Incompatibly Yours: Charity Anthology Supporting Fertility Research
A.C. Bextor, Teresa Gabelman, S.R. Grey, Nina Levine
Prologue
RYLEIGH
Home.
Summer's Bay, Iowa, the small town my fiancé and I have returned to after being away at college for four years, hasn't changed.
Mr. Valentine, the town's sweet and smiling mailman, still casually walks from house to house delivering the packages and mail. Just like when I was young, kids are playing football in the empty fields down the street from my childhood home until the streetlights come on, signaling the day is over and it's time to head inside. And the one stoplight downtown still changes from red to flashing yellow once the clock strikes 7:00 p.m.
My meddling, but always loving, parents still farm the fields until the last edge of the summer sun sets. My seventeen-year-old little sister, Maggie, still amuses everyone around her with her crazy character and even crazier antics. And my dog, Anna Lee, still chases everything that moves faster than she can.
Nope. Nothing in this town has changed since I've been gone.
Nothing that is, except for me.
Chapter One
RYLEIGH
"You're not leaving this table yet, Ryleigh Ann Davis. At least not until you tell me how Myles proposed," she demands before continuing, "Woman, it's been months since you've been back to visit, and now that you're here to stay, I hate that I hardly recognize you. You look…."
My hands sweat and my heart races, waiting to hear the words my childhood best friend will use to describe how I look to her. However, if anyone is able to see through my blissful fa?ade, it's Kate.
Feigning contentment, I aim to reassure her. "I'm great."
"Great," she repeats with noted suspicion. Her eyes bore into mine, waiting for me to take her bait and lash out with an objection.
Straightening in my chair, I focus on her certain disappointment with confidence and reiterate, "Yes. I'm great."
As she casually plays with her napkin, running the edges through her fingertips, she probes quietly and without any enthusiasm, "When's the big day?"
"August twelfth," I reply. "It'll be hot as hell, but Myles doesn't want to wait until fall."
"August?" she gasps, before sinking back in her chair and taking another drink of her beer. "Good grief. That's just four weeks away. Clearly, your man still doesn't mess around."
No, he doesn't.
Myles Morgan is notorious for his unwavering determination to get what he wants. Both Kate and I have known this about him since we were kids in elementary school.
His undeniably wholesome good looks, coupled with his poignant and persistent charm, are hard for anyone to ignore. Standing just over six feet tall, he towers over my five-foot-four-inch frame. His dark eyes may appear faintly haunted, but are captivating just the same. He wears his hair cropped short and unless we're home alone doing nothing, he rarely dresses down. Suffice it to say, in comparison to other men in this farming town, Myles is considered well-manicured.
"It doesn't surprise me," she states. "I mean, that you'd be getting married so fast. Myles Morgan has always been pretty sure of himself."
"How's that?"
Rolling her eyes, she looks down and nods to my generous, if not a little too flashy, engagement ring. "Myles never did anything slow or small. For as long as we've known him he's always gotten exactly who or what he wanted. Now that he's decided he wants you committed to him for the rest of his life, his rushing to the altar makes sense."
I get what she's saying.
Back in high school, Myles was captain of the football team, president of our high school's debate team, and also student council president. Because of all his varied accomplishments, he was also the one boy every girl wanted to belong to. Even the teachers at our high school would study him with curiosity and admiration. And Myles always noticed.
"He's grown a lot over the past four years, Kate," I defend. "You don't know him. He's not exactly the same person."
"None of us are, but…" She focuses on her bottle of beer while choosing her words. "We both know growing up Myles was a bully. So I certainly hope he's grown some. I don't know him anymore, though."
As a kid, Myles rarely paid any attention to me. Our families were close, next-door neighbors in fact, so we were forced into spending time together. He'd seldom speak to me unless it was to offer me a stiff one-word greeting or to tell me what to do. I remember his dad lecturing him about being nicer to me. He wanted Myles to treat all women with the respect they deserved. And it wasn't that he wasn't civil, he was just never cordial.
"Do you love him?" Her voice, so sincere, also echoes her worry. "Myles? Do you love him?"