Page 39 of Now That It's You
But hell, it’s not like he tried to grope her. And it’s not like he stalked her here, either. He’d just wanted a few quiet moments alone to collect his thoughts and escape the throng of relatives eager to tell him what a great guy Matt was and how Kyle looked just like him and did he think Matt would have liked the service?
Of course Matt would have liked the service. It was all about Matt.
But that was a shitty thing to think, so he’d come down here to give himself a time-out, maybe take a stab at being less of a jerk.
Only now he was here holding Meg from behind, her body pressed lush and round against him, and he remembered the upside of being a jerk.
Kyle cleared his throat. “It’s just me, Meg,” he whispered against her ear.
She turned to face him, and he dropped his hands from her elbows, breathing in the lilac scent of her in the dim little closet. Her hair brushed his arm, and Kyle had to fight the urge to reach for her again.
“Kyle? What are you doing here?”
“Oh, you know—taking inventory of the toilet paper, making sure the fire extinguisher is up to code, checking to see if the mop needs to be replaced.”
“So, escaping?”
“Pretty much. You?”
“Same thing.”
They both went quiet, and Kyle used the opportunity to study her face in the dim interior of the closet. He’d been in here ten minutes, so his eyes had adjusted to the darkness. The ghost beams of light seeping around the door gave him enough to see the glint of silver in her eyes, the subtle curve of her cheek. Her expression seemed uncertain, but she hadn’t made a move to leave yet.
“So this is awkward,” she said
“Being at your ex-fiancé’s funeral, or being in the closet with his brother at said funeral?”
“Both.” She hesitated. “Wait, I thought it was a memorial service.”
“It was. Funeral’s just shorter to say.”
“Right.” Meg bit her lip. “I take back what I said earlier. This is actually the least awkward moment of the last hour for me.”
“That’s depressing.”
“It’s a memorial service. Isn’t it supposed to be depressing?”
“Not if you ask Aunt Judy. She insists it’s supposed to be a celebration of life. If she had her way, we’d all be wearing jingle bells and dancing on the bar.”
“I can think of worse ideas,” Meg said, her eyes meeting his in the dim half-light of the closet. “So how are you holding up?”
“Okay.” He hesitated, not sure how much information to volunteer. But hell, she’d asked, and there was something about being in the closet that gave this whole thing the air of a Catholic confession. At least, he imagined this might be what the confessional was like, minus the push broom and the jumbo pack of Hefty bags.
“I guess—” he swallowed. “I guess I thought the service would give me some closure.”
“Did it?”
“No. I just keep replaying conversations in my head. Arguments I used to have with Matt about my career choices or my eating habits or whose turn it was to take Mom out to lunch.”
“I’ve been doing the same thing. Rehashing old arguments, I mean. I’ll catch myself doing it and I’ll realize I’m even making the facial expression that goes with the point I’m trying to make.”
Kyle nodded, though she probably couldn’t see him in the darkness. “I know what you mean. I caught myself grinning like an idiot in Costco yesterday after I made a particularly valid point during my replay of an argument we had in high school.”
“I take it things didn’t unfold that way in real life?”
He snorted. “In real life Matt gave me a wedgie and threw my car keys in the toilet, so I’d say no. Of course, I retaliated by putting Doritos in his bed. I’d like to think our methods for solving disagreements improved once we reached adulthood.”
One edge of her mouth ticked up. “I saw Matt pour a beer on your head once, so probably not.”
