“I’ll be there in fifteen,” I promise, struggling to gather my dress with one hand while pressing my phone to my ear with the other. I climb out of the town car as gracefully as possible, offering a nod in thanks at the driver as he holds the door open for me.
“You’re already fifteen minutes late. Hurry up,” my father grumbles. “I hate these events.”
“Not as much as I do.” I end the call before he can deliver a lecture about how I am at the start of my career and had better get used to it, because showing up for these high-society charity galas is critical for Calloway’s image and for connections and blah, blah, blah.
Normally my tolerance for my father’s sermons is high, but since learning that he single-handedly torched my relationship with Kyle, my Kieran Calloway tolerance meter is set at zero.
I’ve managed to avoid a confrontation with him so far, answering his emails with direct responses to his questions and tying myself up in meetings all day. Some might call that cowardly, but with a man like my father, I need a strategy, one that doesn’t result in hellfire raining down on Kyle.
I swipe my card to gain access to our office building, intent on rushing up to my office to grab the silver Manolos I left in the corner.
A man in jeans, a T-shirt, and a baseball cap leans casually against the security desk with his back to me, talking to the guard on duty.
My steps falter as familiar eyes peer over the counter at me.
“Kyle? What are you doing here?”
“Picked up an extra shift from the weekend guy.” He stands from behind the desk, his gaze drifting over the silver lace evening gown I chose last minute for tonight’s event. “What are you doing here?”
I throw a hand toward the bank of elevators. “Forgot my shoes upstairs. I’m just going to run up.”
He nods dully. “Okay.”
It takes several more seconds before I can break free of my delighted shock and turn my attention to the other guy dressed in jeans. I feel my eyebrows arch in surprise. “You must be Jeremy.” He’s a more slender version of Kyle, but with green eyes and no ink in sight. Still, the resemblance is uncanny.
The guy grins, showing off deep dimples. “And you must be the reason I’m living in Lennox.”
Kyle spears his little brother with a flat glare, but Jeremy’s not paying any attention, his gaze shifting downward, over my figure-hugging dress, stalling on the plunging neckline, and then on the high side split. He gives his head a shake, as if catching himself, and then takes a few steps and sticks a hand out, his expression more somber. “I’ve heard a lot about you over the years. It’s nice to finally meet you, Piper.”
Over the years?
My heart flutters as I close the distance slowly to accept his warm, callused fingers. “Likewise. I mean, I heard a lot about you over that summer.”
“I can imagine.” Jeremy’s lips curl into a secretive smirk and it reminds me so much of the younger, playful version of Kyle from camp, I’m left gaping at him.
He turns to Kyle. “What time are you off tonight?”
“Eleven.” Kyle gives his brother a tense look. A warning. For what, though?
“ ’Kay, I’ll text to let you know where we’re at so we can meet up.”
“Sounds good.”
Jeremy takes a step backward. And grins. “Unless you want to swing by and meet Kyle when he gets off, Piper? ’Cause I know he wants you to.”
“I . . . uh . . .” I stammer a moment, caught off guard. My gaze flips between Jeremy and Kyle, who looks ready to leap over the counter and strangle his brother. “I have a charity gala thing.”
“No worries. Come by our place sometime. We’re at Seventeen Cherry Lane. Number Seven-one-seven. Easy to remember. Seventeen cherries. Seven-one-seven.”
“You’re kidding me.” My memory begins churning. “Kyle was in Cabin Seventeen at Wawa.” And the cherries . . .
“Must be a sign.” Jeremy laughs at the daggers Kyle shoots from his eyes. “Have fun at your charity gala thing, Piper.”
“I will. Thank you,” I murmur, my gaze following him out. He doesn’t have Kyle’s sleek walk; his gait is more bouncy. Still . . . “I can’t get over how much you two look alike.”
“We take after our mom. So does Max. Ricky is more like my dad,” Kyle says calmly, as if his brother’s gentle ribbing hasn’t fazed him.
I glimpse the waiting black sedan outside, reminding me that I have somewhere to be. “I guess I should grab those shoes.”
His gaze drifts over me, much like his little brother’s did. “You look . . . good,” Kyle finally offers in a stilted voice, his throat bobbing with a hard swallow.
And for a moment there, I remember what it felt like to be sixteen, to have my heart flutter from Kyle’s undivided attention. His adoration.
“Thank you.” A satisfied smile touches my lips as I swipe through the security gate. Suddenly the hours of primping with hair and makeup appointments don’t feel like a waste of my time, if it means leaving Kyle nearly speechless.
“Really good!” he hollers just as the elevator doors are closing on me, as if finally finding his tongue and his courage.
I rush upstairs to my office, kicking off my heels and sliding on the silver Manolos, excitement coursing through my veins where there was only dread before. This feels like kismet. That’s what Ashley would say. It’s kismet that we’ve crossed paths. Kismet that we can’t seem to stay away from each other. The universe wants us to pick up where we left off, to erase the damage my father inflicted upon our young hearts.
Clearly, I’ve been spending too much time with Ashley. Yet, I can’t deny that any excuse I can find to ditch this benefit altogether and linger in the lobby for the rest of Kyle’s shift is tempting.
When I head back downstairs, Kyle is exactly where I left him.
