Page 5 of The Ex Effect
“Probably a blessing in disguise there was no moonshine. That cellar scared the crap out of me. Pretty sure the ghost we released still haunts me.” Morgan tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Are your parents helping?”
I huffed through my nose. Morgan clearly did not remember my parents. “Nah. They are… busy.” I’d asked them, but they said they had too many projects and didn’t have time to “sift through all of that shit.” Projects meant them tinkering around in a shed, holding down the job of the month, or bellying up to the bar. The second I asked, I had instantly regretted it. “They did say I should hand over any valuables, though.” I chuckled, although it wasn’t really funny.
Part of me couldn’t blame my parents. In a final f-you act of rebellion toward her son and daughter-in-law, Peaches refused to buckle under the pressure my dad pushed on her, and she left the house to Quinn and me. Sure, Peaches had declared a million times while living that she’d always leave the home to us, but there was some obvious lingering saltiness that Peaches didn’t change her mind at the end.
“She used to make the best rhubarb pie.” Morgan closed her eyes. “With homemade ice cream, right?”
And… she smiles.Sure, not a full-on, mega-watt Julia Roberts or anything, but softly, enough to make me remember Morgan did not always walk around with a Mall of America-size chip on her shoulder.
“Oh, I forgot about the homemade ice cream.” Such a lie. Why did I even say that? I didn’t forget about the ice cream. I rarely forgotanythingabout my past; my memory was both a gift and a curse. Funny how I’d often walk into a room and forget what I needed or leave the house without my phone, but my mind gripped on to situational memories, replaying the good and bad in vibrant details.
Back during those childhood summers, Morgan and I would stop by almost daily for a scoop. Did Morgan have the same flash of memory as me? The first kiss that happened over homemade vanilla ice cream in Peaches’s backyard. We were fourteen years old, sitting on the rickety wooden swinging bench on the back porch, and had Katy Perry blasting through an iPod. If I closed my eyes, I could still see the floating cottonwood and feel the flutters when Morgan gave me a shaky kiss on the mouth.
Laughter from the table of women made Morgan stiffen. “I need to find the hostess. We were supposed to meet the manager almost thirty minutes ago. This is absolutely ridiculous, not to mention highly unprofessional.”
And… she’s back.The softness swapped with the same uptight, rigid, uncomfortable woman I remembered. “Maybe she’s caught up with something.”
Morgan pushed herself from the booth. “We don’t have time for this. Every second wasted sitting here is a second that I need for a million other things.”
Wasted?God, she sucked. I just opened up about my grandma passing, and Morgan thought it was a waste of her time? I was seriously regretting telling Tommy I’d take this job.
Morgan’s heavy wedges clicked against the floor as she marched over to the hostess stand. A moment passed when she crossed her arms and frowned.
Definitely not a good sign. “What did she say?” I asked as she returned.
“She thanked me for my patience and said the owner knows I’m here with a thumb up my ass and will be with me shortly.” Her face fumed red. I probably should not be taking quite the amount of pleasure in this that I was. “Obviously, she didn’t say the thumb part, but still. If we didn’t need this place so bad, I’d hightail it out of here without a second glance.”
I crossed my legs under the booth. “Because the manager is busy? Don’t you think that’s a little extreme?”
Morgan’s eyes narrowed. “Extreme? How many weddings have you planned? Punctuality iseverything. If they can’t be on time for a simple meet and greet, how can I trust them to host an entire wedding?”
Even though Morgan had a point, I wanted to scratch off my ears with the condescending tone. I refused to let on that I agreed. In a snap, I was back in high school getting scolded by my high school girlfriend for not finishing a term paper on time. I lifted my chin in a quick nod. “Gotcha.”
“Whatever.”
Really?“What doesthatmean?”
Morgan sucked in her cheeks. “I know keeping promises is not your forte, but this is business, and we don’t have that type of luxury.”
Well, that went downhill fast. The words stung hard and fast like a slap. Not due to whatever history Morgan referred to, but because of my last two years in New York. “Are you actually serious right now?” I pushed back into the booth and crossed my arms. “You’re not talking about some stupid high school romance, are you?”
Morgan’s eyes turned a dark, angry blue.
What we had wasn’t a stupid high school romance, and I knew that damn well. It was years of friendship that morphed into four years of building dreams and an intense first love, which took me years to get over. But I’dneverlet Morgan know she once held that kind of power.
Morgan’s mouth dropped. “How?—”
The laughter from the other table reached a fever pitch and cut through whatever Morgan was going to say. Probably for the best as I was a pacifist at heart, but if pushed too far, I’d snap and probably say some shit I’d regret. It had been years since I was in an organized sport, but the competition andfighting spirit floated just beneath the surface, ready to pounce like a panther on its prey.
A chair squeaked as a woman with a black blazer and frizzy blonde hair stepped to the table. “Morgan? Hi, I’m Jane, the owner.”
Oh shit. Hate shifted from me to this woman. It took a solid few seconds for Morgan’s pursed lips to flatten. Like a supervillain shape-shifter, she adjusted her expression, stood, and shook the woman’s hand. Even though I didn’t know everything about planning a wedding, I knew at this late of a stage in the planning process, Morgan needed this venue more than the owner needed Morgan’s business.
“Follow me,” the woman, Jane, said as she stepped back from the table. “I’ll show you the grounds and answer any questions.”
Morgan turned to follow the owner without another look at me.Rude. I scooted myself from the table and double-stepped to catch up.
Outside, we walked past a crooked, rotted fence with a danglingNo Smokingsign. Jane removed a pack of cigarettes from her jacket pocket and tapped it against her palm.
