Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
W hat in the world? What in the world?
Sloane was quaking inside. Not in an altogether bad way. In an “I’ve been whisked to heaven and now returned to earth” way. The best-ever case of kiss jet lag.
She’d been close friends with Max for a long time before things had unraveled between them. Had she had any idea how amazing it would be to kiss him, maybe she’d have attempted it sooner?—
Sloane. That’s ridiculous.
They’d been smart not to kiss back then. They’d been wrong tonight, to cross that line and let it happen. At least, her head knew they’d been wrong. Her body, soul, and heart were all going rogue and fixating on how right and good it had felt.
You’ll realize how wrong it was soon enough , she scolded her body, soul, and heart. It’s going to be wildly awkward to be around him now . She didn’t think awkwardness was something Max allowed himself. He’d likely sail ahead without giving it much thought. For her, though, since she was a normal person with a decent EQ, interaction with him was going to prove highly uncomfortable. It must have been obvious to him how much she’d loved that kiss.
Just like it’s obvious to you that he loved it , a voice within her pointed out. Max was experienced at hiding his true emotions. But he hadn’t been able to hide his passion during that kiss. Maybe it had only been a physical thing for him, though? It was impossible for her to know.
She was going to have to proceed like an adult who had not been rocked by that kiss.
When she’d been totally, completely . . . What in the world? . . . rocked by that kiss.
Max hadn’t moved. He’d remained where Sloane had left him on the patio, his vision taking in data but his brain registering none of it.
He felt changed.
There had always been an unwritten rule between him and Sloane that they wouldn’t make a move on the other. They’d started out as friends and as friends and business partners they’d continued. He’d—they’d—broken that rule just now.
He’d recklessly done the thing he’d wanted to do. Their friendship had already cracked so who cared about the risk anymore? But it occurred to him all of a sudden that he had been risking some things that he wasn’t willing to give up.
His sanity. Self-control. Dignity.
Sloane had ended the kiss and though that had felt like the worst thing that could happen to him in the moment, it may have been a mercy. That kiss had shaken him far too much, right down to his foundation. He should avoid letting himself be shaken to that degree again, otherwise the whole structure of him might come crashing down.
He was a selfish creature. He’d always put his success first. What he’d experienced with her just now—the possessiveness, the tenderness, the need . . . Those feelings had the potential to make a fool of him. He’d spent most of his life protecting himself but if he let her, Sloane could strip him of that protection.
He moved to the doors. Sliding one to the side, he noted that his hand was trembling. Furiously, he climbed the stairs to the master bathroom and cranked hot water in his shower.
With any luck, that kiss had gotten Sloane out of his system?—
No. He was only telling himself that to run from the fact that the opposite thing might be true. That she’d gotten way down deep into his system now.
He’d been proud of himself when he’d orchestrated Sloane’s residency for the summer here at The Gables. He’d wanted to make her regret her actions toward Libri, to show her how well he’d done without her. He’d wanted closure. An apology. All of that had come back to bite him.
Worse, he sensed she’d somehow taken the upper hand.
He yanked off his shirt with a growl.
Two nights later, Sloane and Ivy settled into what had become their customary side-by-side spots on the sofa when watching TV or looking at the same computer, like they were doing now.
After Sloane had passed along the name of Baby A’s adoption agency and the recommendation she’d received to try the voluntary registry first, Ivy had immediately agreed that they should start there. With the free-spiritedness of youth, Ivy kept pulling forward on this birth family search like an overexcited dalmatian on a leash.
Sloane finished inputting the requested information into the registry on Ivy’s behalf. Once that went through, they were free to begin hunting for a match.
“Let’s start,” Ivy said excitedly, “like we talked about, by running a search for my birthday, since Baby A will have the same birthday as me.”
Sloane input that date. Amazingly, two matches came back. One of which was for a female.
Ivy gasped. “Do you think this is her?”
“I don’t know. Maybe?”
The rumble of Max’s car reached Sloane. He must be returning home from work. The sound increased in volume as he pulled into the garage beneath them, then abruptly cut away.
Her attention flicked to the time displayed at the top of her computer. 7:42 p.m. Was he working late? Was that what was putting him home after seven every night? Or was he going out with women for drinks or dinner following work? Or a combination of both?
Surely he was just working late, as was usual for him. She’d go with that because the idea of him having drinks or dinner with conventionally-pretty-and-thin women was hard to stomach.
She listened but couldn’t hear anything else. Not his footsteps or car door or his side of a conversation on his cell phone.
She’d been acutely aware of his comings and goings for the past forty-eight hours since their kiss. She was trying to overcome that. In fact, she was trying very hard not to spend all her time thinking about Max and overanalyzing the change in their relationship.
She’d do well to remember that, truly, there was no real change in their relationship. She’d said she didn’t want to talk about the kiss, and he’d been fine with that and so nothing had altered.
Yet everything had altered.
She’d continued to go to her café table in the mornings for quiet times. The last two mornings, he hadn’t appeared at his outdoor table. Consequently, she hadn’t seen him since the kiss. She didn’t know whether it was better not to see him or better to get the first meeting post-kiss out of the way?—
“Aunt Sloane?”
She startled. “Hmm?”
“Everything all right?”
“Yep!”
