Till I Kissed You (31 page)

“Let me call you right back, okay?” She disconnected without waiting for a response and slid off the stool, but kept the counter between them. Tally was dressed in spandex, and with her toned arms and legs would take Regan down within seconds in a girl fight.

“Can I help you with something?” Regan asked.

Tally fingered the fringe along one of the new pillows in her display. “You can't even tell your shop was vandalized. Looks good.”

“It was mostly pillow stuffing. Looked worse than it really was. Are you thinking about redecorating?”

“Maybe once Nash gets our cabin built you could help us?” Tally flipped her long, dark braid over her shoulder and side-eyed Regan with a smile.

She'd known Nash and Tally were dating but hadn't realized they had gotten serious so fast. “Of course. Nash is a great guy.”

“He really is.”

Regan wasn't sure she'd ever seen Tally smile. Not a smile like this anyway. It reminded her of Sawyer. Her heart did something funny. She probably should have skipped the extra cup of coffee that morning, but after a restless night, she'd needed something to get her moving.

“Did you want to look at some color swatches?” Regan came around the counter and fanned out a color wheel.

“Maybe later. “

“O-kay,” she drew the word out and waited, tense and expectant. Was she going to bring up the other morning?

“About the other morning—”

A brittle laugh emerged from Regan's throat. “That was very weird. Forget about it. Please.”

Tally's brows drew in. “Yeah. That's kind of why I'm here. You know, to apologize.”

“Look, I know how you feel about me. Nothing is going on between me and Sawyer. Not anymore.”

An awkwardness descended. Tally rubbed her nape and glanced to the door. “I haven't been a hundred percent fair to you. Nash told me you were really nice to him in school. I appreciate that. I do. We were sort of each other's protectors. Until we weren't.”

“He used to let me cheat off him.” Regan tittered another laugh that sounded fake, because it was. She had no idea where this conversation was going.

“He used to let me cheat off him too.”

Tally smiled again and radiated such warmth and love that a shot of jealousy speared Regan's gut. The unexpectedness of the feeling amplified her own heartbreak. Damnable tears pricked her eyes, and she grabbed the color wheel and studied it, hoping she hadn't exposed a weakness for the other woman to exploit.

Tally's hand, her fingernails painted a dark purple, covered hers for only a second, but the squeeze was unmistakable. “My brother is moping around like someone shot his favorite dog.”

“He's never owned a dog.” Regan sniffed the tears back.

Tally muffled a laugh. “Metaphorically speaking. He won't tell me what happened, but I can't help but worry I'm the cause.”

“You're not the cause. At least not in my eyes. I'm not sure how to tell you this, but … your brother is an idiot.”

“Aren't all men at one time or another?”

They shared a laugh, this one coming easier for them both and settling a layer of ease over the awkwardness. The bell tinkled again, and Regan was glad for the interruption. Tally was a Fournette and not her friend, yet she'd come dangerously close to spilling her problems.

Regan slapped on a smile, but as she stepped away, Tally laid a hand on her arm. “Wanted you to know that I'm all for you two if it makes Sawyer happy.”

Regan watched her disappear out the door and turn toward the river.

“What do you think, Regan? Does it match?” Her customer held a swatch against one of the pillows, and Regan tried to redirect her brain.

The rest of the afternoon passed in fits of working on the festival and helping customers. She made several design appointments for September, not sure if she was looking forward to the festival being over or dreading not having something to distract her. If she had never read that magazine article about the festival competition, she would have never been tossed together with Sawyer again. Despite her hurt feelings and confusion, she was glad for it. It was almost as if she had been biding her time in Cottonbloom until fate had veered them on a collision course.

The bell over her door tinkled, and all thoughts of Sawyer were shoved away. Ms. Martha stood on the threshold, and by the shell-shocked look in her eyes, Mrs. Carson and Ms. Leora had laid out the facts. The lines and creases had deepened since their last conversation less than a week earlier.

