Matched, p.19
Matched, page 19
“Now wait a minute,” Nat bristled.
Lindsey snagged her shoulder. “Down girl.”
“She can’t—”
“Watch and learn, young one.” She assumed her best I don’t care what’s in your frosting because I eat babies for breakfast smile and narrowed her sights on Marilyn. “No.”
Marilyn’s happy faltered. “Bliss needs—”
“No.” Lindsey did plenty for Bliss.
“And you’ve demonstrated excellent judgment—”
“No.” Nudging Nat toward CJ was one thing. She’d had her reasons. Noticing that Mikey and Dahlia weren’t bad together didn’t mean she was a matchmaker. She hadn’t even told anyone.
Except Will, and he wouldn’t have told Marilyn.
Would he?
“Your father thinks—”
“For the final time,” Lindsey said, “no.” She mimicked Nat’s shooing motion. “We’re done here.”
“We are not done, Miss Castellano.”
“You are so done,” Nat said.
“Kimberly—” Marilyn started.
Nat cleared her throat.
“You look lovely, dear,” Marilyn said to her daughter. Her gaze turned to Lindsey and lingered a moment longer. She didn’t say anything, but even after she left, she was still in the room.
“She’s going to cream your spinach,” Kimmie whispered.
“She has Billy judging the Battle of the Boyfriends. That wasn’t about getting Bliss featured on Rural Reality. It was about her getting all of what she wants.”
“She wants you to move home to Bliss and become a matchmaker?” Nat said.
“She wants Lindsey to find me a man,” Kimmie said glumly.
“She wants to still be relevant in a time when Bliss is changing.” Lindsey shifted on her block. There was nothing Marilyn could take from her. Not her job, not her home, not her self-respect. And even though Marilyn had brought three eligible Bliss bachelors to the last family dinner as prospective dates for Kimmie—under the guise of wanting to discuss some kind of official Bliss business while Nat was available too—Lindsey hadn’t played along. “In her own misguided way, she probably also thinks this is her way of showing Dad that she accepts me. And it won’t work. On any count.”
But Lindsey’s stomach still wobbled as though she’d been boxed into a crowded elevator, and her muscles spasmed from the effort of holding still.
“Did she really ask you to help find me a husband?” Kimmie whispered. Her big baby blues were full of the open, vulnerable innocence that made Lindsey’s heart ache. Kimmie had spent most of her life placating her mother, which was no small job. And while Lindsey suspected Marilyn wanted what was best for Kimmie, she didn’t believe Marilyn could truly know what was best for Bliss’s favorite quirky baker.
“She knows better,” Lindsey said. “You are the only person who gets that choice, Kimmie. Don’t let her take it from you.” She twisted on the dressing block. “Did you put a puff on my butt?” she said to Nat, because she was about done with this psychic matchmaker thing. “I’ve never known a bride who wants her ass to look bigger.”
“It’s flattering. Trust me, you need the extra curve.” She squatted and grabbed her tape measure. “Enough about the dresses. I want to hear about Billy. Why is it such a big secret what he likes on his pizza? Dad won’t tell.”
“The better question is what he likes in his cupcakes,” Kimmie said. “And does he need a baker on the road? Mikey comes in from time to time, but he never talks about Billy at all. Just Dahlia.”
“Those two are crazy adorable, aren’t they?” Nat said. “I never would’ve seen that coming. Are you guys going to the tasting at The Milked Duck tonight?”
Lindsey had heard Dahlia sold out of tickets for the Risqué Flavor Tasting within two hours of the announcement on social media that Will would be there. Standing shoulder-to-shoulder with half of Bliss crammed into a tiny ice cream shop? Lindsey shuddered. “Too crowded.”
“The Billy factor,” Nat murmured.
And there went the thunderclouds in Lindsey’s match-o-meter. Thinking about Will as Billy was enough to set it off.
Nat squinted at Lindsey. “Not an easy problem to solve, is it?”