He watches me approach and, I swear, his chest sinks in a long, slow exhale, as if taking a calming breath. “Find what you were looking for?”
I hook a finger along the split of my dress and pull the skirt back to model the crystals on my toes, knowing damn well that the move is flirtatious. My heart races with the thought of flirting with Kyle again. “Better, right?”
His lips part as if to answer, but stall as his eyes drift over my bare leg. He swallows. “So much better.”
“You can’t tell the difference, can you—”
“Not if my life depended on it,” he admits, dipping his head with his smile.
“So you’re working until eleven tonight?”
“Yeah.” His steady gaze lifts to meet mine again. “Why?”
I shrug nonchalantly. “I might have to stop by again later. You know . . . to grab another pair of shoes.”
His lips twitch with amusement at my pathetic lie.
Is what Jeremy said true? Does Kyle want to see me later tonight?
It’s a long moment before he gives me an almost imperceptible nod. “I’ll be here.”
“Have fun.”
“You, too.” A tiny, crooked smile answers me.
With that, I turn and head for the exit.
“You look really good,” he calls after me.
“You already said that.”
I’m grinning as I climb into the town car.
“You’re not yourself, Piper.” My dad nods at Roy Molson, a hedge fund exec who we’ve met with on more than one occasion in our hunt for investors. “You’ve barely said five words to me. You ignored Larry Muntt—”
“Don’t worry, he was too busy staring at my breasts to notice,” I throw back. That’s what the slimy old man—another Wall Street type—does every time we cross paths at these things.
Dad grunts. He knows as much. “And I don’t think you’ve smiled once in the last half hour.”
I turn to give him a wide closed-lip smile that is forced and not at all friendly.
His brow tightens. “What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing. Tired,” I mutter, taking a long sip from my flute of champagne.
“Learn to put on a good front.” He waves down a passing server to pluck a shrimp cocktail from the silver platter, before dismissing him entirely. There are times when my father’s high-pedigree upbringing translates into shockingly poor basic manners—such as when he fails to acknowledge wait staff as human beings.
The older gentleman holds the platter in front of me. “No, but thank you,” I make a point of saying, and then let my gaze wander over the chic art gallery and sea of faces—most familiar, if only by sight—as an excuse to avoid further eye contact with my father.
“You haven’t eaten anything tonight,” Dad notes with more displeasure.
“I never eat at these things. Only men eat at these things.” I used to, until I spent thirty minutes smiling and staring into the eyes of a prominent city council member while we talked, acutely aware of the piece of spinach stuck between his front teeth and doing my best not to let my gaze veer downward. He took it as a sign that I was interested and invited me back to his hotel room. Since then I’ve drawn the line at food and deep talks with politicians.
Dad studies the crowd. From our vantage point in the corner, he can oversee the goings-on of most of the room—who’s here, who’s talking to whom. Exactly how he likes it. “Gary Jameson left me a message earlier about the Marquee.”
“As I expected he would.” You can’t tell a longtime business partner that you’re cutting his company from the equation on a $250 million construction project that you’ve been discussing together for two years and not expect him to go straight to the top.
“You should have called me as soon as you heard.” There’s accusation in his tone.
“I couldn’t. I was busy calling Gary to smooth things over with him.” A.k.a. getting yelled at for a good twenty minutes before he finally calmed down enough to accept my apology for the gross “miscommunication.”
“Well . . . it seems to have worked. He doesn’t want to hang me by my skin just yet.” Dad peers into his glass a moment before tipping it back. “Good job.”
“I’m sorry, what? I must have misheard you. Did you just tell me that I did a good job?”
Dad smirks. “Still, I don’t think they’re going to be able to match KDZ’s numbers. I scanned their construction proposal and it looks solid.”
I pause mid-sip, blood rushing to my ears. “What proposal?”
Dad frowns. “The one Tripp sent us last night. Didn’t you get—”
“No, I did not!” I snap before I can help it.
Dad gives a tight-lipped, apologetic smile to a nearby couple who glanced over at my outburst as he digs into his tuxedo jacket, fishing out his phone. “I’m sure he just wasn’t thinking,” he murmurs, scrolling through his email. “The team is going through the details right now, but Tripp’s not expecting them to find anything of concern.” He hits the keypad. “There, you should receive it shortly. Review it over the weekend and let me know what you think.”
I don’t believe it. That son of a bitch stepped right over me to go to my father—again—and my father acts as if it’s nothing more than a minor inconvenience. Maybe it’s my anger with my father over Kyle fueling me, but I find I don’t care to choose my words cautiously. “What I think,” I pause, struggling to regain my composure, “is that if I’m to earn respect in this industry, then it needs to start with you showing respect to me.”
My father frowns, and it makes his normally severe expression look downright insidious. “What are you talking about? Of course I respect you. I would never have made you point person for all of Calloway’s operations had I not thought you competent.”
“Yes, I am supposed to be point person for our current projects, freeing you up to focus on setting up the next five to twenty years for us. And yet I have been undermined by Tripp at every turn, and part of the reason is because you have allowed it.” I refuse to look away from my father. “This whole KDZ thing stinks of something, and I’m not quite sure what yet. But the proposal should have come to me. He knows it, you know it, and yet you didn’t bat an eye at the idea that he can’t show me enough decency to even copy me on the email. It’s a two-hundred-and-fifty-million-dollar construction contract, not an invitation to a goddamn corporate barbecue.”
