They finally leave, and by the time I shut the door behind them, Muffy’s disappeared.
I find her leaning on her not-bruised hip in the middle of my bed. “I think I embarrassed myself this time,” she whispers. “Who walks into a giant flower pot?”
I crawl onto the bed with her. “You’re hot when you’re clumsy.”
She rolls her eyes and ends the massive gesture by staring at the wall over my shoulder.
“Hey. Look at me.” I grip her chin lightly, stroking her jaw with my thumb until her gaze shifts to me, her pupils dilating. “You’re not really embarrassed, are you?”
“No, I’m—okay, yes. No. Yes. I—maybe? Your sisters are all so put together, and they’re so nice, and I’m basically a walking disaster. Every time I feel like I’m making progress toward being a functioning human, I go and fall in a pile of dirt. And it’s not just falling in a pile of dirt. It’s falling in a pile of dirt and then it being this big thing that meant your entire family came running to make sure I was okay, and what happens when it’s something bigger than me tripping in public? Because it’s usually something bigger than me tripping in public.”
“I faceplanted in my Thanksgiving mashed potatoes one year because I put my chair on wheels so it would be less effort to get up when I was stuffed. And Keely got inducted into the National Honor Society in high school with her dress tucked into her underwear because none of her classmates told her she’d done it when she made a last-minute run to the bathroom before the ceremony. She gets nervous in front of crowds.”
“Been there,” she mutters. “But it was an amusement park and my back pocket ripped off my shorts and I didn’t have another pair.” Her fingers drift to my face, lingering on my cheek under my blackening eye. “And here I am being a total prima donna over tripping when you took a fist to the face.”
I shuck my shirt, because this is dumb.
I know how to show her I like her exactly the way she is. “Part of the job. Show me again where it hurts so I can kiss your booboo.”
She doesn’t move though, and she’s still carrying her wariness like it’s a shield. “I’m like this all the time, Tyler.”
This is a trap. I don’t know what kind of trap, but I know it’s a trap.
And her heavy sigh doesn’t help. Nor does the way she leans back out of my grasp. “I just—I don’t know when you’ll get tired of it.”
Oh. “Muffy.”
Her nose wrinkles. “Never mind. Let’s go to bed.”
Like hell. I hook my hand behind her neck. “No never mind. Muffy. You—do you know why I’ve never dated?”
“Because you got burned before?” she whispers.
“Because I was waiting for you.” Fuck, words are hard. How do normal people confess things like this? “I didn’t know it, but I was waiting for you.”
Her eyes go shiny, which makes my throat go thick.
Part of me wants to run. To hide from the truth I just dropped in the middle of my bedroom.
What if she gets bored of me?
She sucks in a deep breath and blinks rapidly. “Tyler?”
“Yes?”
“Will you please kiss me now?”
That I can do.
It’s so much better than talking.
And so I lean in and capture her lips as I slip my hands under her shirt.
No worrying about tomorrow.
Not when I have tonight.
And if I do my job right tonight, I won’t have to worry about tomorrow anyway.
43
Muffy
Tyler and I are quite the pair at brunch. I’m moving stiffly because my hip is sore, and his eye looks like he walked into a very offended, ugly boulder that’s probably telling stories about what the other guy looks like right now, and we are definitely the two most casually dressed people in this wine bar for brunch.
Also?
Showers with him keep getting better. I don’t know how that’s possible, but it is.
So it’s entirely likely we’re also the two most relaxed, satisfied people in this wine bar too.
“This is the place where I accidentally set Kami up with Felicity’s ex-boyfriend last year,” I whisper to Tyler as our hostess guides us to the back room of Noble V. “It’s the one place in the entire city that Kami’s banned and I’m not. Isn’t that weird?”
He grins. “Yet. You’re not banned yet.”
“Goals, right?”
It’s wrong that he’s even more handsome with a black eye.
Or possibly I’m a little bloodthirsty and knowing that my boyfriend can physically protect me if necessary is a turn-on.
My boyfriend.
He didn’t flinch when I said it last night.
I’ve been waiting for you.
The man knows how to make a woman feel special. I squeeze his hand simply because I can.
We’re not the last to arrive to brunch with his family. Staci and her family and West and Daisy aren’t here yet either, and Mrs. Jaeger—May Ella—is frowning while she keeps checking her phone.
Allie and Keely have a coffee carafe between them that they’re possibly taking turns drinking straight out of, with their families fanned out on either side. Britney’s handing two of her kids coloring books while her husband hands the other two his phone.
It’s like a zombie breakfast.
Without the dead bodies. Naturally.
“See the sports page this morning?” Allie’s husband asks Tyler while Ty pauses to rub his nephew’s head and kiss his niece’s hair.
We both shake our heads.
The whole family shares looks.
Apprehension slithers up my spine, and I reach for my phone, which isn’t in my pocket.
Nor is it in my bag.
At least, I don’t think. It’s hard to subtly reach in and dig through everything in there.
“What?” Tyler asks them as he pulls a handful of small gummy bear packets from his pockets and tosses them to the under-ten crowd, who all shriek and lunge.
His sisters get matching eye twitches, but he ignores them.
We both do, because his dad has a weird look in his eyes, which he refuses to aim at either of us as he speaks. “Big write-up on you and Cranford and his sister.”
“And?” Tyler says.
“And Amelia Cranford is still in love with you,” Keely says. “According to the gossip pages, she hasn’t talked to her brother since he forbade her to date you and beat you up back… How many years ago was that? Six? Seven?”
Tyler grunts and pulls my chair out.
I peer at him.
Nothing.
Totally stone-cold poker face.
And that’s when the butterflies hit.
He told me he fell head over heels in love with her.
But that was years ago. Surely, he doesn’t feel the same now.
That’s what I’d tell my clients.
So why is it not working when I tell it to myself?
Because you know when you’re the consolation prize, Muffy. You’ve always been the consolation prize.
“She was supposed to be on that reality TV show,” Britney says to her kids’ coloring books. “Which one is it? The one about competing for a husband?”