“Yeah, well, I’d better get started on this design.” Meg’s frostiness was going to give me frostbite.
Why had I mentioned Chelsea? Should I apologize? Would that be weird? What would I even be apologizing for? Daring to say Chelsea’s name? I may not be able to stand her, but she was still my wife. I shouldn’t have to say sorry every single time I accidentally brought her up. And I shouldn’t have to walk on eggshells around Meg for the rest of my life. We were living in the same small town. We were going to have to interact with each other. If she couldn’t deal with my past, then that was on her.
I sounded so tough in my head. A lot tougher than I actually felt.
“Meg, I didn’t mean...I shouldn’t have—”
“So can you send over the concepts? I’m going to start on this ASAP,” Meg interrupted, obviously not interested in my bumbling apology, which I swore I wouldn’t make.
“Okay, sure. I’ll send over the mockups I have. What’s your email address?” If she was going to keep this professional, we’d play by my lead. Not hers.
She rattled it off, and I repeated it to myself three times so I wouldn’t forget it. Considering one hand was holding the phone, and the other was clutching the towel, memorization was the only option.
“Right. Okay then, I’ll talk to you soon,” Meg said, winding down the call.
I realized I had actually enjoyed our conversation up until the moment I had steamrolled over it. It had been the first time since we were teenagers that we had exchanged words that didn’t feel weighed down by all of our bullshit.
I hated that I had ruined it because, for a few minutes, it had been just like it used to be.
And I realized I wanted to do anything to be like that with her again.
“Talk soon,” I said gruffly to hide the emotion I was feeling.
“Bye Adam. And thank you.” Her voice was softer. Less angry.
She hung up before I could say anything else.
Chapter 10
Adam
Meg was already at the office by the time I got to work on Monday morning. Landon Bradley, a local contractor, was also there with two guys setting up the motorized platform she’d be using to paint the side of my building.
I had been shocked at how quickly the committee—particularly Marla—had authorized Meg’s mural concept. Surprisingly, Marla hadn’t objected when I sent out an email announcing that I had hired her. Everyone approved of Meg being given the job, and they all were thrilled with the proof of concept she had come up with, giving her the green light to start immediately.
The building that housed my law practice was over a hundred years old and considered a Southport landmark because of its stately columns and colonial architecture. My grandfather purchased it after coming back from WWII, and it was there that he started his insurance firm. He went on to grow his business to become one of the best-known small insurance companies in the state.
After he passed away, he left me the building, hoping I’d use it to set up my own business in the town he loved. And I had. I liked to think he would have been proud of all that I had accomplished, largely in part to his generous gift.
My office was connected to a wide alleyway known locally as Minister’s Walk, so named for Solomon Hastings, the beloved minister of the First Baptist Church who lived in Southport in the 1800s. Reverend Hastings left his post during the Civil War to fight the northern cause and returned a local hero.
Minister’s Walk led to the center of town and wasn’t your typical alleyway. It was a wide space that was lined with potted flowers and cafe style seating for those who wanted to sit and chat awhile. It was a busy thoroughfare between Maple Street and High Street, which is why it provided the perfect spot for the commemorative mural.
We were deep into the Pennsylvania summer and enjoying a long dry and sunny spell. With no rain in the forecast for the next ten days, Meg had a perfect start to the project.
We hadn’t spoken on the phone since she accepted the job, but we had bounced a few emails—entirely about the mural project and nothing else. There was still a lot of ice between us, but I thought there was less blatant revulsion than before. Maybe I was reading too much into I’ll see you on Monday.
It was better than fuck off, dickhead.
I wouldn’t get too excited, though, I was no doubt still Meghan Galloway’s public enemy number one, yet she continued to play a starring role every time I punched the munchkin. I had rubbed my palm raw.
I grabbed my briefcase off the passenger seat and headed inside, calling out a greeting to several people as I made my way to the office. I could see Lena outside talking to Meg, so instead of going straight into the building, I detoured to say hello.“Good morning,” I called out as I got close. Lena and Meg instantly stopped talking—my sister’s face becoming deceptively blank.
Why did I get the distinct feeling they were talking about me?
Meg lifted a hand in greeting before turning her back to me, making herself busy checking supplies. So that’s how she was going to play this.
“How’s it going, sis? Good weekend?” I watched Meg bend over and pick up a pack of brushes. I tried not to fixate on the curve of her ass in her tight-fitting jean shorts.
“Oh, you know, went out to dinner, did some studying, nothing major.” Lena’s eyes didn’t quite meet mine. “How about you?”
“I spent a lot of time with Netflix. We’re old friends,” I said.
Meg straightened up and glanced at me over her shoulder. “Watched any good British sitcoms?” She raised an eyebrow and almost smiled. Almost.
Ladies and gentlemen, we have an opening...
“Nothing too knobbish,” I replied dryly. Meg rolled her eyes, and I chuckled softly.
Lena looked between us in confusion. “Did I miss something?”
Meg responded “no” at the same time I said “yes.”
Lena shook her head. “Some things never change. I should be used to the two of you and your private jokes. Doesn’t mean it’s any less lame than it was when we were kids.”
Meg’s green eyes met mine and held for one second. Two... three. Until she finally looked away. I started to say something else—maybe comment about the weather or the Red Sox game on Sunday, who knows—but Landon called down to her from the top of the scaffold with a question, interrupting the would-be moment.
“Chelsea called already,” Lena whispered, and I appreciated her discretion. The last thing I wanted was for Meg to hear Chelsea’s name and go into lock-down.
I groaned, casting a quick look at Meg, who was prying the lid off a can of saffron yellow paint with a flat-headed screwdriver. “What the hell did she want?”
“She wanted to make an appointment with you.” Lena pursed her lips.
“I did tell her if she needed to talk to me, she had to book an appointment through you.”I just hadn’t thought she’d actually do it. I should have known. She had been much too quiet lately.
And Chelsea didn’t do quiet.
Lena smacked my arm. “Way to make me the intermediary between you and mega-bitch. Not cool, bro. Not cool at all.”
I rubbed the spot she had hit; my sister was stronger than most would think. “Sorry. I didn’t think she’d actually do it.”