Dad opens his mouth, but I cut him off.
“I may still have a lot to learn, but I can’t do that if you allow guys like Tripp to treat me like a token figure, like I’m optional. This ends right here, right now, or there is no point in me continuing on in this role.” Adrenaline is racing through my veins as I brace myself for whatever verbal missile my dad is about to launch at me.
Dad sighs heavily. “You’re right.”
“I . . .” I frown, replaying those words to make sure I understood them. “I’m sorry . . . what?”
“You’re right. I just thought . . .” He shakes his head. “I don’t know what I thought. I guess I keep making excuses for Tripp. For years, he reported directly in to me, so I assumed it was just habit. But, even if it is, it isn’t right.” His jaw tenses. “I will make sure to remind him of the new chain of command when I see him next.”
I study him intently, and with confusion.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” he finally asks, irritation in his voice.
“No reason. I’ve just always wondered, when aliens abduct a human, do they undress them before infecting the host body or were you still wearing your suit?”
Dad shakes his head but chuckles. Sliding his arm around my waist, he pulls me into him in a quick fatherly embrace that he hasn’t given me since the night he announced my promotion and future succession.
For a moment, I forget that I’m furious with him.
For a moment, I forget how he broke my sixteen-year-old heart. If I try hard enough, I could probably convince myself that he did it with the best of intentions.
But the road to hell is paved with good intentions, my gramps always said. He had that quote printed and framed on the wall in the living room, above the piano. Mom said he hung it the day my parents announced they were getting married. Gran insisted that was mere coincidence, but the thing about Gramps was, he never cared for wealth and nothing was ever mere coincidence.
As soon as Dad releases me from his grip, I slip my hand into my clutch to check my phone. Eight fifty. Kyle is working for another two hours.
“What? Do you have other plans for tonight?”
“We’ve paid our five grand a plate and mingled long enough for people to know we were here.”
“Right. I suppose you’re off the— Oh, before you go,” he calls out to a man passing by. “Lloyd?”
The man stops and turns, his gray eyes shifting from my father to me—to linger one, two, three beats before shifting back. “Kieran, it’s good to see you again.” I’d put him in his late thirties, with sandy-brown hair that’s dusted with gray around the temples. He’s attractive in a classic way, with a strong nose and a square jaw.
My dad gestures to me, as if presenting a prize display. “Have you met my daughter, Piper?”
I stifle my groan as I realize his intentions.
Lloyd’s eyes are back on me. “I haven’t, but I’ve heard wonderful things. Hello. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He smiles and holds out his hand.
I plaster a polite smile on my face and accept it.
“Lloyd is a named partner at Sternum and Oakley.”
“Really . . .” I feign interest, though it is interesting that my father would be trying to set me up with our law firm’s main competitor. “So you are . . .”
“The breastbone.” Lloyd flashes a bright, easy smile and then winks. “You wouldn’t believe the number of jokes I’ve endured.”
“I think I can imagine.” He’s charming, I’ll admit. And if I weren’t already spoken for, I would probably be wondering how I could get his number.
Already spoken for.
My God.
But I have already decided.
I want Kyle back.
“Listen, I don’t mean to be rude, but you caught me on my way out. I have another function that I have to make a speech at in exactly”—he checks his flashy Rolex—“ten minutes.”
I hold my hands up in the air. “Please don’t let us keep you, then.”
“A pleasure to meet you, though, Piper. I hope our paths cross again. And soon. Kieran.” He nods at my father and then continues on.
“He separated from his wife about a year ago, but I hear he’s dating again.”
“You should ask him out, then. You two would make a cute couple, and he looks about the age you prefer.”
Dad gives me a flat look.
“What’s wrong? Finally giving up on my reconciliation with David?”
“Is it likely?”
“Yes, right after I set myself on fire.” I tip back my glass and finish off the champagne.
He sighs. “I do want to see you happy.”
“As long as it’s with a man like David or this Lloyd Sternum.”
“Well, you’d keep your last name, obviously. The man is smart, successful, and driven. He’s the kind of man you’ll need in the years ahead—”
“I don’t need a man.”
He rolls his eyes. “What I mean is, when you do decide to settle down with someone, it will need to be with someone self-assured enough to handle being married to a woman as powerful as you will be.”
“And what would guarantee that, Dad? A big bank account? A private jet in the family?” My anger with him flares. “God forbid I date a blue-collar worker who just loves me for me.”
My dad snorts. “Isn’t that too idealistic, even for you?”
“Just because it didn’t work out for you and Mom doesn’t mean everyone else is doomed.”
An unreadable look flashes through my father’s eyes. “Your mother never understood the kind of pressure that I faced. She wanted romance and vacations and all these things that I didn’t have time to give her. She didn’t understand because she didn’t grow up in this world.”
“But that architect from LA understood, did she?”
He scowls. “That’s personal and not a topic I ever want to revisit.”
“Let’s make a deal, then. I’ll stay out of your personal life if you stay out of mine.”
He gives me a bewildered look. “It was a harmless introduction, Piper! I don’t understand why you’re so upset.”
