2 Months 'Til Mrs. (2 'Til Series) Read online

  “Oh, forgive me, you ‘decided to slow things down—hiccup—everything’s just spinning too fast—’” Tara made a gagging, puking sound on the other end. “‘It’s best to stop seeing—hiccup—and fucking Fynn… because it’s’not—’” Tara gagged again. “‘—not like it’s going anywhere. And there are plenty of fish in New York… you know. So now we can date whoever we want. I think it’s about time I got my—hiccup—groove on.’” Then suddenly stone-cold sober, Tara challenged, “Tell me, what exactly do you call that?”

  “I call it gross. Are you sick or something?” Catherine eked out, playing dumb—first rule of friendship: never admit to anything.

  “I was being you,” Tara admonished. “Complete with toilet bowl sound effects.”

  “I didn’t,” Catherine groaned, putting her head down against the steering wheel of Fynn’s truck, wanting to hide.

  “You called me at two in the morning on New Year’s. I almost puked just listening to the message.”

  “I left that in a message?” she asked shakily, feeling a little sick at the mere thought.

  “Yup. What the hell were you on?”

  “Scotch,” she said dolefully. She remembered having some wicked dreams that night and hugging a toilet bowl had been one of them. But so had kissing a llama and she certainly hadn’t done that.

  “So what gives, bitch?” Tara demanded.

  “It was a crank call,” she said, her tone lilting up in a question.

  “Yeah, right.”

  “And what took you so long to call me back anyway?” Catherine retorted, going on the offensive, blindly and hopefully.

  “Oh no you don’t. You aren’t turning this on me after that barf-o-matic message you left. Seriously, Cat, you almost killed the moment between me and Steve. You should have had a squeamish alert on that thing.”

  Catherine shuddered—but who the hell was Steve anyway? A drop in the bucket. Another notch on her bedpost. This wasn’t the love of her life she was talking about—like I was talking about, albeit grotesquely.

  “So where are you? Do I have to send a search party?” Tara asked.

  “Listen, that call was a…” she scrambled uncertainly, “… huge misunderstanding.”

  “A misunderstanding?” Tara asked dubiously.

  “I’m actually at Fynn’s right now. I’m taking the day off.”

  “First you leave me the most disgusting message known to man and now you tell me it was all just a—”

  “I was drunk! I can’t be held accountable for what I say when I’m drunk!”

  “Drinking and dialing—I’ve taught you better, haven’t I? You never know who might get hurt,” Tara said, sounding very “Elizabeth Hemmings”.

  Oh my God, what if I had called Fynn like that?

  Suddenly there was a tapping sound on the window and she jumped in her seat, her head snapping up from the wheel that she’d been hanging onto like an anchor to keep her steady. There was Drew outside, pointing at her bare wrist to pantomime passing time. Calling Drew had been the only other thing she’d done other than Fynn since arriving. Their friendship had grown quickly and easily, first in spite of and then because of her brother. If it weren’t for Drew, Catherine might still be searching for Joel Trager to this day.

  She held a finger to the window while she spoke to Tara. “I’ll be in tomorrow. I really have to go now.” And with that she abruptly hung up before Tara had time to protest or even sign off.

  After a deep, steadying breath, she got out of the truck, giving Drew a hug that she meant; suddenly realizing that she had come painfully close to losing her, too, over the past few days. Pushing Fynn out of her life would have shoved Drew out as well. Blood was thicker than water. After spending every major holiday together over the past eight months and getting together most Saturday mornings for a gluttonous breakfast, that would have been painful collateral damage.

  “Happy New Year!” Drew exclaimed. “I can’t believe you got snowed out! Fynn was so mopey all weekend, like he lost his best friend. My kids wanted to know who broke their uncle,” she chuckled.

