15
T
wo weeks later, Meredith was no closer to going out with Tanner despite his continued hovering. She could all but hear the clock ticking in her head. Had she really thought she could find Mr. Right in Nora Roberts Land in three months? She had until after Thanksgiving to write her article, which only gave her another month.
Meanwhile, she was doing her best to placate Jill. Eating crow—e.g., setting aside a scared vow—sucked. Her sister was giving her looks that could have turned even the most faithful prophet into a pillar of salt.
Meredith had a real connection with Tanner—she knew it, and heck, even her subconscious knew it. One morning she jolted awake from a dream about him drenched in sweat, shivering in the silence. But wanting him was different than being with him, and a part of her couldn’t seem to take that next step. She was dragging her feet big time.
Her boss continued to enjoy her email updates on her dating antics. She was glad that someone was. Karen was still confident Meredith would find Mr. Right—and if it didn’t happen, she’d agreed Meredith could write about dating in a small town. She was glad the pressure was off, but a story like that wouldn’t prove Rick-the-Dick was wrong about Nora’s books, nor would it help her find her happily-ever after.
She shut off her chatty mind so she could enjoy her second coffee outing—see, progress—with Dr. Kevin Planey, an archeology professor specializing in Colorado’s Native American artifacts. He was telling her about some cave dwellings an hour away he wanted to show her this weekend. He was interesting, and well, gangly.
Okay, he was no Indiana Jones, but the archeology thing reminded her of Dr. Jake Greystone in Nora’s
Birthright.
The door chimed, signaling a new customer. She choked on her lukewarm tea as her grandfather walked in. He waved, tapped his cane on the floor, and headed to the counter. Jill wasn’t working, which was the only reason Meredith had agreed to meet Kevin at Don’t Soy With Me. She was afraid of what Sista Pimp might do if she were present.
Jemma greeted him with a bright smile. “Hi, Mr. Hale. What brings you here? Jill’s not working, but Meredith’s having coffee.”
“I’m not here for them. You do sell coffee in this establishment?” he harrumphed. “I’d like a cup.”
“What kind?”
“Just coffee.”
Jemma pointed to the chalkboard. “We have lots of different kinds of coffee, Mr. Hale. Why don’t you see what sounds good?”
Meredith turned back to Kevin and nudged her shoulder toward the counter. “That’s my grandfather.”
“Ah, the legend himself,” Kevin replied as Meredith turned back to watch the train wreck she knew was coming.
“You sell all that crap, and at those prices?” Grandpa harrumphed as he dug out his wallet. “Just give me the one that tastes the most like plain coffee, Jemma.” He leaned forward, adjusting his glasses. “Vanilla shot? Who puts that crap in coffee? It goes in a cake, not coffee.”
“Yes, Mr. Hale. I’ll get you a dark roast.” She had his coffee on the counter in thirty seconds flat. When he pulled out a five, she pushed it back. “It’s on the house. Really.”
He slapped the money down. “Just because I’m old doesn’t mean I can’t pay for my own coffee. Take my money, girlie, or I’m going to write an article about elderly discrimination in this establishment.”
Meredith muffled her chuckle. Arthur Hale was as likely to make a claim of elderly discrimination as she was to announce Rick-the-Dick had “found” himself and confessed his sins like today’s
New York Times
had reported.
Jemma crossed her arms. “What if I’d like to treat you for being such a nice man and my best friend’s grandpa?”
He coughed to cover his reaction. “You’re a sweet girl, Jemma. That Collins boy was an idiot to let you slip away.”
A tear slid down her pixie-like face. Poor kid.
“Here, now,” Grandpa crooned. “Don’t cry, honey. Come give an old man a hug.”
She came around the counter, and he enfolded her in his arms, patting her hair. She sniffed and pulled back. “Thanks. Now it’s really on the house.”
“No. Take my money. Gotta support my granddaughter’s business.”
“Thanks, Mr. Hale.” Jemma kissed his weathered cheek and accepted the bill.
“As I said, a sweet girl. Come over to dinner with Jill soon.” He winked, picked up the coffee, and walked away after waving away his change.
When he sat on an overstuffed ottoman and drew out some papers and his faithful red pen, Meredith’s first impression was confirmed. He was here for her.
“I think my grandpa wants to talk to me.”
“No problem. I figured he was distracting you. I’ll call you later about this weekend.”
His head darted forward to deliver a kiss, but his long nose smacked into her cheek when she jerked back. Was he nuts? Her grandpa was sitting a few yards away.
“Bye, Meredith.” He hurried out of the shop, fumbling with his briefcase.
She took a deep breath, picked up her purse, and walked over to her grandfather, taking the adjoining ottoman. “Hi, Grandpa.”
He lifted his gaze, clicked his red pen, and shoved it into his shirt pocket. “Meredith.”
She leaned forward, balancing her elbows on her knees.
“Another kid went to the ER last night puking his guts out,” he said to her. “Same MO. Booze and marijuana.”