“Because I don’t want you interfering with my relationships, even if you don’t approve. So don’t ever do it.” Ever again. My voice is calm and low but no less severe. With that I stroll out of the art gallery, my head held high, a small sense of victory humming through my bones. I may not have confronted my father about his past betrayal—yet—but I’ve made my position on any future ones as they relate to me—and to Kyle—clear.
And now it’s a matter of finding out if there even is a future.
“Thank you. You can leave,” I tell the driver, my gaze on the darkened office windows in the Calloway building. Oddly enough, I’ve always found the emptiness on the weekends comforting, as if all the weekday guests have left and I finally have the house to myself.
My chest is tight with anticipation as I climb the steps. My stomach stirs with hope as I swipe my card to gain access through the exterior doors again.
My nerves electrify as I try not to appear too eager strolling toward the security desk. I don’t know what to say, but I hope I don’t say the wrong thing.
Kyle flashes me a smile that makes my feet falter. It’s a smile I’ve seen many times before, but not in years. “Come back for those other shoes?”
“A pen, actually,” I say with mock seriousness. It’s the first—lame—thing I could think of.
“A pen,” he repeats, setting his book facedown. “That must be one hell of a pen.”
“It’s one of those gel pens. You know, the ones that glide smoothly over paper.” Instead of stopping at the front of the security counter, I round the desk and settle into Gus’s chair, collecting my dress so it doesn’t get caught in the wheels. “Good book?” The cover depicts a blurred shadow of a person with a palm held out, as if pressed against a windowpane. A thriller, if I had to guess.
“Good enough.” He sinks back into his chair, his legs splayed. “So your charity gala thing’s over?”
“I went, I mingled, I drank, and then I bolted the second I thought no one would notice.”
Kyle chuckles. “I don’t even know what a gala is, but you make it sound like pure hell.”
“Honestly? It can be. If I could get away with never going to another one of these things, I’d be more than too happy.” I slip off my heels with a sigh, feeling Kyle’s eyes fall to the split in my dress that’s creeping up my thigh to a risqué level. Though I know I probably should, I don’t adjust it.
“You know, I’m not supposed to let anyone back here.”
“Really?”
“Really.” He smirks. “I could get in a lot of trouble for it.”
“Well . . .” I pull the lever on the underside of the chair and adjust it to sit higher, and then push off against the cold marble tile with my sore toes and let the chair spin once. “It’s a good thing I’m not just anyone.”
“No, you definitely aren’t.” He smiles secretively as he reaches for a ballpoint pen. He always liked fumbling with things. Usually it was a cigarette.
“Do you still smoke?” I haven’t smelled tobacco on him.
“Nah. Well, maybe once in a while, if I’m at a party. But I don’t go to too many parties.”
“I’m glad you quit. And speaking of parties, Ashley’s planning a housewarming at our place. You should come.”
He nods slowly. “I’ll think about it.”
Not exactly the answer I was expecting. I hesitate. “Do you mind that I’m here?”
“No,” he answers without missing a beat, but says nothing else.
Where did my easygoing, carefree boy go?
“Is anyone else in the building?”
“Just you and me. Well, this guy’s trying really hard.” He leans over and hits the cursor on the keyboard twice. One of the monitors flips to the back of the building, to where a black squirrel is perched. “He got in through a vent last week. Set off a bunch of alarms for the night guys.”
Awkward silence falls over us, with nothing but the white noise and the sound of Kyle clicking his pen repeatedly to keep us company. And for a split second my insecurities soar, convincing me that I’ve misread everything about Kyle so far. Maybe he isn’t as perceptive as I give him credit for; maybe he’s only now cluing in to the fact that I’m not just here for a friendly chitchat.
Maybe he’s wishing he hadn’t told me that he’s single.
Maybe he’s wondering how he’s going to get himself off the hook.
“God, this is so boring,” I finally blurt out.
Kyle laughs. “It can be.” He glances at his watch. “Just under two hours left.”
That’s two hours for me, with Kyle.
To talk about nothing. And everything, if I can get him to open up. I plan on taking every second that I have to try.
“I’m hungry. You hungry?”
He frowns. “Didn’t you just come from dinner?”
“A five-thousand-dollar-a-plate one.” I grab my phone. “I’m ordering us food.”
“I can’t believe you have a burger joint in your favorites,” Kyle mutters, biting into a french fry.
I hold my phone up so he can see the list, while leaning over the plastic container to take a sizeable bite out of my burger.
He frowns at my screen. “Them and every other restaurant within a five-mile radius, apparently.”
“Don’t judge!” I mutter, shielding my full mouth with a hand. “I work long hours, so I don’t have time to cook. I end up ordering in.”
“But you know how to cook?”
I consider a clever answer as I finish chewing and swallowing. “Does boiling eggs count?”
Kyle shakes his head, laughing. “Boiling eggs does not count.”
I shrug. “I usually grab a salad or something from Christa’s, but at least once a month I get a craving for Alejandro’s. And . . . hmmm.” I moan through another bite. “So worth it.”
He watches me a moment, a pensive gleam in his eyes, as I suck a glob of ketchup from my thumb. I’m wearing a $3,000 dress and devouring a greasy fast-food meal.
“I look absurd, don’t I?”
“You’ve never looked absurd a day in your life, Piper. You’re incapable of it.”
I roll my eyes. “Well, then why are you looking at me like that?”
“It’s just . . . you realize how weird this is, right?”
