What a Girl Needs by Kristin Billerbeck Read Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kristin Billerbeck
Tags: Romance
only that were true. I lift my suitcase across the grass, rather than drag it across the stepping-stones that lead to the small, brick porch. There’s a single white iron chair – a symbol for all things lonely, and the irony is not lost on me.
I sit down, when the chair buckles underneath me. I nearly bang my head against the wall when I realize the chair is just for show—it’s not strong enough to actually hold someone, a fact I’d clearly forgotten.
Let’s just say no one has rolled out the welcome mat for me just yet. I call Kevin before I knock on the door.
It wasn’t terrible being single. In fact, I wish I’d taken more advantage of it and truly relished the time with myself. I’m not that bad. So why do only the hard memories come bubbling up to the surface from my subconscious? I had value when I was single. Isn’t that what being married taught me?
Kevin’s assistant answers and tells me he’s in surgery. Typical.
“Would you tell Kevin that I arrived safely in California when he’s finished?” I ask her.
“Of course, Ashley. Have a great time! Bring home some sunshine—without this awful humidity, would you?”
“I’ll do my best.” It’s terrible that I’m upset Kevin’s in surgery because I can’t whine to him about Brea tossing me out of her car like the morning newspaper. Sometimes, whining is my favorite sport, which probably doesn’t make me the most pleasant person to be around. I toss my phone into my Burberry bag (a leftover from my working days) and try to figure out what’s missing from the sorry, lonesome concrete stoop.
The Fourth of July decorations aren’t up, for one thing. Kay’s more accurate than the Mayan calendar, which I’m sure isn’t saying much now that their calendar did not end in our destruction. The point is the same. Kay’s fastidious about flying the individual flags of celebration. She’s so obsessed in fact, that she usually sucks the fun out of any holiday. The porch is bare and I have to check the house numbers to ensure I’m in the right spot. I am; so I stand up and press the doorbell. Heavy footsteps approach.
I’m completely caught off-guard when Matt Callaway opens the door, in nothing more than khaki shorts, a tool belt and his bare chest. Um, yuck. He’s a hulking figure who is still handsome despite rapidly passing middle age and having the personality of the smarmiest pyramid salesman. Silicon Valley ages a person. The hours are brutal—but then again, Matt could be looking at me and thinking Philly and joblessness ages a person. Matt possesses a dark, full head of hair graying at the temples and a wicked sense of mischief that I never could understand. He and Kay were dating at my wedding, but that was years ago, and I assumed he’d faded away like the brown from his head. The only thing Matt had ever been consistent at was dating inappropriate women. Kay did not fall under that heading.
“Matt?”
His gaze travels up and down my person critically before he speaks. “I thought you weren’t coming until tomorrow.”
“Nope. It’s today.”
We stare at each other awkwardly and it’s clear neither one of us wants to make small talk. We’re both authentic enough to know we needn’t pretend we like one another.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. “Aren’t you still practicing patent law? Or is this your shot at being a Chippendale dancer?”
“Very funny. Still the same ol’ charming Ashley, I see.” He stands in the doorway preventing my entrance. “I’m helping out Kay with some handyman work in the backyard.”
“Why?” I clear my throat. “I mean, when did you suddenly become handy?”
“I’m that kind of man and I’ve always been handy, not that you ever bothered to notice.”
“I noticed you were dating a large cache of my friends back in the day. I guess I missed the part about you being handy.” I was too busy noticing you being a jerk. I inhale and try to reset my attitude. Anyone can
I sit down, when the chair buckles underneath me. I nearly bang my head against the wall when I realize the chair is just for show—it’s not strong enough to actually hold someone, a fact I’d clearly forgotten.
Let’s just say no one has rolled out the welcome mat for me just yet. I call Kevin before I knock on the door.
It wasn’t terrible being single. In fact, I wish I’d taken more advantage of it and truly relished the time with myself. I’m not that bad. So why do only the hard memories come bubbling up to the surface from my subconscious? I had value when I was single. Isn’t that what being married taught me?
Kevin’s assistant answers and tells me he’s in surgery. Typical.
“Would you tell Kevin that I arrived safely in California when he’s finished?” I ask her.
“Of course, Ashley. Have a great time! Bring home some sunshine—without this awful humidity, would you?”
“I’ll do my best.” It’s terrible that I’m upset Kevin’s in surgery because I can’t whine to him about Brea tossing me out of her car like the morning newspaper. Sometimes, whining is my favorite sport, which probably doesn’t make me the most pleasant person to be around. I toss my phone into my Burberry bag (a leftover from my working days) and try to figure out what’s missing from the sorry, lonesome concrete stoop.
The Fourth of July decorations aren’t up, for one thing. Kay’s more accurate than the Mayan calendar, which I’m sure isn’t saying much now that their calendar did not end in our destruction. The point is the same. Kay’s fastidious about flying the individual flags of celebration. She’s so obsessed in fact, that she usually sucks the fun out of any holiday. The porch is bare and I have to check the house numbers to ensure I’m in the right spot. I am; so I stand up and press the doorbell. Heavy footsteps approach.
I’m completely caught off-guard when Matt Callaway opens the door, in nothing more than khaki shorts, a tool belt and his bare chest. Um, yuck. He’s a hulking figure who is still handsome despite rapidly passing middle age and having the personality of the smarmiest pyramid salesman. Silicon Valley ages a person. The hours are brutal—but then again, Matt could be looking at me and thinking Philly and joblessness ages a person. Matt possesses a dark, full head of hair graying at the temples and a wicked sense of mischief that I never could understand. He and Kay were dating at my wedding, but that was years ago, and I assumed he’d faded away like the brown from his head. The only thing Matt had ever been consistent at was dating inappropriate women. Kay did not fall under that heading.
“Matt?”
His gaze travels up and down my person critically before he speaks. “I thought you weren’t coming until tomorrow.”
“Nope. It’s today.”
We stare at each other awkwardly and it’s clear neither one of us wants to make small talk. We’re both authentic enough to know we needn’t pretend we like one another.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. “Aren’t you still practicing patent law? Or is this your shot at being a Chippendale dancer?”
“Very funny. Still the same ol’ charming Ashley, I see.” He stands in the doorway preventing my entrance. “I’m helping out Kay with some handyman work in the backyard.”
“Why?” I clear my throat. “I mean, when did you suddenly become handy?”
“I’m that kind of man and I’ve always been handy, not that you ever bothered to notice.”
“I noticed you were dating a large cache of my friends back in the day. I guess I missed the part about you being handy.” I was too busy noticing you being a jerk. I inhale and try to reset my attitude. Anyone can