She and Regan held eyes for a few beats longer than was comfortable. When it became obvious Ms. Martha wasn't going to initiate a conversation, Regan said, “I take it you've met with the ladies?”

“Leora thinks I wanted to get caught.” She moved farther into the shop, fingering the same pillow fringe that had drawn Tally. “Maybe I did.” Her whisper barely registered.

“Why do you say that?”

“The Quilting Bee was my mother's passion. Not mine. Never mine.”

Regan recalled her admission that she didn't even quilt. “Then why keep it going all this time?”

“Because I didn't have anything else. I grew up wanting to please my mother. I did what she expected of me and didn't protest. And after she died, I wasn't strong enough to let it all go. I felt trapped. Can you understand that at all?”

Were she and Ms. Martha so different? Hadn't Regan toed her mother's line and smiled for the sake of everyone else? Sawyer had been the one who had made her feel brave and able to follow her passions. When he'd guessed her dream of running for state office, he hadn't laughed. He hadn't scoffed and spouted some platitude while patting her head. He'd told her the state would be lucky to have her. With Sawyer, anything felt possible. But she also knew how hard things had been without him. How easily her mother had stolen her confidence.

“Actually, I can understand your position, Ms. Martha, even if I don't understand why you took such drastic actions.”

Her gaze darted around the floor, her jaw working. “I sent the letter thinking it would be enough.”

“No offense, Ms. Martha, but it was a little campy. I thought a teenager had done it.”

Ms. Martha shook her head. “You saw the gas can, didn't you?”

“I did.”

“That's when you started to suspect, wasn't it?”

“Around then, yes.”

“It got out of hand. I told Heath to paint graffiti on the pavilion, not burn it down. The baskets were his idea. It seemed like he was settling his own scores along the way.”

“I suppose he was the one who broke into my shop as well?”

“Yes,” she said in a small voice. “I've felt like you've wanted me gone since you became mayor. You want some trendy little boutique to take my place. Or maybe you want my space for your own shop.”

“I didn't want either of those things to happen, Ms. Martha. I truly want the best for Cottonbloom and that does not include forcing you out of business.”

The woman's lips trembled. “Vera bought me out. We signed the papers this morning.”

“I'm sorry.” No anger came, only pity.

A smile flashed across Ms. Martha's face. “Don't be. I'm not. I'm embarrassed, sad, ashamed, but not sorry.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I'm going to do something that Mother always thought was foolish. She couldn't understand anyone wanting to leave Cottonbloom. I'm going to Florida. I have a cousin there who's been after me to move for years.”

“I hope you're happy there, Ms. Martha. You will be here for the festivals, won't you?”

“I don't think so, dear. The sooner I'm gone the better, to my way of thinking. But I wish you luck with them. And I hope you win the money for your plans. Truly, I do.”

Ms. Martha moved to the door and Regan followed. They exchanged tight smiles. After she stepped outside, Regan flipped the dead bolt on the door. An interior design emergency was unlikely.

Once home, she kicked off her heels and wandered the quiet of her house, mind and body restless and unsettled. Instead of consoling herself with the tub of butter pecan ice cream calling from inside the freezer, she headed to the river. The wind had stiffened since that morning and gray clouds to match her mood loomed on the horizon.

Her feelings for the river were entwined with her feelings for Sawyer. At one time she'd loved the river, found solace there. Sneaking down to the water to wait for Sawyer when they were teenagers had filled her with exhilaration. When her heart had shattered, the river had become her nemesis. She'd hated the river instead of herself. Hated the river instead of her mother. Hated Sawyer. It had been easier that way.

She settled with her back against the water oak and gazed over the river into the field of snowy cotton bolls. Her phone rang, and she startled. It was Monroe.

“What's up?” Regan twirled a fallen leaf, sunbeams limning its yellowed, curled edges.

“You're not going to believe this.” Monroe's voice held a note of euphoria.

“You and Cade are engaged.”

Silence. “What? Of course not. Good grief.” Her protest seemed half-hearted at best. “Why would you even think that? He's only been back a couple of months.”

