Say You Still Love Me(97)

“Don’t blame Kyle. That was as much my fault as it was his. And what’s going on with you? It sounds like you’re making excuses for Dad’s shady behavior.”

“No.” She holds her manicured hand in the air. “I most certainly am not excusing your father’s behavior. I’m just trying to help you see past your anger and think about this logically.” She offers me a sympathetic smile. “We’re your parents. We only ever want you to be happy. But we’re also human and have our own set of experiences that have shaped how we see life. Our own pitfalls that we’ve tumbled into. Sometimes it’s hard to stand by and let your children learn the hard way. And sometimes we screw up. But I promise you, whatever your father did, it wasn’t through selfish or malicious intent. He has always had your best interests in mind.” She shrugs. “And it sounds like his methods, however twisted they may have been, helped this boy in the long run, too.”

“Yeah, they did,” I admit reluctantly. Kyle did say that he doesn’t hold a grudge against my father, that the money changed his life for the better. Knowing that does temper my anger a touch. Just a touch, because there would have been better ways to help a boy in need than to threaten him.

I sigh. “I can’t just move on. Not without knowing whether we could work.”

Mom seems to mull that over. “You two weren’t ready for the kind of feelings you’d fallen into back then, but maybe you are now.”

I frown. “You’re confusing me. Are you suggesting that Kyle and I should be together?” Because everything she’s said up until now has sounded like the exact opposite.

“It is confusing, isn’t it? Life? To be so sure of something in your head but unable to ignore what’s in your heart.” Her eyes narrow on her fork tines in thought. “I think that if you and this boy . . . this man, now . . . really want this to work despite the challenges, then you’ll find a way.” She offers my hand a reassuring pat. “You are your father’s daughter, after all. And when he married me, I didn’t have two pennies to rub together.”

“But your looks and your charm were priceless.”

Her soft, musical laughter soothes me. “If I remember correctly, this boy was rather cute, despite the funny hair. How did he turn out?”

“He turned out just fine.” I give her a knowing look.

“A security guard, you said?” She smiles secretively through a sip of wine. “Do they use handcuffs?”

I cringe. “Mom!”




“Seventeen Cherry Lane. This is it.” The cab driver squints as he peers over his steering wheel to take in the condominium, the six o’clock evening sun bouncing off the windows. It isn’t one of the buildings we developed, but it’s nice, all the same.

Seventeen cherries.

I hand the driver a wad of cash for the fare plus a healthy tip for putting up with the stops we made on the way here. “Just wait here a minute, in case they’re not home, okay?”

“You got it.”

I slide out of the backseat of the taxi and make my way through the glass doors. The intercom is to the left. I promptly punch in 717.

And wait.

Disappointment begins to swell as it rings three . . . four . . . five times, until a male voice answers on the sixth ring. “Yeah?”

I can’t tell if it’s Kyle or Jeremy. “Hey . . . It’s Piper.”

There’s a long stretch of silence.

And then a buzz and a click sound, as the interior door unlocks.

I give the taxi the thumbs-up and then head in.

The interior is attractive—trendier than some of the family-friendly ones in the area. There is a small cubby to my right where a security guard would sit, but it’s empty. I’m not surprised. We’re in the suburbs, a generally safe and quiet area. Most condo boards have opted for security camera systems and part-time staff to save on budget.

I clutch my purse to my side as I ride the elevator up to the seventh floor, my stomach a fluttering mess of nerves. I’m more nervous for this than I have been for any board meeting or investor presentation I’ve lived through. Maybe it’s because this is personal; the end result means everything to me.

When I round the bend in the hall, Kyle is waiting for me, leaning against the door frame, barefoot and wearing track pants and a plain white T-shirt that clings to his torso without being too tight. His hair is damp and pushed back, reminding me of afternoons in the lake, when he’d slide a hand through it to keep it from falling onto his forehead.

He watches me approach, his eyes drifting over my outfit—a casual navy-blue-and-white striped cotton jersey dress that hugs my curves and makes me think of warm summer days at Martha’s Vineyard.

“You found me,” he murmurs with a crooked smile.

“Jeremy was right. It’s easy to remember.” I stop just in front of him and inhale the scent of soap and cologne that wafts around him. “You smell good.”

“I was just getting out of the shower when you buzzed.”

Thoughts of Kyle answering my call in nothing but a towel hit me, and heat begins crawling along my skin. “It’s okay that I’ve surprised you like this?”

“Yes.” Not a hint of a waver in his voice.

An electric charge is building between us. His deep inhale tells me he feels it, too.