Meghann’s smile faded. Claire knew her sister was thinking of that summer, so many years ago, when Meg had taken charge and changed all their lives.
“I didn’t mean anything bad by that,” Claire said softly. “It’s such a damn minefield between us.”
“I know.”
“Now, about the cake …”
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
“I’ve gotten the permit for the park, and the tent is reserved from the party rental store. I’ll go over the final details of setup with them tomorrow on my way to Costco.” Roy sat back with a flourish. “That’s it.”
“And the lights?” Meghann asked, checking off the tent from her list.
“Ten thousand white Christmas lights, forty-two Chinese lanterns, and twenty hanging lights. Check.”
Meghann marked her list accordingly. That was it. Everything on her list had been taken care of. In the past two days, she’d worked her ass off, checking and rechecking each detail. She’d arranged for every single thing that Roy had wanted. It was going to be, he declared at least three times a day, the best wedding ever to take place in Hayden.
Meghann didn’t think that was much of a standard, but she was learning to keep her cynical thoughts to herself. She’d even been working so hard that she slept at night. The only problem now was her dreams.
They all seemed to be about Joe. When she closed her eyes, she remembered everything about that night. The blue eyes that were so sad … the way he’d whispered something—a name, maybe—while they were making love.
Making love.
She’d never thought of it that way, not with anyone.
“Meghann? You’re getting that mushy look again. Are you thinking about the hors d’oeuvres?”
She smiled at Roy. “You should have seen Carla’s face when I told her she’d have to do up a tray of pigs in blankets.”
“I hate to admit it, but … they are tasty, you know. Dipped in ketchup. Even better dragged in baked beans. They’ll probably disappear long before the Brie and paté.”
“I didn’t let her do paté.” Meghann consulted her list again. It was a habit, checking and rechecking everything.
Roy touched her arm. “Sweetheart, you’re done. All you have to do is show up at the rehearsal tonight and then get a good night’s sleep.”
“Thanks, Roy. I don’t know what I would have done without you on all of this.”
“Believe me, it has been an unexpected pleasure to work on this wedding. My next event is a potluck keggar in the Clausens’ cow field to celebrate little Todd’s acceptance to community college.”
After the meeting, she headed back toward her car. She’d walked several blocks before she realized she was going in the wrong direction. She was just about to turn around when she saw the garage. There, tucked back in a thicket of trees and runaway salal, was Joe’s cabin.
She had a sudden urge to walk up to the door, say, Hey, Joe, and follow him to the bedroom. The sex had been great. Hell, it had been better than great. So good that she’d sneaked off in the middle of the night. She’d always been better at good-bye than good morning.
The light in his kitchen went on. She saw a shadow cross the window, a flash of silvery hair.
She almost went to him.
Almost.
The one thing she knew for certain—had learned from hard-won experience—was that anonymous sex was all she could handle.
She turned and walked back to her car.
Joe stood at the kitchen sink, listening to the water running. It gargled down the rusty pipes. He was supposed to be washing his lunch dishes—that’s why he’d come over here, after all—but he couldn’t make his hands work.
She was standing across the street, looking at his house.
Meghann. Friends call me Meg.
She stood perfectly still, her arms crossed, her pointy chin held up just the slightest bit. Beside her, a huge hanging pot of flowers sent a red trailer of blossoms along her upper arm. She didn’t seem to notice. Probably didn’t notice their scent, either. She didn’t strike him as a romantic woman.
“Meghann.” He said her name softly, surprised by the unexpected rush of longing that came with it. He’d thought about her too often in the hours since their meeting.
He told himself it meant nothing, was simply an excess of hormones in a body that had been cold for years. But now, looking at her, wanting her again, he knew he was lying to himself.
Across the street, she took a step toward him.
His heartbeat sped up, his hands clenched.
Then she turned and walked away, quickly.
“Thank God,” he said, wishing he meant it.
He shut the water off and dried his hands. Slowly, he went to the mantel and stood in front of a picture of Diana. In it, she stood at the base of the Arc de Triomphe in Paris, waving at him. She was smiling brightly.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, touching the glass.
The phone rang, startling him.
He knew who it was, of course. “Hey, Gina,” he answered, reaching for his work gloves.