Falling for Mister Wrong (4 page)

Her entire body felt achy and grimy from the
airplane—a shower would be heaven itself, but that would involve
getting vertical and that was not going to happen. Caitlyn gazed up
at the mountain—cloaked in white though scrubby bushes still pushed
through the snow at the base and there weren’t many skiers and
snowboarders cutting tracks through the white. It had been
surprisingly warm outside for December, she realized belatedly,
which would be bad for the resorts and winter tourist revenues but
would make the town quieter through the holidays. And it was still
beautiful even with the patchy snow.

How many more times would she look up at this
view?

She still had four more months left on her
lease. Should she break it early? Or use the first two months of
marriage as a transition time to pack up and move to L.A.

Marriage
.

The word rang, huge and gong-like, in her
head. She was engaged. Actually engaged. She raised her bare
finger, trying to remember what it looked like with the Rock of
Ages weighing it down.

It didn’t feel real. Maybe because it had all
happened so fast. Or because it seemed too good to be true. Or
because she couldn’t tell anyone.

Were you really engaged if you couldn’t gush
to your girlfriends about how amazing your fiancé was? How was she
supposed to pack up her life and get ready to move if she couldn’t
tell anyone she was packing up and getting ready to move?

She could call Daniel. He would have landed
in Los Angeles hours ago. The unregistered cell Miranda had given
her was tucked in her carry-on, right next to the Rock of Ages. But
the idea of digging for it was as unappealing as the thought of
calling her mother.

Maybe in a few hours. After she was rested.
She needed to build up some reserves for both calls.

Caitlyn closed her eyes, resolved to nap
where she had fallen rather than making the trek up the steep loft
steps, but as soon as her lids fell a restless energy began to push
them up again.

Freaking jet-lag. Here she was, too tired to
be of any use to anyone—including herself—but her body clock was
too out of whack to allow sleep.

There were a thousand things she ought to be
doing. Her students wouldn’t resume lessons until after the
holidays, but she only had a couple days to get all of her
Christmas shopping done, as well as any decorating she wanted to
do.

A thousand things to do, but only one she
wanted to do—the same thing that had gotten her through every other
sleepless night in her life, when her restless thoughts chased her
out of bed.

Caitlyn stood and stripped out of her plane
clothes, tugging a random pair of yoga pants and a tank top out of
the duffle next to the door. She swept her hair up into a pony tail
while sliding the piano bench back with the practiced nudge of one
foot. Seated, she slid back the cover over the keys and gently ran
her fingertips over the smooth expanse of ivory, grateful she’d
gotten bored on the first flight and filed her manicure down to a
manageable length.

She mentally shuffled through her repertoire.
Resting her hands lightly on the instrument that had been both her
bane and her salvation over the years, she struck a single key. B
above middle C. Letting the note resonate as the hammer hit the
string. Listening for the sympathetic shivering of the strings
beside it. Picking out the layers of sound in that one note until
it faded into silence.

Chopin, I think
.

She lifted her wrists, arching her fingers
into position, and plunged into the Nocturne, starting with that
same sweet B. And then she flew.

Chapter Four

Will woke up smiling as the music drifted
down through the floor of the apartment above—something that hadn’t
happened in far too long. Both the smiling and the music.

She was back.

In the six months he’d lived below the piano
teacher he’d never actually laid eyes on her, which was practically
sacrilegious in a town the size of Tuller Springs where it seemed
like everyone had to know everyone. Their schedules simply didn’t
match up—which wasn’t surprising. Will’s schedule didn’t match up
with just about anyone’s.

As a volunteer
firefighter-slash-ski-instructor-slash-river guide who worked
nights at a bar a couple nights a week to pick up some extra cash
in the slow season, he didn’t have what most people considered
normal hours. So he’d never seen his upstairs neighbor, but he’d
always enjoyed the serenades, even when they interrupted his
bizarre sleep schedule.

