But God knows I felt it. I fucking felt it hard.

I always would.

My mother invited me to stay for dinner. Asher said he wasn’t hungry yet and went to his room to lie down, so it was just her and me at the table. After about ten minutes of me scowling silently into my chili, she knew something was wrong.

Damn women and their Spidey sense. I was so sick of being probed by their know-it-all minds.

“What’s with you?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing. I know that face. Your dad used to make it after a bad day.”

“I had a bad day.” I picked up the beer bottle I’d opened and took a drink.

She eyeballed me shrewdly. “What’s Meg doing tonight?”

“I don’t know.”

“Rehearsal dinner?”

“Maybe.”

“You seeing her later?”

“Doubt it.”

She was quiet for a moment, but I felt her judgmental eyes on me. She knew I’d fucked it up somehow.

“What time’s the wedding tomorrow?”

“Dunno.”

“You’re still going, aren’t you?”

“Nope.”

She set her spoon down with a clunk. “And why not, Noah McCormick?”

“Because she doesn’t want me there.”

“Oh? How come?”

I took another few swallows of beer before deciding I might as well tell her the truth—or at least part of it. “Because we had a disagreement.”

“A disagreement! About what?”

“About whether or not she should move back home.”

“Uh huh.” Her fury radiated off her in waves. “And which side were you on?”

“There weren’t sides, Ma. She asked me if I thought it was a good idea, and I said no.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because I don’t want her quitting her job and moving back here for me.”

“And you know for sure it would be for you, is that it?”

I shrugged. “That’s pretty much what she said. And I don’t want to be anyone’s boyfriend. I told her that from the start.”

“Uh huh.” She was keeping her temper in check, probably because she was worried Asher might hear. He hated shouting. But after another minute of silently seething, she grabbed her half-full bowl and stood up. On her way to the kitchen, she used her free hand to whack me upside the back of my head so hard my cap flew off and landed on the table.

“Hey!” I yelled.

“That’s for being an idiot,” she said calmly, exiting the dining room.

I grabbed my hat and angrily shoved it back onto my head. From the front room, Renzo came trotting over to my side. Grateful, I scratched behind his ears. At least someone still loved me.

“Come on, boy. Let’s go home.”

I left my mother’s house without speaking to her and went home, but being there only reminded me of Meg. It was unnerving that I’d lived there for years and been just fine, but now everything I saw, every piece of furniture, was somehow connected to her. The kitchen counter. The couch. The bathroom. My bed.

I cracked open another beer and sat in front of the TV, but before I’d even finished half the bottle, I found myself too restless to sit still. My head was full of questions. What was she doing? Did she hate me? Had she told her family I was an asshole? Was she ever going to speak to me again?

Frowning at the television, I scolded myself for letting it come to this.

Hadn’t I known better? Hadn’t I warned her? Hadn’t I been saying all along—since I was sixfuckingteen—that there were good reasons not to mess with her? I’d been right! Look what had happened! How the hell I ever thought we’d be able to navigate this road once we threw sex into the relationship was beyond me.

My mother was right—I was an idiot.

Twenty-Four

Meg

I’m not sure how long I sat on that stupid parking stop bawling my eyes out. Ten minutes? Twenty? An hour?

I just kept hoping he would change his mind and come back. I imagined him pulling up, stopping the engine, and jumping out of the car to take me in his arms and tell me how wrong he’d been. Tell me I wasn’t alone. Tell me he loved me.

But it was a fantasy.

Things like that don’t happen in real life. Not to girls like me, anyway. Even Sylvia, beautiful, perfect Sylvia, had cried over her broken heart this morning. If she couldn’t figure this out, what chance did I have?

Eventually, I dragged myself back to my car and went home, lacking the energy to take the run I’d planned. Thankfully, no one was in the kitchen when I came in, and I was able to make it upstairs without talking to anyone.

In my bedroom, I curled up on my bed and cried some more, replaying the entire week in my mind, wondering how I could have been so wrong about him. After a few minutes, I heard a knock on my door.

“Who is it?” I called, wiping my cheeks.

“It’s Sylvia. Can I come in?”

“Yeah.” No point in putting this off.

My door opened, and my sister appeared. She wore the khaki pants and green Cloverleigh Farms shirt of an inn employee. Her face had been made up. “Hey. You okay?”

“No.” I stayed where I was, curled into a ball. “Did you bring any Twinkies?”

“No, sorry.” She shut the door and sat at the foot of my bed. “I take it you talked to Noah?” she asked gently.

“Yes. It didn’t go well.” Fresh tears filled my eyes, and my nose was running terribly. “Can you get me a tissue please?”

Sylvia looked around, and spying the box on my dresser, went over and pulled out several sheets.

“Just bring the whole box,” I told her.

She brought the box over to the bed and set it down on the mattress. “That bad, huh?”

“Worse.” Sitting up, I grabbed a tissue and blew my nose. “I’m so stupid.”

“No, you’re not.” She sat down and put a hand on my leg. “You’re brave. And beautiful. And brilliant.”

“I don’t feel any of those things.” I started weeping again, feeling helpless against the tide.

“Tell me what happened.”

“I went to the park to see him. He was babysitting his nephew Ethan this afternoon, and you should see him with that little boy. He’s so good with him. There’s no way he doesn’t want kids deep down.”

“You brought up having kids?” Sylvia asked, her eyes going wide. “I thought you were only going to talk about moving here.”

“I was. I did.” But now I couldn’t recall exactly what I said. “It wasn’t like I was pressuring him to get married or anything. All I did was ask him what he thought about me living here.”

“And?”

“And he pretty much said he didn’t care where I lived.” Between fresh bursts of tears, I told Sylvia how we’d argued, how he’d gotten angry with me, how he’d refused to give us a chance.

She rubbed my leg. “I’m really sorry, Meg. I know how you feel about him.”