“Could be the cow-eyes you send in his direction pretty much all the time.” Even with her own love life in turmoil, Regan would be ecstatic for Monroe. She and Cade were meant for each other. It was a matter of time until the man put a ring on it. He wasn't as dense as his brother.

“This is not about Cade. Well, in a roundabout way, it's because of him. Sam Landry is getting extradited back to Georgia. The private investigator Cade contracted back in June tied Sam to an embezzlement of funds from the insurance agency he worked for.”

“What about your case against him? Surely you want some retribution?”

Sam had tried to take advantage of one of the young girls in Monroe's girls-at-risk group. Monroe confronted him and egged him into hitting her. As soon as he had, she'd broken his nose and a couple of ribs before filing charges against him.

“Assault and battery is chump change compared to criminal embezzlement. The lawyer says I can testify as a character witness for the prosecution though. He'll be behind bars far longer with this new charge, and I'll do my best to keep him there.”

“In that case, that is fabulous news.”

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Better check your pants. I can smell the smoke from here.”

“Ha-ha. Very funny.” Regan picked up a flat rock and tried to skip it across the river, but it plopped and sank with the first hit.

“What did Sawyer do? Or not do? Your car was still there the other night when we dropped off his truck, but you didn't say anything the other morning.” Monroe's voice lilted up. Regan could either answer or not. Monroe wouldn't press her any further.

“We spent the night together. All night. And, it was amazing.”

“Amazing enough to forgive him?”

Regan outlined his confession to her.

Monroe whistled low. “Wow. Of course I always wondered, but considering how many secrets I kept back then, I was hardly one to force you to tell me.”

“I told Mother I'd found him in bed with another girl, which was a huge mistake. She never liked Sawyer and once she had something tangible to hang onto, she put up roadblocks on any path back to together. But, I thought we were finally moving forward.” Regan rubbed the middle of her forehead. “Until last night.”

“What did he do?”

“I asked him out on what I thought was a date.”

“Impressive and unusual. What happened? I can't imagine he shot you down?”

It had been the single most humiliating event of her life. Worse than having to stand on a stage while someone else won Miss Mississippi. Worse than Tally nearly walking in on them. Worse than catching a naked woman in Sawyer's bed. Now that she knew the truth at least.

“He thought I was asking for sex. And that's it. Told me to wear a skirt. He took me out on some back road. I thought we were going for dinner, maybe a movie.” The last words emerged from a throat strangled with tears. She'd cried more the last month than she had since they'd broken up. Her splotchy face was all his fault.

A crackling silence stretched before Monroe muttered a string of words that would have half the church congregation fainting. “What did you do?”

“Made him take me home. What else could I do?”

“Drop by one of my classes and I'll give you some ideas.” A hint of humor crackled over the phone. “That's where you left things?”

“Yep. Any advice?”

“Do you love him?”

The question had her flopping back in the grass and closing her eyes, pinpricks of sunlight moving like stars on her eyelids. “Of course I do. I always have.”

“Can I tell you something I've learned about the Fournettes?” Monroe didn't wait for an answer. “They are smart and amazing and loyal and proud. But underneath their thick hide of pride are little kids who still hurt from their parents' deaths, their struggle to survive in the aftermath, and the feelings of shame all of that produced.”

Everything, from the moment she ran out of his house to their disastrous “date” scrolled through her mind, including his defensiveness. “Sawyer thinks I'm ashamed of him.”

“Cade thought the same thing until I set him straight.”

“At the fund-raiser.”

“Exactly. These Fournette boys are surprisingly sensitive.”

“I should go talk to him?” Capable of making decisions that affected thousands of citizens, clear-eyed and logical, she wandered around blindfolded when it came to her own life and Sawyer.

“You two have made a habit of not talking things out.” She heaved a sigh. “Look, I can you tell you two things. One, Sawyer is a great guy. Two, he has been carrying a torch for you since forever. He was really worried about you after the pavilion burned down even though you accused him of doing it. He cares about you. A lot.”