String Beans (The Girls of Beachmont #2) (12 page)

The rest of the day was a blur. Clients, papers,
phone calls—all of it happened without me being mentally present that
day. I’d taken the first step toward dropping the excess emotional baggage, and
yet it scared me.

I hadn’t talked to my parents in a couple of
weeks, so I dialed their number on my way home. The convenient thing about
working for Mr. Bateman was that his office was only four blocks away, and I
enjoyed the walk. It would give me enough time to talk to my parents and enjoy
the beautiful afternoon.

Do I tell them?

“Is this Viola? My daughter?” Mom asked excitedly.

“Who else would it be?” I laughed. “Your
other
daughter.”

“And how is Jolie?” she asked sweetly. My parents
loved Jo like she was their own.

“You’ll be happy to know that she moved out to L.A.
and is living with me.”

“That does make me happy.”

“How’s Dad?”

“Working as usual. Busy. Are you doing okay out
there? Do you have enough money?”

Though they weren’t supportive when I got married,
I knew it came from a good place. When I’d told them that it was over, they
weren’t entirely surprised, but fortunately, they had kept tight-lipped about
their opinions.

“I’m okay. Really. I have a job, which is part of
why you haven’t heard from me lately. And I made some friends out here, so
they’ve done a good job of keeping me distracted.”

“And what about Will?” Her voice went low when she
asked about her son-in-law.

“I talked to him last week,” I admitted. “He
apologized and swore things would be different.”

“Is this something you’re considering?” she asked,
and I knew it scared her to ask.

“Not just no, but hell no!”

She exhaled, but I spoke again before she got the
chance.

“My new job is as an administrative assistant with
a law office.”

“Vi, you were meant for so much more,” she said,
the disappointment evident in her tone.

“Mom. Please don’t. I’m happy…or at least getting
there. Besides, there’s an upside to working for a lawyer.”

“And that would be?”

“He’s agreed to draw up the divorce papers for
me,” I admitted past the lump in my throat. I took a deep breath and continued.
“I don’t know when I’ll do anything, but when I’m ready, I’ll have the papers
in hand.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“I’m not sure. I know it’s a step in the right
direction, but it doesn’t make it any easier. But the fact that he cheated…does.”

“I know this hasn’t been easy on you, but you’re
so strong and determined. Who knows, in a year, maybe two, this will all be a
small blip in the story of your life.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

We made small talk about Dad and my grandma and
before I knew it, I looked up and realized I was already at my apartment. “I gotta
go. I just got home, but just in case, no one else knows about this.”

“Got it.”

“Except Dad. You can tell him,” I told her, though
I knew she’d tell him with or without my permission.

“Thanks for calling, honey.”

“Love you, give my love to Dad.”

I hung up and walked the three flights of stairs
up to my apartment. I refused to take the elevator because it seemed too old
and creaky for my comfort.

God forbid I break a leg someday. This would be hell.

“Hey neighbor,” I heard Wyatt say as I got to my
door. I turned and smiled, seeing him leaning against the wall outside of his
apartment.

“I was just about to go to the coffee shop.” I smiled.
“I guess you’re not there.”

“Nope. I’m here.”

“So I see.”

He pushed off the wall, and walked a few steps
toward me and tilted his head with a knowing grin. “So you were looking for
me?”

“Just to tell you that I can’t do dinner,” I
answered.

“You saw that, huh? So you’re telling me you were
going to go out of your way to tell me you can’t do dinner?” he asked with a
laugh.

“It’s not like I have your number.”

He extended his hand, palm up. “Well damn, Vi…if
you wanted my number so bad, you just needed to ask.”

I looked down at his hand and back at him.

“What?”

“Your phone so you can have my number.”

“Do you ever give up?”

“Not when I think I’m right about something…or in
this case, someone. It’s part of my charm.”

I conceded, against that voice screaming in my
head that he was like all other cheating men, and handed him my phone. His
fingers moved across the screen quickly and then he handed it back to me.

“All set.” He winked.

“Did you get settled in?” I asked, ignoring the
way his fingers grazed mine.

“Not quite,” he said, pointing over his shoulder.

“Well, if you need any help, just let us know,” I
said, shoving my key to unlock my door. I offered a wave and stepped inside,
flipping on the light switch when I heard him speak again.

“Since you’re offering…”

I leaned back to look at him and his smile was
still in place. “I was just being nice…but since you’re asking…give me ten and
I’ll be over,” I answered.

“Sounds good.”

I closed the door behind me and pressed my back
against it.

“Hello?” I called out.

“Back here,” Jolie said from her room. She was in the
middle of changing her clothes and I looked at her curiously. “Date.”

“What? A date? Already? You’ve been here all of
three days,” I reminded her.

“Yeah, it’s been forever,” she teased.

“Shit,” I muttered and threw myself across her
bed. “That sucks for me.”

“Why? Were you interested?” She laughed and I narrowed
my eyes at her playfully.

“I told Wyatt I’d go over and help him get settled
into his and Dallas’s place. I was going to drag you with me.”

“Sorry, hon. No can do. But you’ll be fine.”

“Great,” I groaned, though I realized I wasn’t as
irritated as I thought I should be.

I think I’m excited to hang out with Wyatt…without Jolie around.

I let that thought roll around in my head for a
moment and smiled.