  Catherine was stricken, but she detected no judgment or tension at all in Drew’s voice. She’d been worried that Fynn might have told his sister about their “technical breakup” and had been somewhat prepared to plead her case that a girl should never be held accountable for what she says on New Year’s Eve—especially not one approaching the apex of her thirties without a husband or children or anything to show for what could very well be the first half of her life. Everything was about to start going downhill…. This could be the last good year she had left in her. And I almost canned it over a friggin’ snow storm.

  “I get a feeling he would have plowed the runways himself just to see you,” Drew said in wonder. “You really have a hold on him.”

  My snowplow man, Catherine swooned.

  “So, how long are you in for?” she asked, a wry smile on her lips. She had taken to using the prison reference in regards to her visits, like Catherine just couldn’t stay out of trouble.

  “Just until this evening. I can’t start blowing all my vacation in the first week.” Catherine was trying to assure herself of that at the same time.

  They walked down the sidewalk to the Diner on the Main, the site of Catherine’s first introduction to the little town of Nekoyah. Her first humiliation, actually. When she learned that big city clashes with small town like leopard print and gingham, and everyone here did not know everyone’s name. She’d also learned not to make substitutions—order off the menu and eat it however it comes, or else.

  Drew opened the jingling door and Catherine followed her inside. They took off their winter coats and hung them on the communal coat rack, then sought out their usual table. By the time they sat down, Mel had appeared tableside.

  “Hey, New York, didn’t realize you were in town.” She turned their mugs over and poured them each a full cup from her ever-present pot of coffee. “Didn’t see your little Toto car around. Is it hiding under a park bench or something? Maybe buried in the snow?”

  “It got packed away with the other Christmas ornaments,” Catherine said easily, though a blush colored her cheeks beyond the bite of the cold outside. She hadn’t actually driven into town in that tiny Smart car since her first fateful visit, but first impressions seemed impossible to live down. There were a handful of the regulars who got a real kick out of acting surprised to see her each week, checking behind her back for the transportation that brung her. She liked to think that it meant they really liked her and preferred not to find out the truth.

  Mel gave her a curt nod of approval for the comeback. “So, the usual?”

  “Of course,” Drew replied, turning back to Catherine as Mel wandered off to the kitchen. “I hate it but I am going to have to eat and run today. My customers don’t like to wait—it can get ugly.”

  Catherine snickered. Drew dealt drugs out of the pharmacy down the street. Most of her customers were seventy-plus and moved at a snail’s pace.

  “I’m serious. The dentures come out and the arthritic fists come up.” She swiped her brow like it was a dicey situation. “So you’re really leaving today?” she implored.

  Catherine finished doctoring her coffee and took a sip. “Mmm-hmm.” Her response was both to Drew and to the coffee that was beginning to taste more like home to her than the stuff she bought on the way to work each day.

  “Too bad. I was hoping to have you guys over for dinner. A late New Year’s celebration.”

  “Maybe next time,” Catherine offered evasively, not really knowing when next time would be or how they were moving forward from here quite yet. There hadn’t been a whole lot of talking about the state of their relationship what with Fynn’s tongue down her throat and all the moaning getting in the way.

  “I’ll have my people call your people,” Drew quipped.

  Catherine took another sip of her coffee, letting it warm the winter chill and coat the niggling discomfort that she
was hiding stuff from yet another friend. “So are Garret and Lyle still off on Christmas break?” she blurted.

  “Thank God, no!” Drew exclaimed, her eyes dancing. “They went back to school today. Don’t get me wrong, I love the holidays, but I need things to get back to a normal routine. Awful, right?”

  “Not at all,” Catherine gushed, relieved. She felt the same way on those weekends she came here and Cara was in town. It was just so much more exhausting than it was when it was just her and Fynn. She’d feared it was her lack of maternal instincts that was the problem.

  “You know, the boys really loved that you came to their Christmas pageant.”

  “It was great. I’m glad I did,” Catherine said with a chuckle. It was the first Christmas pageant she’d ever been to as a member of the audience, and it brought back the days when she had been in her church’s pageant growing up. All the stumbles and missteps and forgotten words. This one was no different. Lyle tripped on his shepherd’s robe on his way to the stage and Garret had to be elbowed four times to remember to say his one line.

