Chapter 6

Michelle

I stared into the dregs of my coffee cup for several minutes before I fully registered the sound of a male voice calling to me, muffled by my kitchen windows.

“Michelle! Good morning!”

I furrowed my brow at the shadow on the other side of my curtains, yanking them to one side. Chet Browntooth stood in a stream of hot Texas sunshine, shading his eyes and knocking incessantly on the glass.

I almost rolled my eyes right in front of him. It was 8:30 in the morning on a goddamn Sunday. I wasn’t even wearing a bra yet. What was he doing here?

“Um, one second,” I called, striding back to my bedroom and hunting through the half-organized closet for a real shirt. I selected a cinnamon-colored cardigan and threw it over my shoulders. That would make me look frumpy and average, and it would hide my nipples from view: two birds with one stone.

I left my hair in its snarled half-ponytail monstrosity, left my face pale and tired, and went to answer the door. There was just something deep down inside me that wanted Chet Browntooth to believe in my ugliness.

“Morning, Chet,” I greeted, opening the front door for him.

Chet stood eagerly on the porch, cradling a glass dish covered in tin foil. “Morning. How is it possible that you look so beautiful right now?”

“Who knows?” I brushed off the compliment. “What’s going on?”

“Well, I made some monkey bread for breakfast, but it was way too much.”

“Ooh, monkey bread,” I echoed, even though I wasn’t really hungry. “That was one of my favorites when I was a kid.”

Chet brightened. “Really? Then I’m glad I brought it by.” He extended the dish. “Consider it my housewarming gift to you.”

“Thank you, Chet.” Cradling the warm glass against my stomach, the cardigan gapped open and exposed the shape of my nipples beneath the thin nightshirt I’d worn to bed. Damn it. I took a step back and made a hurried motion to close the door. Chet was being perfectly nice, but after watching that tape of how he treated Andrew, I couldn’t look at him as if he was a regular good person. The only reason I was being polite to him was my mother’s drill sergeant training that her daughters be polite to all guests. “Well, have a good morning. I’ll see you later.”

“Wait, wait,” Chet said, sticking his foot in front of the swinging door. I couldn’t believe he actually did that and scowled up at him. “What are you doing today? I’m off, and I’m as bored as a billy goat.”

“Uh, I had a project for today,” I told him, really wishing this conversation would wrap up. The awareness that my nipples were slightly exposed blared in the foreground of my thoughts, and Chet’s eyes ticked down, taking quick inventory of my breasts.

“Oh, really?” His eyes ticked back up to mine. “I’m a bit of a handyman, myself.”

“I’m installing a fountain in the front yard,” I hurried to explain. “You’re welcome to come by and lend a hand.” This was a complete lie, but it was the lie I needed to tell to get this clinger off my porch.

Chet nodded eagerly. “Sounds good! I’ll see you in a few, Michelle.”

“Sounds great.”

I slammed the door and leaned against it, then trudged to the kitchen to put the monkey bread in the fridge. I shrugged off my cardigan and threw myself onto the living room sofa, groaning loudly into its cushions.

This was day two with zero interaction between myself and Andrew, unless you counted the message on my answering machine from yesterday: “Hello, Miss Harper,” it said. Miss Harper. “This is Ace from Ace Garage on Florence Street, just giving you a call to let you know your invoice is ready for pick-up. Just give me a call before you come, so I know to expect you. Thank you.”

He didn’t mention how much the work was going to be, and I was too proud to call him back and ask. I had to do this, but I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to go to his house and face his stiff, blank-faced act, like he’d never known me as a lover. That wasn’t what I’d wanted when he stormed out of my office on Thursday. I just didn’t want to go to his friend’s wedding with him. I just didn’t want to be thrust into his world when I knew I wouldn’t fit there, when I knew I’d be some alienated, uptight joke to all his old Pelham friends.

I forced myself up from the couch and trudged to my bedroom for a shower and real clothes, surprised at how heavy and hopeless I felt. He was just a mechanic. He was just a client. He was just a one-night stand. Fleeting. Fun. This was always meant to be temporary. He was the one breaking the rules by inviting me to his friend’s wedding. That wasn’t what this was.

I sifted through my wardrobe and selected a pair of blue jean capris and a blue button-down shirt. I pulled the ponytail from my sloppy bedhead, collected a towel, and went hobbling to the shower, pushing myself to start the day. Yesterday had been a patchwork of paperwork and phone calls and intermittent spells of sorrow. That couldn’t be my life today.

I was just out of college. I might have been twenty-nine, but this was my first serious job out of law school, and I couldn’t blow it because I was depressed about some guy. This was my first real home, a rent-to-own deal into which I’d sunk all my savings to meet the down payment. And I had to keep pushing forward.

“Ace” Bogart would not throw me out of sync with my own life the way that Daniel Fletcher had. I was done being a pathetic, ruined girl. When my family lost all their money, Daniel dropped me as if I was hot to the touch. It took me years to get over the total abandonment of my childhood sweetheart... and there was no way some random mechanic could get under my skin and wreak just as much havoc in a matter of weeks. No way.

I climbed into the shower and cleaned myself up. I pushed Andrew fully from my mind. I swept his scent out of every corner. Scrubbed his fingerprints from my walls.

He didn’t get it yet. He saw me as I was on the inside. He didn’t see my shell the way other people saw it. Laidback, happy people thought that I was a hilarious joke, with my pressed skirts and the way I spoke. Hell, I’m originally from Connecticut. I could only imagine how a Texan wedding would be so loud and wild and free, and I’d be standing there in my little heels behind my little glasses, like a boat lost at sea.

Andrew didn’t get it yet, but he would. I didn’t belong in his world.

I stepped from the shower stall and toweled up, neatly brushing my hair and twisting it up in a tortoiseshell clasp. I slid my glasses back up my face and stared myself down in the foggy mirror.

Ten years ago, my ex realized I didn’t fit with his life. He realized I was an imposter, and I got jettisoned into the atmosphere. I promised myself it would never happen again. I promised myself I would focus on my career and on my budget until I eventually met “Mr. Right,” and when it finally happened, I would just know. He would just complement me without even realizing it.

And that person was not Andrew Bogart.

He thought the wedding sounded fun because it was part of his world. But if I invited him to one of my mother’s garden parties, he’d get it. He’d understand.