“Ah. Footloose and fancy-free. Lucky you. Kids?”
She knew he was just being nice, trying to find some common ground for conversation, but she didn’t care. Tonight had been brutal. One more reminder that she was a woman alone in the world and she’d probably scream. Normally she was proud of her independence, but this small-town crowd made her feel as if she lacked something important. “I’m sorry, Harold. I need to go now.”
“What about bowling?”
“I don’t bowl.” She walked across the living room and came up beside Claire, gently putting her hand on her sister’s shoulder.
Claire turned. She looked so happy right then it took Meghann’s breath away. When she saw Meghann, she laughed. “Let me guess. You’re not a bowler.”
“Oh, I love bowling. Really,” she added at her sister’s skeptical look. “I have my own ball.” She knew immediately that she’d gone too far with that one.
“You do, huh?” Claire leaned against Bobby, who was talking animatedly to Charlotte’s husband.
“Unfortunately, I have a few last-minute details I need to go over for tomorrow. I have to get up early.”
Claire nodded. “I understand, Meg. I really do.”
“I thought I’d call Mama again, too.”
Claire’s happy look faded. “Do you think she’ll show up?”
Meghann wished she could protect Claire from Mama. “I’ll do my best to get her here.”
Claire nodded.
“Well. Bye. I’ll tell Gina why I’m leaving.”
Fifteen minutes later, Meghann was in her car, speeding down the country road toward Hayden. She had the top down, and the cool night air whipped through her hair.
She tried to forget the rehearsal dinner, get the hurtful memories out of her mind, but she couldn’t do it. Her sister’s well-meaning friends had managed to underscore the emptiness of Meg’s life.
She saw the sign for Mo’s Fireside Tavern and slammed on the brakes.
It was a bad idea to go in, she knew. There was nothing but trouble in there. And yet …
She parked on the street and went inside the smoky bar. It was crowded tonight.
Friday. Of course.
Men sat on every barstool, at every table. There were a few women scattered throughout the crowd, but damn few.
She made her way through the place, boldly checking out every man. She got enough smiles to know that she could definitely find one here tonight.
She had toured the whole place and made her way back to the front door when she realized why she was really here.
“Joe,” she said softly, surprised. She honestly hadn’t known that she wanted him.
That wasn’t good.
She left the bar. Out on the street, she took a deep breath of sweet mountain air. She never slept with a man twice. Or rarely, anyway. As her friend Elizabeth had once pointed out, Meghann would sometimes make a New Year’s resolution to quit screwing college kids, and then date men without hair for a week or two, but that was pretty much the extent of her so-called dating life.
The amazing thing was, she didn’t want to cull through the possibilities in the bar and bring home a stranger.
She wanted …
Joe.
She stood at her car, looking down the street at his small cabin. Light glowed from the windows.
“No,” she said aloud. She shouldn’t do it, but she was walking anyway, crossing the street, and entering his yard, which smelled of honeysuckle and jasmine. At the door, she paused, wondering what in the hell she was doing.
Then she knocked. There was a long silence. No one answered.
She twisted the knob and went inside. The cabin was dark and quiet. A single lamp glowed with soft light, and a fire crackled in the hearth.
“Joe?” Cautiously, she stepped forward.
No answer.
A shiver crept along her spine. She sensed that he was here, close by, burrowed into the darkness like a wounded animal, watching her.
She was being ridiculous. He simply wasn’t home. And she shouldn’t be here.
She started to turn for the door when she saw the photographs. They were everywhere—on the coffee table, the end tables, the windowsills, the mantel.
Frowning, she walked from place to place looking at the pictures. They were all of the same woman, a lovely blond with a Grace Kelly kind of elegance. There was something familiar about her. Meghann picked one up, smoothed her finger across the cheap Plexiglas frame. In this photograph, the woman was clearly trying to make pie dough from scratch. There was flour everywhere. She wore an apron that read: Kiss the Cook. Her smile was infectious. Meghann couldn’t help smiling along with her.
“Do you always break into other people’s homes and paw through their things?”
Meghann jumped back. Her fingers went numb—just for a second, but it was time enough. The picture crashed to the floor. She turned around, looking for him. “Joe? It’s me, Meghann.”