  “It is just so wonderful that you and Fynn are together. I didn’t know if he would ever find someone and you, well, I just… gosh, I’m such a blubbering fool.” Drew wiped at the tears that suddenly sprang to her eyes.

  “Are you okay?” Catherine asked warily, wondering if she knew more about what had happened between her and Fynn than she’d let on….

  “I don’t know what has gotten into me. Please ignore the ridiculous, sentimental sap before you.”

  Mel appeared between them, back with their meals and a java refill that Catherine accepted kindly and Drew, the certified coffee junkie, waved away. She hadn’t even touched her first mug. The plates had hardly hit the table when she commenced to eating, like a woman possessed.

  “Is there something I should know about the coffee? She didn’t poison it or anything, did she?” Catherine joked, thumbing toward Mel who was on her way to the counter.

  “I heard that, New York,” she hollered over her shoulder.

  “I think it’s a fair question,” Catherine whispered to her tablemate.

  Drew shook her head, a twinkle in her eye. Then she spoke around a large mouthful. “I had a whole pot at home; I’ll be peeing all day if I have any more. Can you pass the salt and pepper?”

  Catherine watched her friend as she salted and peppered her eggs and then buttered her toast and slathered it with jam. Drew was definitely moving at a full-pot pace, but she still smelled something rotten in Nekoyah.

  She’s pregnant again, and I haven’t even popped a single puppy out.

  Catherine felt like she was in the middle of a population explosion. Everyone from her friends and family and mail carrier, to her hair dresser, manicurist, and the cashier at the mini-mart where she bought her milk—all pregnant or lactating. It only made sense that Drew would be pregnant, too. Jealousy surged in an ugly way as she felt like she was treading water while everyone else around her was swimming. At least she was no longer drowning anymore since Fynn had thrown her a line.

  -12-

  Catherine looked out at the land from her perfect vantage point on the front porch. Fynn had a beautiful wedge of paradise here. Sixteen acres of peace, most of it well-maintained woods, but smack-dab in the middle there were three acres of clearing, a true yard, all of it set well back from the road, down a winding gravel drive, and in the back, the grass gave way to meadow before woods overtook the view again. If she’d thought it was quaint and perfect in the spring, and heavenly in the summer, she hadn’t seen anything until it was covered in white. Another light snowfall today had given their little world the feel of an untouched canvas, new all over again, especially seeing as how Magnus hadn’t even taken to the yard yet, preferring a cozy spot by the fire to getting snow between the pads of his feet.

  She remembered the very first time she drove into Fynn’s life and saw this place, the sage green Cape Cod with four dormers poking out of its cedar roofline and a front porch running its length, complete with rocking chairs and an all-too-friendly golden retriever. At the time she’d thought he was a brokenhearted widower with a brokenhearted daughter. At the time she hadn’t pictured anything more than getting what she wanted and getting out of here….

  Back in the day—that is, up until eight months ago—dating a guy who owned his own house had freaked her out. She was sure that a relationship that began that way would have her settling for his life, which would in turn have her screaming out of the first date before the appetizers were served. Why this hadn’t happened with Fynn she couldn’t say. Maybe she fell in love with his house before even falling for him. Maybe she was so pissed off at him and his curmudgeonly ways when she first met him that her instincts were clouded. Maybe she was growing up. Whatever it was, the fact that he had a home and a comfortable life in Minnesota hadn’t scared her one bit, while a business executive with a house on Long Island had given her a case of the runs, and she wasn’t even going to mention what that guy with a house in Jersey had done to her innards.