“You’re holding the edges of your computer really tight.”
She looked down and saw that she was gripping the two front corners of her laptop like a drowning person would a life preserver. “So I am.” She returned her fingertips to the ready typing position on the keyboard. “Where were we?”
“We were wondering if this person could be Baby A.” Ivy pointed to the screen.
Sloane hit a button that revealed the information volunteered by the female born the same day as Ivy.
“It looks like . . .” Ivy leaned closer, chewing on the edge of her lip. “This girl’s name is Anna Thomas. That’s a really pretty name.”
“I agree.”
“There’s no phone number or address provided.”
“Which is what we did for you, too. Anna’s a minor so it makes sense that she and her parents wouldn’t be comfortable making their phone number and address public.”
“This says she was born at Monarch Hospital in Boston. Right? Isn’t that what it says?”
“Yes.” Sloane turned her chin toward her niece and met the girl’s gaze. “Same as you.”
Ivy’s brown eyes widened.
“Given that you and Anna were born on the same day at the same hospital and both of you were adopted, which is why you’re both part of this registry . . .”
Ivy peered at Sloane, waiting.
“I think this girl,” Sloane continued, “is most likely Baby A.”
“We found my twin sister?”
“It looks that way to me. We’re fortunate that she put her information into this database.”
“I wish I’d known about this database sooner! I’d have put my information in and found her sooner. I wonder how long she’s been waiting?” Ivy regarded the screen again, with wonder. “There’s an email listed for her. Is that our only way to contact her?”
“Yes. It looks like the email belongs to someone named Stephanie. Anna’s mom, I’m guessing.”
“Let’s email her now!”
“I’ll gladly transcribe an email now but then let’s sleep on it.”
“Why?”
“Because contacting a twin sister is a big deal. She may not know that Harper passed away or that Seth isn’t open to publicly acknowledging his daughters. She may not know she has a sister. She may not know that sister’s a twin.” She tugged on the end of Ivy’s strawberry-blond braid. “When possible, it’s always best to sleep on important things before taking action. We’ll only get one chance to make a first impression, so we need to do this right.”
It was mid-August. For Fiona that meant many things. At this time of year, she liked to get fresh champagne-blond highlights. Fresh Botox. A fresh spray tan. Then treat her sisters—the sisters she still spoke with, anyway—to a trip somewhere. This year they’d soon be going to Spain. She’d been pulling weeds in her garden and glorying in the beautiful, big blooms she’d cultivated. She ate outside every chance she got. Wore sleeveless tops and dresses.
Also at this time of year, she immersed herself in an undertaking both utterly for fun and extraordinarily competitive. The fantasy football draft. She’d been a Patriots fan since birth but had picked up fantasy football later when Felix had gotten the boys interested in it. She’d realized back then that she could either learn how to participate in fantasy football with them or she’d be left out of it completely. She’d joined in and, to her surprise, become the family member most fanatical about it.
Today, she was hosting a summer outdoor picnic. She and her tribe would consume luxurious food while exhibiting friendliness and love toward one another. After which, they’d congregate in her media room to draft their fantasy teams and exhibit a great deal of snark and self-interest. Hard to say which part of the day she’d love best.
Guests would be arriving shortly, so Fiona cast an exacting eye over the tables arranged in her backyard. A picnic basket had been placed on its side on the food table, giving the impression that it was spilling bounty like a cornucopia. Through a combination of her own cooking efforts and those of a caterer, her menu included lobster rolls, watermelon and tomato salad, kettle chips, fruit, blueberry pie, apple pie, lemonade, and iced tea. Two female caterers were on hand, both wearing floral aprons and both watching her nervously, as if worried that she would find fault.
“Excellent work,” Fiona announced. Everything was up to her standards, including the butcher-paper runners down the middle of the eating tables. Every foot and a half or so down the length of butcher paper, vases sprouted arrangements of yellow black-eyed Susans, pink and purple summer flowers, and pale greenery.
At the sound of a car approaching, she adjusted the tie at the waist of her striped shirtdress and made her way to the top of the drive to greet her guests.
First to arrive? Her parents. Her father was constantly hungry, her mother constantly confused. They’d arrived eighteen minutes early because Mom had mistaken the start time. In their eighties now, they were two of the nicest people in Maine. Which was saying something because most people in Maine were intrinsically friendly. Felix’s family were the exception that proved the rule.
Second to arrive? Jude, who arrived at every destination fifteen minutes ahead of schedule. He’d brought his girlfriend, Gemma, with him, which doubled Fiona’s pleasure.
Next came her sisters Margaret and Alice and brother Mike.
Then Jeremiah and Remy, who brought with them Remy’s elderly friends Wendell and Marisol. Having married in an outdoor ceremony two months ago, Wendell and Marisol were newlyweds who indulged in frequent PDA.
Burke got there next, thank God. He was both handsome and willing to jump in and assist when necessary.
Then her remaining siblings arrived, Jack and Elizabeth.
Jeremiah sidled up to her. “Did I mention to you earlier that I invited Dad?”
“What’s that you say?” she said with false mildness.
“He and I were smack-talking about fantasy football this season. I need the chance to go head-to-head with him.” His vision snagged on something behind her shoulder. “Here he comes now.”