“What? You and me, sitting here together after all these years?” Because I think it’s amazing.
He holds his burger up. “Naming a burger joint Alejandro’s.”
Oh. “It is,” I agree. “But they have all these different toppings, like breaded poblano peppers, and pico de gallo, and chimichurri. Can’t remember what else.”
“Peanut butter?”
“What?” I cringe. “Nobody puts . . . Oh my God. That’s right!” I press my hand to my mouth as a wave of nostalgia hits me. “Eric does that!”
“He swore it brought out the flavor of the bacon. He put it on his pancakes, too. That and mustard.” Kyle shakes his head. “Fucking guy. Used to love grossing me out.”
“Does he still do it?”
Kyle inspects his remaining fries. “I don’t know. I haven’t had a burger with him in years.”
“You know, I caught Ashley doing that the other day. Mustard on her pancakes.”
He cringes. “How is Ash, anyway?”
“She’s good. She’s substitute teaching, and trying to get a full-time position. And she’s a wannabe event planner. She also sells hand-knit blankets, but it takes her months to finish one.”
Kyle nods slowly. “She always was artsy.”
“Still is.”
“And kind of scatterbrained.”
I laugh. “Still is. I like living with her, though. She brings a happy energy to our place.” I feel a nostalgic smile touch my lips. “You know, I always thought she and Eric would end up together. But he never responded to any of her emails.”
“Yeah. He was never good for keeping in touch.”
“It’s too bad. Maybe she would have ended up with him instead of this asshole named Chad.” I give Kyle the rundown.
He’s chuckling by the end of the story. “Sounds like this psychic might have done everyone a favor by convincing her to buy that pee couch.”
“I think you might be right.” I devour my last french fry as I consider this. “So, what about you?”
“I don’t believe in psychics.”
“No.” I chuckle, sensing his intentional diverting of topic. I avert my gaze to my dinner remnants, slowly packing them up. “Girlfriends? Wives?”
“There’ve been a few.”
“A few wives?” I raise my eyebrows.
“Girlfriends, yes. Wives . . . no. I was close once,” he admits.
It feels like a punch to my stomach, hearing that Kyle actually considered marrying another woman. That I was engaged to David doesn’t temper my jealousy. And yet I also want the intimate details. I want to know everything there is to know about all the years of Kyle’s life that I missed—the good, the bad, the painful. “What happened?”
“She wasn’t—” He cuts himself off abruptly, and then sighs. “She wasn’t what I was looking for. What about Christa? How’s she doing?”
“Running a high-end steak house a few blocks from here. Single. Continuing to be right about everything.”
He bursts out laughing and I grin. I forgot how much I like making Kyle laugh.
“But she’s good. She’s my cynical voice of reason most days.”
His lips twist in thought. “And what would that cynical voice say about you sitting here with me?”
I bite my tongue, unsure whether I should just lay it all on the line right away. But this is Kyle, I remind myself. We were always honest with each other. “Basically, that we need to figure out what we mean to each other in today’s world because Wawa is in the past.”
He nods slowly, as if considering that. I can’t read his thoughts, though, and I hate it.
“You’re a lot more direct then I remember you being,” he finally says.
“I’ve learned to be. I kind of have to be, in my world.”
“Yeah, I guess.” His brow furrows.
What’s he trying to say? “Is that a bad thing?”
“No, not at all. It’s just different from how I remember you.” He leans back in his chair, his gaze drifting up to the grandiose arching design of the building’s lobby. “You know, it’s funny, I remember thinking how tough life was that summer. But some things were a lot easier back then.”
“Like what?”
“Like . . .” A slow, nostalgic smile curls his lips. “Finding the nerve to ask the hot girl at summer camp to jump off a cliff with me.”
I feel my cheeks flush. “You definitely didn’t lack confidence back then.”
“I thought I had the world figured out.” He begins fumbling absently with his leather wrist cuff, similar to the one from camp. The one he gave me, which has been tucked into the bottom drawer of my jewelry box for safekeeping all these years.
“Are they still there?” I nod to his wrist. “The numbers.”
He opens his mouth as if to answer, but pauses, his tongue sliding out to skate over the lip ring scar. And then he stretches his arm out to rest his hand on my knee—palm up—and quietly waits.
Like he did so many years ago.
As if offering me the excuse I need to touch him.
I take it without hesitation, gingerly unfastening the leather cuff from his wrist, my cool fingers trembling slightly as they slide over his hot skin; over the two rows of numbers, with several decimal points following each.
“Still your favorite place?” I ask softly, my thumb smoothing back and forth over it, reveling in the fact that I am touching Kyle Miller again.
“It’s hard to say yes, after what happened to Eric.”
“I know. I had nightmares about that day for months after. But he ended up fine.”
Kyle bites his bottom lip, his gaze settling on the numbers. “I still feel guilty sometimes.”
“It wasn’t your fault. He doesn’t blame you, does he? Because if that’s the case, it was just as much my fault. And Ashley’s fault.”
He swallows, his gaze on the desk. “No. He’s never blamed anyone.”
Kyle makes no move to remove his arm from its resting spot over my lap, and so I take the opportunity to study the inside of his sinewy forearm. “When did you get the rest of this done?” His skin has become a canvas of artwork since I last saw him, with shades of green and blue and charcoal gray.