  And there was Cara, too. Only once had she dated a man who had kids—okay, twice, but to be fair the second guy didn’t even know he had a kid until his ex-girlfriend showed up at his door at three in the morning with a baby on her hip. It would have made for great reality TV but as a third date? She was halfway to bed with him when that little public service announcement for safe sex had shown up. And the other guy was fresh off a divorce from the woman who shared three kids with him. Serious baggage that she thought had cured her of being in any relationship with a guy and some other woman’s kids. Not that Cara fit perfectly in that category. Fynn and her mother, Renée, were just good friends—not exes. And Cara wasn’t his…. And the woman is dying for Christ’s sake. What kind of person would she be to compare a relationship with a man taking guardianship of a little girl who was going to be orphaned, to one with a guy who divorced his ex-wife for cheating on him and then had to share their kids with her for the rest of their lives?

  Besides, if it weren’t for Cara, Fynn would never have even had what Catherine was looking for when she hopped on that plane on a whim last spring. Caramellie and her dollhouse would have been on a shelf in Troves of Stuff antique shop like they were supposed to be. Her cockamamie plan to track down her old toy would have gone off without a hitch. But it didn’t. And the man who had pissed her off to no end when she first met him still got her blood pumping now. She couldn’t believe that after all the bad blind dates and beer-goggle bar hookups and that stint of online dating and one ridiculous night of speed dating—ooh, and don’t forget that singles masquerade ball that Tara dragged her to last January—she’d found love in Nekoyah, Minnesota.

  She leaned against the porch railing and crossed her arms over her chest, rubbing her arms to warm herself. The crisp air held the mingling scent of the fire from the fireplace. She felt absolutely content. She was always crazed getting here and depressed leaving, but here everything seemed so perfect. Too bad there was that whole other life that anchored her to New York—that pesky job, friends, money thing.

  “You thinking about jumping?” Fynn asked.

  She turned to see him standing in the doorway. Now that’s perfect. Just look at him. His red flannel shirt was open over a charcoal gray thermal undershirt, his jeans worn from age rather than fashion sense. His golden blond hair was unruly as usual, a mix of windswept and finger-tousled—her fingers, as she tried to feel every last inch of him and make sure that he was real and that they had truly weathered the first serious hitch in their relationship (ignoring the many hitches when they first met and he thought she was entirely unhinged).

  “It’s only about an eight-foot drop from the top of the railing, so depending on what you’re trying to accomplish…” he offered helpfully.

  “I only wanted to break an arm or a leg. Something that would keep me here. You’re a great nursemaid,” she said, rubbing at the now egg-free place on her head, reminding him of the night they
spent together before they were even together, when he woke her up every hour to make sure her concussion didn’t turn into a coma. That was the night she fell in love.

  “By all means, jump away then.” He held out his hands, giving her the floor.

  She turned to look over the rail at the bushes below, noticing the spikes on the holly leaves and turning back to him. “I don’t really want to impale myself,” she said, sucking air through her teeth like she really wanted to follow through but for that teeny little detail.

  “Then why don’t you come inside.”

  “You inviting me?” she asked coyly, giving him a lurid once-over.

  “If that’s all it takes.” He made a move to rip off his shirt.

  “Down boy,” she giggled, coming toward him and putting a hand on his tight abs.

  He looked down at her, not a trace of regret on his face.

  “First I have to make a quick phone call to check my flight,” she assured him.

  “I checked. All flights are going out as scheduled,” he announced grimly.

  “Dammit,” she muttered, brushing past him. She hadn’t packed at all, hoping that the weather would work for her now—trapping her where she wanted to be. She headed upstairs toward the master bedroom and bathroom to get her shit together, and Fynn followed close at her heels.

  “So where do you want it?” he asked mischievously, coming up behind her in the bathroom, circling his arms around her waist and reaching his hands up under her shirt.

  “Fynn!” she squealed, jumping out of his clutches. “Your hands are freezing.”

  “I need you to warm them up.” His gaze was sultry, blue eyes piercing.

  “I have to pack first, okay?” she said brusquely, mad at Mother Nature all over again.

  She started grabbing things pell-mell off the counter: toothbrush, moisturizer, makeup bag, deodorant. Fynn went back to his wandering hands and breathing—hot against her neck.

  “I’m serious,” she cautioned, but her voice was weak just like her knees.