He stretched his arms above his head, joints
popping satisfyingly as he tuned in to the music. Chopin, if he had
to guess. Not that he was an expert. He’d only started learning
about composers and classical music in the last couple months when
he realized how much he missed his daily serenades and looked to
replace them with CDs from the library. His thrill-junkie
ski-patrol buddies would never believe how relaxing he found
Beethoven.

He wondered if he could send a request
through the mail slot for a little Moonlight Sonata.

He pictured his upstairs neighbor—Ms. Gregg,
according to her mailbox—as a bespectacled septuagenarian with long
quick fingers and a semi-permanent bun. When he hadn’t heard her
playing for a couple weeks, it had been easy to imagine she’d had a
stroke or something and was trapped up there by herself. He’d
become so concerned he’d knocked on her door a half dozen times and
even called the landlord to find out if someone official needed to
check on her.

Turned out, according to their landlord, Ms.
Gregg was just on an extended vacation. Even knowing she was okay,
it was surprisingly good to hear her again.

The Chopin segued smoothly into Moonlight
Sonata and Will grinned to himself, stacking his hands behind his
head.

He should bring her a welcome home gift.
Maybe some muffins or Christmas cookies or something. His mother
was always trying to fob her baking off on Will—as if he’d never
developed the ability to feed himself in the decade since he moved
out. Maybe next time she handed him baked goods, he’d take them up
to little old Ms. Gregg. Seemed neighborly and he really owed her
for all the hours he’d spent listening to her. Other folks paid big
bucks for stuff like that and he got it for free.

When the Moonlight Sonata faded into
something flowy and rocking that he didn’t recognize, he rolled a
glance at the clock and grimaced. After two already. He’d closed
the bar last night, picking up an extra shift to compensate for the
crappy weather they’d been having that had cut his usual ski lesson
schedule in half. Today was his regular day off, but that didn’t
mean he could laze around all day. He was due at his parents’
tonight for family dinner and caroling—which was always an
adventure in a family as tone deaf as his.

He needed to do laundry, shower, and wash his
car before heading over. If he didn’t exude normalcy and radiate
I’ve-got-my-shit-together vibes, he was going to get another round
of We’re Very Concerned About You from every member of the large
and nosy Hamilton clan. As much as he loved them, he was sick of
being the family project. Even if they were just trying to cheer
him up.

The smooth, flowy piece ended and something
bright and exuberant burst through the floorboards above.

Sure, he had terrible taste in women, which
had led him to his current situation, living in a tomblike ground
floor apartment, but at least the soundtrack was good.

Will grabbed his phone to Spotify the bright,
flashy piece.
Frederick Kuhlau
. He scribbled the name on a
receipt he found on the bedside table, deciding to check out the
composer next time he went to the local library. It was small, as
was pretty much everything in Tuller Springs, but had a fairly
decent collection of classical CDs he was plowing his way
through.

Suspending his musical education for the day,
he rolled out of bed and wandered to the bathroom, flicking through
text messages with his thumb as he walked. The family group chat
had been active while he was sleeping. Somehow his sisters had
gotten into an argument about which one of them got to bring a nice
girl tonight to meet him. Will fired off a quick reply—informing
all three of them that if he saw any non-family members tonight he
had a feeling there would be a fire-fighting emergency that would
call him away before they even said grace.

That nightmare handled, he checked his email,
grimacing at the we’ll-call-you-if-we-need-you brush off from the
ski-patrol guys in response to his request for extra shifts and
deleting a half-dozen ads that his spam filter had missed. He was
still holding his phone when it rang and his oldest sister’s face
flashed on the screen—along with all three of her children and her
husband who had all mashed their faces into the selfie.

He knew her too well to let the phone go to
voicemail. She’d just keep calling. Stubborn didn’t begin to
describe Claire Hamilton Lancaster, but Will hadn’t grown up with
three older sisters without knowing how to get his way when he
needed to.

“Non-negotiable, Claire,” he said by way of
greeting.