“It’s not a problem either of us intends to solve.” Her reflection taunted her. A spinster posing in a white fluffy wedding gown. “Are you going, Kimmie? You and Dahlia could cater bridal showers together if you created some risqué-named cupcakes.”
Kimmie’s cheeks went their signature blotchy red. “My mom would string my beans. Heaven’s Bakery doesn’t do that kind of business.”
“So do it on the side,” Nat said. “What can Marilyn do to stop you? And then you could have assets that we-all-know-who can’t touch.”
Kimmie’s baby blues were as wide as her cheeks were red. She darted a glance between Lindsey and Nat. “I could do that?” she half-whispered. “I mean, is it legal?”
“Did you sign any kind of contract or agreement with your mother when you started working at the bakery?” Lindsey asked.
Kimmie shook her head.
“Mom didn’t have me sign one either when I started working here,” Nat said. “Tradition holds enough weight on its own around here.”
But traditions were changing. This time last year, having a divorced woman running a shop on The Aisle had been near scandalous. Bliss had embraced the Internet, reality television, and lavish weddings that cost as much as the gross domestic product of some third world nations, but otherwise, the little town hadn’t yet caught up to even the second half of the twentieth century, never mind the twenty first.
“Did you sign anything when your mom sold half the bakery to pay for Knot Fest?” Lindsey asked. “Is your name on any of the business documents anywhere?”
“No.”
“Then you’re probably free and clear to have some fun with Dahlia.” Lindsey still had a few friends from law school—it helped that she’d quit acknowledging her gift by then—and for her own piece of mind, she planned to give one of them a call on Monday. See if he could do some digging to make sure Kimmie wouldn’t get in trouble with anyone other than her mother for using her talents to benefit herself for once.
They spent the next hour gossiping, making up sexy-sounding cupcake flavors, and pretending Marilyn didn’t exist and that Lindsey was normal. When Lindsey left to get Noah from CJ, she hugged both Nat and Kimmie tight.
Because they were home, and they were her best friends, and one day soon—too soon—she would need them more than she could tell them.
WILL WASN’T surprised Lindsey declined his offer to take her to Dahlia’s ice cream tasting Saturday night. He had a nice time with Mikey and Mari Belle, but he was mighty glad to get home to Lindsey’s house all by himself, loaded down with dirty-named ice cream flavors to boot.
He found Lindsey reading in her living room—a book this time, instead of his Web page—and he got an honest smile when he handed her a carton of S’mores ice cream. “Wasn’t on the menu, but I special ordered it for you,” he told her.
“Thank you.” She scooted down the couch and patted the warm seat. And since Will wasn’t one to pass up the opportunity to touch the pretty girl who liked the country boy under all the Billy Brenton sparkle, he settled next to her with his own carton of ice cream, a chocolate number Dahlia called Chocolate Orgasm.
Rightly so.
“Never would’ve thought Mikey and me were coming here for him to find a girl,” Will said. “Like her, though. She’s good people. Good eye, lawyer lady.”
Lindsey stiffened. “I’m not a matchmaker.”
She had one of those woman-tones, the kind that meant he was supposed to understand what she wasn’t saying, but he didn’t have the whole Lindsey handbook.
Not yet.
“You got reason to think they’re not good together?”
She shook her head, but she stayed stiff.
Will put his ice cream down and fingered the silky strands of her light hair. “Not making fun, you know.”
“I know.”
She probably would’ve yanked him a new one if she thought he was, so he figured she believed him. But it still took a while of his thumbs massaging her shoulder blades before she relaxed.
“I was invited to be one of the judges for the Battle of the Boyfriends again today,” she said eventually.
“By the crazy cake lady?”
“She wants me to move to Bliss.”
She hadn’t said much about why she lived a town over instead of closer to her family. Will figured it was because her office was nearby. And there weren’t any divorce lawyers in Bliss.
He’d checked. Simple curiosity. Because the lady did seem to like her hometown.
He had a notion she wasn’t being invited to judge as a divorce lawyer. “That what you want?” he said.
“I want to be me.”
“Who are you?”