“That’s what I thought,” Jolie said, as if she
could read my mind. “Go hang out with your
friend
.”

***

“I thought you were going to bail on me,” Wyatt
said when he answered the door.

“I waited until Jolie left. Hot date,” I said,
stepping inside and looking for Dallas.

“He had a date, too,” Wyatt answered for me.

“Oh.”

I wasn’t sure how I felt about being completely alone
with Wyatt. I kept reminding myself that it was harmless—and Jolie was
right, he was my friend. He’d already stepped up and helped me by telling me
about the job with Mr. Bateman. It was my turn to help him.

“So where should we start?” I asked, slapping my
hands together.

“The bedroom?” he said with his signature smirk.

I swallowed hard and put on my game face. “Bedroom
it is.”

Dallas had the same layout as my apartment, but
flipped. I knew where the bedrooms were, and I even knew which one belonged to
Dallas. But I followed Wyatt down the hall to his room since I was in his
place. When I looked inside, I started laughing at the wreck he’d managed to
create.

“Wow. You weren’t kidding. You
do
need help.”

I was stepping over piles of things and around
boxes marked as to what they were. His queen-sized bed was pushed against the
far wall and was made up, but otherwise it was obvious he hadn’t done much
unpacking.

“You don’t really need to help…I’ve got it,” he
said as he stepped around me. “But you can keep me company.”

I looked around the room, assessing the work ahead,
and finally met his gaze. “Yeah. I guess that’ll be okay.”

As I did a small spin to find someplace to sit, I
remembered there was only the bed. The floor appeared to be the safest spot,
the
friend-zone
spot, so I grabbed a
pillow from his bed and made myself comfortable.

Wyatt tilted his head and smirked. “Really?”

“What?”

“You can sit on the bed.”

“Well, some people are particular about their
beds,” I said. “Besides, it’s all made up and I didn’t want to ruin it.”

“Whatever you say,” he answered and lifted a box
and set it on top of another. “How’s it going with the new job?”

“It’s great. Mr. Bateman is nice to work for.”

“That’s good.”

“How are your parents?” I asked. I didn’t know
much about them besides the small bit he’d shared, and I felt bad for not
asking before.

“They’re good, thanks.”

A silence fell over the room and I looked at some
of the frames he had leaning against the wall, trying to gain insight into the
man that was determined to be part of my life. There was a framed Beatles
record and a crate of albums lying next to it that I wanted to look through, but
I didn’t want to be nosy. In the far corner of the room, I spotted a guitar
resting on a stand and he caught me looking at it.

“You told me that you used to teach music.” It
wasn’t a question, so I remained quiet and waited for him to say more. “Do you
miss it?”

“The kids were great. I had some young ones, but I
loved working with the teenagers.”

“Did you always like music?” he asked over his
shoulder, moving from a box to his dresser.

“Always,” I laughed. “I loved listening to
everything from classical to rock. I begged and begged for a guitar for years
and I think when my parents got tired of hearing me whine, they caved. For my ninth
birthday, I got my first. They even got me lessons. They didn’t think I would
stick with it.”

Wyatt walked over and grabbed his guitar.

“Why is that?” He sat down on floor next to me and
his fingers began to form chords while he lazily strummed. He was close enough
that I could touch him—if I wanted to.

“I didn’t know you played.”

“You never asked.” He grinned. He played a few
more chords and then stopped to give me his attention. “So you were saying?”

I thought for a moment before I remembered what we
were talking about. Watching a guy work the neck of a guitar always distracted
me in the best way. I smiled at the thought and tried to get back to our conversation.

“I was the kid who would see something and decide
‘that’s what I’m gonna do when I grow up,’ and it didn’t matter if only guys
could do it. I wanted to play football, be an astronaut, be a stuntman, and
then I learned to play the guitar and all I wanted to do was write music.”

“So you’ve written stuff?”

“I have.” I smiled.

“You should do that more,” Wyatt said, pointing at
my face. “Smile.”

“When I talk about music, I can’t help but smile.”

“And you won’t do open
mic
because…?”

“Wyatt…”

“I’m just asking a question. No pressure.”

“Because I haven’t written anything in a while.”

He placed the guitar in my arms and I began softly
strumming a familiar tune.

“How long is a while?”

I closed my eyes and shook my head. I didn’t want
to think of how long it had been.

“I don’t know. Let’s just say I haven’t felt
inspired for a long time.”

I hated that I had lost that part of me and never
noticed it was slipping away. And I hated more that I hadn’t done anything to
get it back. The things that I’d written up to then were single sentences that
amounted to nothing more than a fleeting thought.

“Enough about that, okay?” I forced a smile and
angled myself so I was facing Wyatt.

He leaned back and watched me warily but relaxed.

“Do you still miss New York?”

He leaned forward and dropped his chin.

Oh shit! He’s going to kiss me!

“If I tell you something, do you promise not to
make fun of me?”

“Okay.”

“The first time I talked to you was about the time
I stopped missing it so much,” he answered as he leaned back.

Holy crap! Please kiss me!

“Wow, that was—wow.” I sighed. My eyes met
his and I felt my pulse begin to race. “Are you screwing with me right now?”

“Not even a little,” he said, his voice low and
deep. He reached for the guitar and placed it on the bed behind us.