“I told him Tanner was my older lover.” She kicked at her purse. “Damn, I was hoping he’d suffer longer.”
“He got pretty upset, watching Tanner beat you.” She filled her in on their conversation.
“He’s right, Mere,” Jill responded flatly. “Once I walk away, that’s it. And anyway, he was the one who left me in the first place.”
“You should think about forgiving him, Jillie. You used to be best friends.”
“It’s different now. We’re different now. Let’s leave it be,” she said in a rush, suddenly fascinated with picking lint off her multi-colored print peasant shirt.
“Who’s running now, Jill?”
“Bitch,” she muttered without heat. “You sound like Jemma. Fine, you’ve made your point. Do you feel better now?”
Meredith’s chuckle carried in the quiet car. “No, but I do feel like a good sister.”
“Okay, so we’ll both think about not running away. Deal?”
Meredith winced when Jill thrust a hand at her. She took it with dread, icicles spreading around her heart. Could she live up to her end of the bargain?
Even so, she murmured, “Deal,” and put the car into gear, taking them home.
Chapter 15
Two weeks later, Meredith was no closer to going out with Tanner despite his continued hovering. She could all but hear the clock ticking in her head. Had she really thought she could find Mr. Right in Nora Roberts Land in three months? She had until after Thanksgiving to write her article, which only gave her another month.
Meanwhile, she was doing her best to placate Jill. Eating crow—e.g., setting aside a scared vow—sucked. Her sister was giving her looks that could have turned even the most faithful prophet into a pillar of salt.
Meredith had a real connection with Tanner—she knew it, and heck, even her subconscious knew it. One morning she jolted awake from a dream about him drenched in sweat, shivering in the silence. But wanting him was different than being with him, and a part of her couldn’t seem to take that next step. She was dragging her feet big time.
Her boss continued to enjoy her email updates on her dating antics. She was glad that someone was. Karen was still confident Meredith would find Mr. Right—and if it didn’t happen, she’d agreed Meredith could write about dating in a small town. She was glad the pressure was off, but a story like that wouldn’t prove Rick-the-Dick was wrong about Nora’s books, nor would it help her find her happily-ever after.
She shut off her chatty mind so she could enjoy her second coffee outing—see, progress—with Dr. Kevin Planey, an archeology professor specializing in Colorado’s Native American artifacts. He was telling her about some cave dwellings an hour away he wanted to show her this weekend. He was interesting, and well, gangly.
Okay, he was no Indiana Jones, but the archeology thing reminded her of Dr. Jake Greystone in Nora’s Birthright.
The door chimed, signaling a new customer. She choked on her lukewarm tea as her grandfather walked in. He waved, tapped his cane on the floor, and headed to the counter. Jill wasn’t working, which was the only reason Meredith had agreed to meet Kevin at Don’t Soy With Me. She was afraid of what Sista Pimp might do if she were present.
Jemma greeted him with a bright smile. “Hi, Mr. Hale. What brings you here? Jill’s not working, but Meredith’s having coffee.”
“I’m not here for them. You do sell coffee in this establishment?” he harrumphed. “I’d like a cup.”
“What kind?”
“Just coffee.”
Jemma pointed to the chalkboard. “We have lots of different kinds of coffee, Mr. Hale. Why don’t you see what sounds good?”
Meredith turned back to Kevin and nudged her shoulder toward the counter. “That’s my grandfather.”
“Ah, the legend himself,” Kevin replied as Meredith turned back to watch the train wreck she knew was coming.
“You sell all that crap, and at those prices?” Grandpa harrumphed as he dug out his wallet. “Just give me the one that tastes the most like plain coffee, Jemma.” He leaned forward, adjusting his glasses. “Vanilla shot? Who puts that crap in coffee? It goes in a cake, not coffee.”
“Yes, Mr. Hale. I’ll get you a dark roast.” She had his coffee on the counter in thirty seconds flat. When he pulled out a five, she pushed it back. “It’s on the house. Really.”
He slapped the money down. “Just because I’m old doesn’t mean I can’t pay for my own coffee. Take my money, girlie, or I’m going to write an article about elderly discrimination in this establishment.”