My One and Only(28)

Nick sighed. “Well, he does have a patent on a couple things.” He hesitated. “The Thumbie.”

“And what is the Thumbie?” I asked. My cosmo was gone. Too bad, since it appeared I’d be needing another.

“The Thumbie is a plastic tip you put over your thumb.”

“To what end?” I asked.

“To scrape gunk that you can’t get up with a sponge.”

I paused. “You’re not really serious, are you, Nick?”

He sighed. “Chris says you always end up using your thumbnail to—okay, so it’s stupid. But maybe no more stupid than the ShamWow.”

“The Sham-what?”

“Never mind. At least he’s trying.”

I took a slow, steadying breath. “And Willa, having quit beauty school, a paralegal course and a stonemasonry apprenticeship, is going to be the breadwinner in this family?”

Nick rubbed his forehead. “I don’t know, Harper. It’s not for us to decide. Can’t you just have some faith in the two of them? Let them make their own mistakes, find their own way, trust that they actually love each other?”

I snorted. “Right. Or maybe—just thinking out loud here—we can actually consider the facts and apply a little loving pressure so our siblings don’t end up in the same miserable stew you and I were in.”

“There’s more to a marriage than the facts.”

“Ignoring the facts of a relationship is the reason I have a job, Nick.”

“Well, you know what?” he said, an edge in his voice. “I think they’ll be really happy together.”

“Ah. So I can count on you to pick up the tab for Christopher’s divorce attorney?”

He squinted at me, almost smiling. “Wow. I forgot how stunted you are when it comes to matters of the heart.”

“Stop, I’m blushing.” My voice was calm, though I could feel my heart armoring itself for battle. “I’m not stunted, Nicky dear. I’m a realist.”

“A realist, huh. Or we could call it…stunted. Yep, that works.” He winked at me and leaned back in his chair.

“Well, I’ll tell you this, babe,” I said softly, leaning forward with a little smile and lowering my voice. His eyes dropped to my cle**age (gotcha, you dopey man, you), then came instantly back to my face. “At least I haven’t had my heart stomped on since you and I broke up.”

Nick tipped his head and smiled. “I wasn’t aware you had a heart, sweetums.”

Oh, he was such a pain in the ass. My expression may have been—hopefully was—pleasant, but my heart was racing in white-hot fury. That’s how it always had been with Nick—zero to sixty in a nanosecond. Before I did something rash like, I don’t know, kick him in the nuts, I stood up to leave.

“Well, this has been about as productive as I imagined,” I said. “But just for the record, Nick, I do have a heart, you broke it, it mended, the end. Always lovely to see you. Sleep tight.”

“Hold on, Harper,” he said, standing abruptly. “I broke your heart? See, this is the same problem as it ever was. You never could acknowledge what you did back then.”

“And you never could acknowledge that you played a part, Nick.” My voice was fast and quiet…and furious.

He jammed his hands in his pockets. “You just won’t admit that you were wrong, and it’s really too bad.”

“But I wasn’t wrong,” I said. “We were too young, we were not equipped to be playing grown-up, and shockingly, love—or whatever you want to call it—just wasn’t enough, was it? I was right, and that’s what drives you crazy.”

With that, I turned and left before he could see that my hands were shaking.

Okay. So that was not productive. I should’ve known it wouldn’t be, should’ve heeded my own advice to avoid being alone with my ex. Striding through the lobby, I spied a pacifier on the floor. Perfect. My random act of kindness for the day, take that, Father Bruce! Picked it up, spotted a mother/child duo and trotted over. “I think this may be yours,” I said sweetly, hoping Nick was watching.

“Oh, thank you!” the mother cried. “Destiny would never have fallen asleep without it.”

“My pleasure,” I cooed. “And she’s just gorgeous.” I started to give the child a pat on the head, remembered something about soft spots, withdrew my hand and gave the mother an awkward smile. Then I went outside to the cool and soothing night.

So. Where did one go to walk off some steam out here in the middle of God’s country? I strode down the road, away from the warm lights of the lodge and the murmur of people, and tried to breathe deeply, hoping to loosen the vise that seemed to be squeezing my heart.

A few yards off, there was a rock with a relatively flat surface. Perfect. I tiptoed over—not easy to walk in heels out here—and sat down, adjusted my skirt, took three calming breaths and flipped open my phone. Thank God, there was a signal.

He answered on the first ring. “Father Bruce here,” he sang.

“Father B., it’s Harper.”

“Ah! How are things?”

“Pretty rotten, Padre.” I swallowed hard.

“Go on, my child.”

“You just love saying that, don’t you?”