“Over the last couple years.”
It takes me a moment to realize what I’m looking at.
“Is this . . .” My fingers roam unabashed now, shifting his arm to get a better angle. On the meaty part of his forearm is a pool of water. Within it is a lone figure, bobbing, only the back of his head and arms showing as he looks upward. Waiting.
I push Kyle’s shirtsleeve up, over his muscular bicep, revealing the rocky cliff and the girl who stands at the edge, her long, dark brown hair billowing around her as if caught in a gust of wind, the teal string bikini showing off cartoonish curves.
My heart skips a beat and then begins racing.
“Is that—?” I cut myself off, not wanting to presume too much. But when I meet Kyle’s eyes—the questioning gaze in them—and hear his sharp intake of breath, I know without a doubt the answer.
His jaw tenses, but then he smiles. “Favorite place in the world. Favorite summer.” His eyes flash downward to my lips. “Favorite girl.”
My heart is pounding, when a beep sounds and the exterior door opens. The night-shift security guard strolls in, throwing a hand up at Kyle.
He removes his arm from my lap and glances at his watch, frowning. “That went fast.”
“It did.” Too fast. My stomach clenches with disappointment. I could sit here talking to Kyle until the sun rises. I still have so many questions. Some, I think I’ve already found the answers to.
He crumples our fast-food wrappers into a ball and, rolling backward in his chair, tosses everything into the trash can. “Thanks for dinner. And the company.”
“My pleasure.” I tuck my feet into my heels and collect my purse.
“Do you need a car?” He reaches for the phone.
“I’ll walk. I’m only three blocks away.”
He stands and stretches as he watches his replacement approach. “I’ll walk you, then. If you’re okay with that.” He peers down at me, and again I see glimmers of the boy I once knew in the man before me—the longing, the anticipation.
“Yes.” A simple answer for so many questions he could ask me right now.
Do you still want me?
Do you still think about me?
Are you willing to see if this can work?
Yes.
Yes.
Yes.
The arriving security guard eyes me curiously as he comes around the desk. “Good evening, Miss Calloway.”
“Hello . . . Carl,” I read off his name tag. I’ve seen him here, the odd weekend that I’ve come in, but I’ve never exchanged anything beyond a smile and polite greeting. “Hope you have an uneventful night.”
Kyle gives him a quick update and then, collecting his jacket and a navy backpack stowed in a deep drawer, he leads me out of the building and into the bustling night.
The Calloway building is on the north side of King Street, a main artery for downtown Lennox. It’s busier during the week, but even now, there is a steady stream of headlights and frequent blasts of horns.
“Which way?”
I briefly consider leading us in the wrong direction just so we have to make a large loop around the block, to give me more time with him, but decide against it. My feet can’t handle that. “Right.” We fall into step side-by-side at a leisurely pace.
The temperature has dropped, leaving a light chill in the air. I curl my arms around my body. Kyle notices and wordlessly drapes his jacket over my shoulders, his fingers skating over my bare skin, sending electric currents through me.
“Thanks,” I murmur, pulling it close around me. I can smell his cologne lingering faintly on the material. “So, your brother Jeremy . . . I remember you being worried about him. He seems like he turned out okay.”
Kyle kicks a loose stone with his boot, sending it skittering along the sidewalk. “I was on him a lot, especially when he got in with a shitty crowd, right when we got to San Diego. But he smartened up fast, graduated high school, and did almost five years apprenticing under an electrician until he could write his exams. Now he’s out on his own, makin’ way more money than me.”
“That’s great. Well, not the money part.”
“It’s okay. I make him pay more rent.”
“You do not.”
Kyle grins. “Nah. I don’t. I tried, but he’s too smart to fall for that.”
“And you? Ever end up changing your mind about college?”
He shrugs. “Never worked hard enough in high school to get the grades. Luckily I didn’t need college for this job. I started at Rikell as soon as I graduated. Been with them over twelve years now.”
“Do you like it?”
He pauses, as if to consider my question. “No stress. It’s not hard and it pays the bills. I get to walk around and talk to people, keep things in order. Better than sitting at a desk all day. No offense,” he adds after a moment.
I laugh. “None taken.” If there’s one thing I’ve never heard anyone describe my job as, it’s “sitting at a desk all day.” “Have you ever thought about joining the police force?”
“Thought about it. Briefly.”
“But . . .”
“I guess I just figured they’d do a background check and decide I was too much of a risk.”
“That’s not true. You should look into it.”
“I’ve had more than my fill of the legal system, anyway.”
“Fair enough.” I hesitate, my gaze cutting to his sleek form. “Though you’d look good in that uniform.”
“Are you flirting with me?”
“Just stating important facts.”
I get a lopsided smile in return, his eyes lingering on me a moment. “What about you? Ever thought about doing anything besides working for your father?”
“No. Well, that’s not true. I went to visit Rhett in Thailand the summer after I graduated high school and he almost had me convinced to defer college for a year and teach English. He had a house right on the beach. I woke up every morning to the sound of the ocean.” I groan at the memory. “It was incredible.”
“Why didn’t you do it, then?”
“Oh, my dad would have murdered me. Like legit flown out to Thailand and tied a noose around my neck. Then he would have killed Rhett.” I sigh. “But sometimes I wonder what would have happened had I done it.”