She twisted to give him a don’t be a dumbass look that was as loud as one of Mari Belle’s sighs.
“Not talking about what you do,” Will said. “Or what you don’t do. Talking about who you are.”
The glare faded, but the wariness that followed wasn’t any better. “What I do defines me.”
“What you do traps you.” Wasn’t his business, but he couldn’t stop himself. “We’re all more than a job or a gift. Me, I play the part of Billy. But deep down? I’m a kid from the sticks with a mishmashed little family and a guitar. I own that. That’s who I am. Who are you?”
He felt her shiver. “I’m about two seconds from leaving this conversation,” she said.
“If you knew who you were, you wouldn’t be talking to me about the crazy cake lady wanting you to move to Bliss.” Good thing she wasn’t leaning on him anymore, or she’d feel how fast his heart was running. The girl was a mess. All put together on the outside, still fighting who she was on the inside. And he had a notion he was the only person in the world who could see her struggle. “If you knew who you were, you’d be fixin’ to stay, or you’d be fixin’ to go, but you wouldn’t be sitting here thinking on it. Not with me. I’m gone in two weeks. You gotta live with you forever.”
Her eyes went wide, body stiff, lips tight. There was that flash of panic, of pain, of fear.
He wasn’t wrong. She liked him. Not for the exercise, but for the talking. For the listening. For the friendship.
“Your rules, remember?” he said.
She blinked quickly, then pulled herself off the couch. “My rules.” She fumbled with the lid on her ice cream. “Let Wrigley out once more before you go to bed. And warn me the next time you have visitors coming.”
Told him a lot, watching her retreat.
Didn’t tell him if she still thought he was a bad match for her, or if she was scared to commit to his being a good match. Either way, he knew one thing for sure.
The lady was all mixed up on the inside.
Didn’t take a psychic to see what she needed.
It took a man who could be bigger than himself, whether she loved him or left him, to show her that every last bit of her was perfect just as she was.
Chapter Fifteen
MARI BELLE LEFT for home around noon on Sunday. She got in a few more good sighs, along with a semi’s worth of hints that Will needed to get his rear end to Nashville or Georgia, but he was still glad she’d come. Would’ve liked if Paisley had come too, but she’d spent the weekend with Aunt Jessie and Donnie.
Will also wished Lindsey hadn’t been gone before the sun came up—catching up at the office, her note said—but he figured life was probably easier that way. Especially since Mikey was hanging out, moping.
His budding romance with Dahlia had gone for a hike through the pig slop, and now, while they were supposed to be working, Mikey was plucking out the same tune on his guitar. It was something new that should’ve been fast and fun, but instead sounded like a hound yowling over being plugged up.
The guy needed a drum kit to beat on instead of an old six-string.
Mikey being torn up over a girl—this was new.
Mikey being torn up over the girl Lindsey pegged as a good match—even if she wouldn’t say so—was interesting, but probably only to Will.
Neither of them were making much progress on the songs for the next album. So when Will’s phone rang, he breathed a sigh of relief at the distraction. Then grinned at the face on his screen. “Hey, peanut,” he said into the phone.
“Uncle Will, I’ve given this a lot of thought, and I think you should take me on tour this summer.”
Will choked on air. He stood and stretched, then went to the kitchen. “You talk to your momma about that?”
“Uncle Will. I go for the easy sell first. What do you think I am, eight? Besides, once you get married, you’ll need a babysitter on the road, and won’t it be better if I’m already used to the lifestyle?”
Crazy girl. Almost irritating too, because now he was wondering what Lindsey looked like in that wedding dress yesterday. “You having fun with Aunt Jessie and Donnie?” he asked Paisley.
“Yeah. I wanted to go looking for the Pickleberry Springs treasure with Sacha yesterday, but Aunt Jessie said Sacha was gone. Uncle Will, she told Aunt Jessie that Uncle Donnie wasn’t in her future. But Aunt Jessie really likes Uncle Donnie. And he’s nice. He bought me an ice cream cone and let me listen to Taylor Swift all day. But if Sacha says he’s gone, he should be gone. Right?”