“You’ve gotta get back on the horse, Willie.
Otherwise Bitch Face wins.” At least she wasn’t using the We’re
Very Concerned About You voice. Claire was more steamroller than
tea and sympathy. Pity and poor-baby was more Julia’s style.

“I’ll remount, as you so elegantly put it,
when I’m good and ready and when I do, I won’t need my big sisters
to set me up.”

“I know, I know, you’re a sexy stud
muffin—”

“It is so gross to hear you say that.”

“But you never know who is going to turn out
to be your one and only. Don’t look a gift hook-up in the
mouth.”

He strolled into the kitchen, the phone
pressed to his ear and flicked on the coffee maker as
Oh Holy
Night
began to play above him. “Do you realize that’s the
second time you’ve compared the girl you want to set me up with to
a horse? Is that some kind of subliminal commentary on her
appearance?”

“Don’t be a jerk. I’ve found you some grade-A
premium woman flesh and you can’t even say
thank you, Claire.
You’re the best sister ever, Claire. My most favoritest sister ever
and I shall love you most always.
”

“So you’re saying this is really about
beating Julia and Laney to the punch and making sure neither of
them are the one to set me up with my dream girl.”

There was a slight tell-tale pause. “Love
isn’t a competition, Willie,” she said archly.

“Uh-huh. No dates. Just a quiet family
dinner. At least as much as this family does quiet. Got it?”

“It’s been six months.”

And I was left at the altar when my fiancé
ran away with my best man. I think I get a solid year on that
one.
The words burned on his tongue, but he didn’t say them.
They would only launch another lecture about holding onto things
and releasing his anger and learning to love again.

No matter how many times he told his family
he had released and forgiven and all that bullshit, and that he
just didn’t
want
another woman in his life right now, it
never seemed to penetrate the haze of their concern. Every single
one of them was married and revoltingly happy. Only Laney didn’t
have kids yet. His family was one giant, mocking picture of
domestic bliss.

And here he was, tied up in a legal battle to
get back the down payment he’d put up on the house he’d bought with
Tria before The Wedding That Wasn’t. Where she was currently living
with his former best friend.

He was allowed to hang onto shit like that
for six months.

“No one should be alone at
Christmastime.”

He groaned. “I’m never alone. No matter how
many times I wish I could be an only child, if only for a day, my
fairy godmother never grants my freaking wish.”

“Willie…” Now the Very Concerned About You
Voice was there.
Shit
.

“If I promise to start dating soon, will you
all back off?” The constant pressure to prove to his family how
happy and well-adjusted he was after his life had fallen apart
wasn’t exactly helping.

“I still wish you’d let me key Bitch Face’s
car. It isn’t too late.” Her voice lifted hopefully.

Will snorted. “I appreciate the thought. And
if I ever decide vandalism is the way to go, I’ll give you a call.
Tell me again, how does that fit in with the whole forgiveness and
letting-it-go thing?”

“Shut up. I’m your big sister. I don’t have
to ever forgive that bitch.”

“Love you too.”

“Uh huh. Let me know if you change your mind
about the set up. She’s super cute. Even Don said so.”

“And then you punished your husband for
agreeing with you that she’s cute, didn’t you?”

“He didn’t have to say it so
enthusiastically,” she grumbled. “I’d like to see him pop out three
kids and still look good in a cheerleader outfit. Though I can
still work the pom-poms with the best of ‘em.” Her tone was
cheerfully lecherous.

“Ew. Too much information, Claire.” He would
need maximum strength brain bleach to get rid of that mental
image.

“Julia wants you to babysit on Saturday, but
tell her you’re already sitting for me, okay?”

“Have I agreed to take the kids for you?” he
asked skeptically.

“No, but you will because I’m your favorite
sister.”

“Is this about needing a day without the kids
or pissing Julia off? Because you realize I can take your three and
her two and put them all in a room together and they entertain each
other.”

“She asked me to join Weight Watchers with
her.”

Most men might not understand the affront
with which the words were spoken, but Will had spent the entire
thirty years of his life with three sisters. He cringed. “She might
have just wanted moral support.”