Kyle doesn’t say anything for a moment. “You still need your father’s approval, don’t you?”
I frown, his words coming off sounding like a slight. “I don’t need it. But I want it because . . . he’s my dad.”
Kyle nods, his gaze on the sidewalk ahead. “I guess I don’t know what that feels like.”
Silence hangs between us as we approach my street. “We turn right up here.”
“Wow,” Kyle takes in the one-way cobblestoned street ahead, bordered by wide paved sidewalks and a canopy of oak trees—all part of the old-world design of Posey Park. The newly built four-story row houses with decorative detailing and steep stone stairways mirror one another on either side—a nod to the famous brownstones of Manhattan. Even with the busy street to the south of us, the tall buildings and narrow corridor provide quiet cover.
“I remember the first time I saw the design for this project. I was in love.”
Kyle’s eyebrows arch. “You guys built this, too?”
“Calloway Group, yeah. These houses and those two buildings.” I point to the luxury condo buildings that tower over us up ahead, designed to complement one another and the row houses but to also stand out on their own. “We were going for eighteen-hundreds European charm within an urban center.”
“I don’t know eighteen-hundreds anything, but I’d say you nailed it,” he murmurs, reaching out to touch one of the replica gaslight-lantern lampposts that run the entire length of the street, adorned by planters bursting with vibrant red geraniums and petunias. Ornate park benches are interspersed evenly. In the wintertime, it’s all dressed up in white lights and red bows. “Is there anything your father hasn’t had a hand in around here?” he asks, and I could be mistaken, but I sense a touch of resentment in his voice.
“Honestly? Not much. Not in this city, anyway. And once the Waterway project is realized, he’s going to own the downtown skyline.” The massive project, with two condominium towers overlooking the water, flanked by a river boardwalk and surrounded by several square blocks of retail shops and restaurants, is expected to become the new downtown “it” spot for shopping and nightlife.
Kyle opens his mouth to say something, but he seems to decide against it. “Have you decided what you’re going to do about that Tripp guy yet?”
I groan. “I don’t know. I can’t just come out and accuse him and, no offense, but my father’s not going to take your word for it. But I have my assistant, Mark, digging up information. So far I know they went to college together, and they’ve played golf together. A lot.”
“Does he use a company phone?”
“His cell? Yeah.”
“You should be able to pull the records for it, then. See how often he’s been talking to this guy. I can tell you exactly when I overheard them, so you can pinpoint the number. Also, see if they can pull the records for any deleted texts. He’s arrogant enough to use his company phone for shit like that.”
“Can they do that?”
“They should be able to. Upwards of a year, possibly. And it’s your company phone that he’s using. I’m sure you can talk your way into getting hold of the records.”
“Yeah. Maybe I will. Thanks for the suggestion.” I throw a casual hand at the stately building entrance ahead. “This is me.”
Kyle’s head tips back as his eyes draw upward, showing off the sharp jutting curve of his neck and that long, slender nose that I used to drag my finger along. “You at the top?”
I can’t peel my eyes from his profile. “Yeah.”
Those lips that I’ve kissed a thousand times—what feels like a thousand years ago now—curl in a soft smile. “Figured as much.”
“When did you take it out? Your lip ring?”
“When I started working for Rikell.” His eyes remain on my building for another long moment before lowering to settle on me. “They don’t allow piercings or ink on your face. So far they haven’t said anything about my sleeve.”
“Too bad. I always liked it.” My fingers itch to touch the small scar in the corner of his mouth.
His chest rises with a deep inhale, and I’m hyperaware of just how close we’re standing. “Please don’t look at me like that, Piper.”
“How am I looking at you?”
He chuckles. “You never were any good at playing dumb. That’s one of the things I always loved about you.”
My stomach tightens with anticipation. “Come up to my place?” I hold my breath, slipping my fingers through his.
He squeezes my hand once before releasing it. “I think that’s a bad idea.” His voice is hoarse.
“Why?”
“Seriously, Piper? Christ, look at us!” He holds his hands out and laughs. “I’m in a security guard’s uniform! You know, for my job in your family’s high-rise office building. I’ve been working double shifts and saving every spare dollar for the past ten years, and I’m still five years away from ever being able to afford a down payment on anything. And here we are, literally standing in the middle of your family’s billion-dollar empire, with you in a ball gown like some sort of fairy-tale princess, after not eating at a five-thousand-dollar-a-plate party.”
“I don’t care about any of that.”
Kyle shakes his head. “Maybe not right now, but you will, when you realize that I don’t fit into your world. And I don’t think I can go through that learning curve with you. I thought I could handle it, but the second I saw you I knew I can’t. I can’t stand the thought of having you and then losing you again.” He frowns deeply, as if pained. “There was a place where you and I worked, but it was thirteen years ago and we can’t go back in time, Piper. Believe me, if we could, I would. For so many reasons.” His eyes are full of earnest as they settle on mine, drifting to my mouth. “I’d go back in a heartbeat.”
“But . . . ” My objection fades on my lips, as my mind searches for words that will convince him that this is worth trying. That I am worth trying for.
I listen to what he’s telling me, though—that I wasn’t the only one with a broken heart when we left Wawa that summer. That brings me an odd shade of comfort, even as my chest aches with frustration.