“I know you think your famous gut is telling you something, but there’s nothing funky in the marijuana. The tox screens don’t show anything else. It’s alcohol poisoning, and I’m not researching it anymore. There’s no story.”
He harrumphed and poked his belly. “There’s nearly forty years of gut in here.”
“Then you look.” She flicked the paper he was marking. “Is that my article?” There were only a few red slashes. It would be nice to receive a near-clean copy. He was always changing her articles, and making them better. She didn’t like to admit to herself how much she was still learning from him day in, day out.
“No. This is Tanner’s op-ed. Nice piece. He has a good voice. Strong style. Knows how to put what he sees on paper.”
She couldn’t help the jolt of…jealousy? Envy? Her grandfather always praised her, but his opinion mattered to her more than ever, especially since she’d taken over her dad’s duties. To be pissy, she crossed her arms and asked, “How’s your coffee?”
“About as shitty as the coffee I had in Moscow in 1962 when I interviewed Khrushchev.”
Snorting, she reached for it and took a sip. “Tastes pretty good to me.”
He pushed his glasses back up his nose. “Well, your tastes are a bit in question at the moment. Who was Big Bird over there?”
She muffled her laughter with a cough.
“Got a cold, girlie?”
“Yes, there’s a little tickle in my throat.”
“Hah! Don’t be a smart ass. You know as well as I do that if you had children with that man, your kids would sprout wings and fly.”
“Grandpa!”
“Well, it’s true. Hales have better taste than that. Where’s yours gone?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You damn well do.” He pushed his papers aside. “You’re off gallivanting with every man in town—even ones who resemble birds. I heard Jill mention the Cheese Man.”
“Are you listening through keyholes again, Grandpa?”
His brows slammed together. “I told you it was a good way to get information. You telling me to stop being a reporter?”
“I’m not a story.”
“No, but you’re a real piece of work. People are talking about how you’ve got the word rebound tattooed on your butt. I hope that’s a euphemism.”
“Oh, God, Grandpa!”
“People are also saying you’re on a Man Bender. I know my granddaughter, and she’s not the town slut like Rita Bellins.”
“Thanks, Grandpa.” Meredith leaned back in the ottoman, her head buzzing from his words.
This
is what people were saying about her?
“I’m wondering if you’ve lost your mind. Your parents are too concerned about how you feel about the divorce to ask what the hell is going on with you. Your mother is wondering if she should come home.” He leaned forward. “Are you going to fall apart?”
She wanted to put her hands in her hair and yell. “No.”
“Good, that’s what I thought. I think this bender is part of the reason you came home.”
“What makes you think that?”
“I have eyes. The only thing I can’t reconcile is why you’re not going out with Tanner instead of these men who look like birds and are made of cheese. I know how a woman looks at a man when she likes him. That’s how you look at Tanner, but he’s not even on your list.” He patted his shirt pocket and took out his pen. “Makes an old man wonder.”
Pressing her hands to her temples, she met his clear blue gaze. “I’m only going out with men. Is that really such a crime?”
“No.” He clicked his pen in rapid fashion. “But this…volume is against your character, which means there’s some deeper motive. You aren’t trying to make that asshole ex-husband of yours jealous so he’ll take you back?”
“Good God, no!”
He popped in a red hot from his pocket. “Glad to hear it. I didn’t think you were the type to want to be a politician’s wife, but then again, I never understood what you saw in him. He didn’t beg you to reconcile to shore up his chances with the voters, did he?”
“Holy…no. Even if he had, I wouldn’t have done it.”
“Well, thank God that you have some sense. I was afraid I’d have to find some old associates in New York who could arrange his demise.”
“You’re not serious.”
“You’re my granddaughter. If you were crazy enough to let that rat bastard back into your life, I’d have to take extreme measures.”
“You’d never do something like that.”
“I’m an old man. I wouldn’t live long in jail.”
She could only stare at him. Arthur Hale was known for saying some pretty hyperbolic statements in his time, but this…
“You actually mean it.”
“No one messes with my granddaughter a second time.”
Her throat squeezed painfully. She pressed her hand to it. His words made her feel so loved and protected. Who would have imagined her grandpa turning into The Great Protector? She reached for his hand.
“Well, now that I know that isn’t the reason, do you want to tell me why you’re on this Man Bender?”
“Stop staying that!”
“Is this about a story?”
“Grandpa!” She looked around to make sure no one was listening, but the other patrons all seemed too preoccupied with their digital devices and coffee to bother.
“It makes the most sense, now that I think of it. You want to tell me more?”
The lie caught in her tight throat for ten seconds. “There is no story.” She could say she was sorry later. If he blew her cover, she was toast in this town. And she wouldn’t have her ultimate revenge on Rick-the-Dick, or her own Nora Roberts Land.
“Lying to me now, girlie?”
She gulped like she was a ten-year-old who had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar before dinner. “Please don’t ask me anymore, Grandpa. I’d explain if I could.”