Even Will knew this was dangerous territory. Paisley wasn’t supposed to be old enough for dangerous territory yet. Or ever. “All you need to know, peanut, is that boys are trouble,” Will said. He needed to give Sacha a call, see what was going on there.
See if he could get his family patched back together.
Paisley did an admirable impression of a Mari Belle sigh. “Uncle Will. If I wanted that kind of advice, I would’ve called one of Momma’s Officers’ Ex-Wives Club friends. She must’ve yanked that knot hard in your butt if you won’t tell me what you think. You know you’re the only one with any sense when it comes to Sacha, right?”
“Nice seeing your momma,” Will said. “Wish you could’ve been here too.”
“Uncle Will,” Paisley said, dragging his name out to about fourteen syllables. “Did you miss the part where I’m not eight anymore? You’re changing the subject.”
“How about I promise to call Aunt Jessie and Sacha right now?”
“That’s the best I’m gonna get today, isn’t it?”
“Yep.”
“Well, you better call her quick, because there’s a for sale sign in her front yard.”
Will’s heart went on a bender.
Sacha—moving? No.
No.
She’d baked him brownies when he got skinned knees. She’d taught him to read a map, taken him out hunting fairies when he was six and told him not to hurry into flirting with girls when he got older.
“Womenfolk overreact sometimes, peanut. It’ll blow over,” Will said.
He talked to Paisley a few more minutes about school, her new friends, the dog next door, anything and everything, all the while telling himself she was wrong about that for sale sign.
Before she let him go, she made him repeat his promise of extra tickets for her neighbors to go with them to his show at Gellings Air Force Base weekend after next, then made him promise to think about letting her come out on the road with him.
He’d think about it.
Other guys took their whole families out on the road. But the odds that Mari Belle would trust Paisley to him were pretty much zero. Even if he could talk Mari Belle into it, Paisley’s dad would probably nix the idea.
Will put in a quick call to Sacha, who said she needed to get ready for a psychic convention over near Savannah, and told him to write good songs today. When he asked if she was selling her house, she told him he needed to worry over taking care of him, not her, and all but hung up on him. So he called Aunt Jessie, who gushed about how polite and sweet Paisley was and how much Donnie loved her too, and how nice it was to have Paisley and Mari Belle and real family close again, and then said she had to go prep a big ol’ fried chicken dinner.
Both conversations left him with that sick feeling in his gut as if his life wouldn’t even right itself again. Wasn’t like he was a kid anymore, but it still sat wrong that his family was breaking.
He grabbed himself one of the cartons of ice cream he’d bought at Dahlia’s flavor tasting last night—girl made good ice cream, and the names were right funny too—and took himself to the sunroom.
Mikey was frowning over the computer, listening to a recording Will had made. “What is this crap?” Mikey said.
“The good kind of crap. You do me a favor?”
“Does it involve us leaving?”
“Involves you asking your momma to check and see what’s going on with Aunt Jessie and Sacha. Paisley says Sacha’s house is for sale.”
Mikey finally looked up. “Sacha’s moving?”
“Sounds like it.” And the thing with Sacha was, there was no telling if she’d move the three blocks it would take to be across town in Pickleberry Springs, or if she’d up and move to Mexico. All depended on what her visions and the spirits told her to do. “You still friends with that private investigator lady?”
Mikey’s face went an unusual ruddy color. “Yeah.”
“Might want her number myself if things go bad.” He hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but he couldn’t let Sacha walk away.
She was still Will’s family, even if she wasn’t Aunt Jessie’s anymore.
“Sure.” Mikey’s gaze dropped to the ice cream, and he grimaced. “Put that shit away.”
“You wanna talk about it?”
“We girls now? Eat ice cream and talk about our feelings?”
Better than talking about Sacha and Aunt Jessie. “Goes good with the pouting you got going on.”
“Ain’t one to talk, buckaroo.”
Will shrugged and dug into the ice cream. Hazel’s Nuts, it was labeled. “You name this one?”