Is Kyle right?
Am I still clinging on to a past that can never exist in the future? In my future?
We fall into silence as a man strolls past us, his poodle pausing to sniff the nearby park bench and then lift its leg against it.
“It’s an evening gown, by the way,” I mutter.
Kyle frowns curiously. “What?”
I slide his jacket from my shoulders, holding it out for him. “My dress. It’s called an evening gown, not a ball gown.”
He smirks, his eyes flittering over the plunging neckline as he closes the distance to accept his jacket from my hands. “See? I can’t even tell the difference between dresses.” His gaze locks on mine, and in it I see an odd resignation. “All I know is that you’ll always be the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”
I can’t resist any longer. Just like on that first day atop that rocky cliff, surrounded by empty packets of candy, my lips stained red from cherry powder, I lean in to press my lips against his.
It’s a quick kiss—a test, really—long enough to revel in the feel of his lips against mine again, and then I pull back, to hold my breath and wait for his reaction.
Terrified of his rejection.
“Piper . . .” His throat bobs with a hard swallow.
“We still have feelings for each other.”
“I know, but—”
“But we’re supposed to pretend we don’t? We’re supposed to pass each other in the hall as we go and date other people? I’m supposed to be okay with perky little Renée hovering around the security desk until you ask her out?” I shake my head, my frustration swelling. “No, I’m sorry. That’s not happening—”
Kyle’s lips crash into mine, cutting my words off. His hands are on me in an instant, one settling on the back of my bare neck, the other curling around my waist, to pull me flush into his solid body. It takes me a moment to realize that I’m kissing Kyle, and when I do, I reach for his shoulders for support as much as because I simply need to touch him.
This feels every bit as euphoric as I remember it being at sixteen, and yet different. He feels different. Thirteen years different. His body is stronger, his hands more assured as they smooth over my skin, his lips more demanding as they ply my mouth open to allow room for his tongue. His stance is different as he pulls me hard into him, not bothering to shift to hide his arousal.
Relief surges inside me.
This feels like coming home, after thinking I’d never see home again.
“Who could have guessed this was going to happen,” comes a familiar voice nearby, breaking Kyle and me apart.
Christa strolls up the sidewalk, her white Nike runners in stark contrast to her simple black skirt and plum-colored blouse. She stops in front of us. “Kyle . . . Long time, no see.”
He frowns, as if trying to place her. “Christa? Is that you?”
“Oh, good. You remembered my name at least.”
He brushes aside the dig. “You look so different. Good. Just . . . different.”
“It has been thirteen years.”
“Yeah.” He scratches the back of his head in wonder. And then, as if catching himself, he steps forward to envelop her in his arms. “It’s good to see you.”
She stiffens and glares at me, as if surprised, but eventually returns the embrace—with that awkward hand-pat-on-the-back move, the only kind of hug that Christa seems capable of giving. “Okay, well . . . this is weird on many levels.” She practically shakes him off. “I’ll see you upstairs, Piper? When you’re done mauling each other like a couple of teenagers on the sidewalk outside our building.”
“Yeah, sure,” I mutter absently, my mind already moving forward—to the fact that Kyle just kissed me.
“She’s changed, but she hasn’t,” Kyle murmurs, watching her disappear into the lobby. “She still hates me.”
“Hate’s a strong word. More like eternal dislike. And she’s not too big on showing affection. Unless you’re her cat.”
“How did you end up becoming friends again?”
“She was there for me, after . . .” After you. “She and Ashley. My other friends didn’t get it.” Ava and Reid came back from Europe with tales of marathon shopping on cobblestoned streets and all-night parties on yachts and scandalous nights with French men. They couldn’t grasp the appeal of my summer camp boyfriend and they didn’t show much sympathy with each day that passed without word from Kyle, as my hope slowly crumbled.
It was a moment of desperation that made me call Christa, who was going to college an hour north of Lennox. We may not have seen eye-to-eye, but we’d shared a cabin and responsibility for dozens of girls.
Half of me expected her to say “I told you so” and crush whatever was left of my spirit. Yet, she did something I didn’t think her capable of—she listened. And she commiserated, and she even came with me to Poughkeepsie, to try to find Kyle.
Then she told me “I told you so” and highlighted all the ways I was better off without him. But it was what I needed to hear at the time, to help me move on.
Christa’s appearance definitely dampened whatever moment Kyle and I were having. Before I can angle to recapture it, Kyle takes a step back.
And another one.
“This was a mistake.”
“Kyle—”
“You may not want to admit it, but you will always seek your father’s approval.”
“That’s not true. I ended things with David. And he loves David.”
“So you’ll find someone else he approves of.” Kyle gives me a sad smile. “But I will never be it.”
“I don’t care—”
“Please don’t make this harder for me than it already is.” Genuine pain fills his eyes.
“Then don’t leave.” I hear the pleading in my voice and it shocks me. When have I ever wanted a man to stay this much? “You’re just scared.”
“Terrified, actually.” His jaw tenses. “Good night, Piper.” With that he turns and walks away, a lone dark figure in a black uniform along the picturesque street, his head bowed.
I watch until he disappears around the corner, barely feeling the air’s chill, wondering what thoughts are going through his mind.
Wondering if he’s right and there is no going back to what we had one summer, so long ago.
