You Were Meant For Me (Wishful 10)

For a moment, Tess could only stare. Not only because the idea of acquiring a step-brother when she was twenty-six seemed ludicrous, but because something in his smile, in the shape of his hazel eyes was shockingly familiar. For two heartbeats, three, she was back in Scotland seeing a different smile, hearing a different laugh. And that just twisted the knife in the ache that hadn’t faded over these past weeks.

Tess blinked and realized she’d been staring a bit too long. Offering a rueful smile, she took Cam’s extended hand. “Sorry. It’s coming on midnight according to my body clock. I’m a little muzzy headed.”

“We’ll get this show on the road so you can eat and get some rest,” Sandy promised. “Trey, why don’t you go ahead and put the steaks on?”

“You got it.” Her father disappeared into the kitchen. The kitchen. He was going to actually grill? And Trey. That was another change she hadn’t gotten used to. But Tess realized the nickname suited him more than the formality of Gerald ever had, especially in this more relaxed setting.

Norah’s voice pulled her back to the introductions and a studious looking guy in horn rim glasses, who leaned, hip-to-hip, with another brunette. Was everybody in this family paired off? The idea of it made her feel even more alone and isolated than she already had.

“This is Reed—he’d be the youngest Campbell. And this is his fiancée, Cecily Dixon.”

Tess shook more hands as she flipped through the mental notes from the descriptions her father had tried to give on the hour-long drive from Lawley—at least the ones before she’d pleaded mental fatigue after the fifth name. In typical Peyton fashion, the only part that had stuck were the business details. “Inglenook Books and Whistlestop Marketing.” They nodded. Cecily, Tess remembered, had been Norah’s intern in Chicago and followed her down south to relocate, despite her blue-blooded roots in Greenwich.

“This is Jimmy and Anita, Reed’s parents. Jimmy is Sandy’s middle brother,” Norah explained. “And this is Pete, her oldest brother, and his wife Liz.”

Tess endured more handshakes and friendly greetings and names that more or less flew right back out of the sieve that was her brain.

“And this is Helen, but everybody calls her Grammy.”

The silver-haired sprite, who was the only one present shorter than Norah, stepped forward to wrap Tess in an affectionate squeeze, as if they’d known each other forever and she was just one of the kids. “Welcome, young lady. I’m delighted to have another grandchild to spoil.”

Tess faltered. “I…thank you.”

How could these people be so open and accepting of a total stranger? Were they really granting her full status in the family just because her dad had married in? The Peyton family certainly didn’t operate that way. Tess couldn’t imagine Grandmother Peyton doing such a thing without a full check of pedigree.

“It’s nice to meet all of you.”

“Can I get you something to drink? Water? Wine?” Cam asked.

“Actually, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, coffee. If I don’t get some caffeine, I’m not sure I’ll make it through dinner.”

“On it.”

The group broke into some form of controlled chaos, everybody pitching in to do something to ready the meal.

Exhaustion nipped at Tess with insistent puppy teeth, the strain of having to be “on” for a while longer making her almost want to weep. She just needed a few minutes to herself away from everybody to collect her thoughts and reset. “Which way is the restroom?”

One of the other women—Liz maybe?—directed her back into the house and down the hall.

&nbs

p; In the powder room, Tess dropped the lid of the toilet and sat, expelling a breath. She could do this. She could get through the next hour or so, make conversation, and not pass out in her plate. She could get through it without obsessing about him. But even as she thought it, echoes of his smile, his laugh, mocked her, and the reflection in the mirror showed her the truth she’d been trying to deny. She regretted walking away.

For half a minute, she let herself dream. Maybe she could track him down. She had wealth on her side. She could hire a private detective. Surely with a list of the places they’d stayed as they toured the Highlands, someone could find out who he really was. The innkeepers and hoteliers would’ve kept record of his passport. Hell, she could probably get that information herself without the detective. But then what? She’d snuck out of their bed in the dead of night, leaving nothing but a paltry note that didn’t begin to convey what their time together had meant to her. Because they’d agreed to no strings. He hadn’t signed on for more. So she’d left before she’d embarrassed herself by making foolish, heartfelt confessions. Before she had to watch his expression go from affection to apology—or worse, pity.

For the love of God, it’s over. You ended it. You’re never seeing him again. Let it go.

Impatient with herself, Tess rose and washed her hands.

This. This was why she never deviated from the plan. Because the first time she did, she fell more than halfway in love with a complete stranger.

Except he’d never felt like a stranger. From that first moment she’d seen him in the pub, he’d been familiar. Like an old friend her heart had simply been waiting to see again.

Someday this ache of loss would fade. Tess had to believe that. She’d chalk the whole thing up to a life lesson proving she simply wasn’t wired for casual affairs.

Everybody was back outside. She could hear the hum of conversation through the open patio doors. Then someone laughed, and she froze, reaching for her necklace as the sound rolled over her, warming her, like a shot of honeyed whiskey.

For a few wild beats of her heart, hope flared in her chest. But she squashed it just as fast. There was no rational, reasonable way he could be here.