Meant to Be Mine (A Porter Family Novel Book #2) (5 page)

You simply
have to make it through this one meeting, Celia, and
then he’ll go away
. With stern concentration, she tried to relax muscles that insisted on growing more and more rigid with dread—

There he was.

She forgot how to breathe.

He was striding down the sidewalk toward her, looking up, probably searching for the sign that said
Jana’s
.

She’d anticipated that he’d look handsome. But “handsome” was something you might say about a male model in a magazine ad; it was too stiff and flat an adjective for Ty Porter.

He had the kind of appeal that pulled your gaze to him, then wouldn’t let you look away. She sensed women’s jaws dropping, cars narrowly missing head-on collisions, pictures being taken without his permission and texted to girlfriends.

Anger gathered in her throat.

Brown-tinted aviator sunglasses shaded his eyes. A ray of sun caught and shimmered in his hair, which had been expertly cut just like always. He wore a soft-looking, not-too-tight-but-not-too-
loose beige T-shirt that advertised a custom motorcycle shop in brown letters. The square-tipped alligator cowboy boots pounding the sidewalk must be a newer cousin to the pair she remembered.

He stopped at Jana’s entrance and scanned the tables. She knew the moment he spotted her because she could literally
hear
it, like a bell ringing.

He threaded his way over, looked down at her, and smiled. It was a subdued smile, but it had the same thousand-volt impact of the smiles he’d once given her in a high school ceramics classroom and then years later in Las Vegas.

Celia realized that long and brutal near-death torture would never do. She wished she
did
have a knife in her purse so she could stab it through his heart.

“Hi,” he said.

She gave a half nod.

He settled into the second chair at their table for two, bringing with him the scent of pine, so subtle it toyed with a person’s ability to detect it at all. He continued to study her, seemingly unmotivated to say more.

In her recollections, she’d made him small and weaselly. But he wasn’t small at all. He was big. And by the looks of it, he hadn’t added an ounce of fat to his hard, lean body in the years since she’d seen him last. He sat, across from her, completely comfortable in his own skin, with a kind of offhand grace.

Nearly five years of single motherhood had aged Celia. But those same years had kissed and coddled Ty, faintly sharpening his facial features. Small scars now marked a cheekbone and the skin beneath his bottom lip, giving him a rugged air that rendered him even more attractive than he had been.

“It’s good to see you.”

She raised an eyebrow. Did he expect her to respond in kind? If so, he could wait all day.

“You look great.”

She blew out a frustrated breath.

He hefted a shoulder. “You do.”

She glared at him through her sunglasses, trying to wither him with disdain.

Their waitress came over, her face lighting with recognition when she saw Celia. “Hey!”

“Hi.” The young woman looked vaguely familiar, but Celia couldn’t place her.

“How are you doing?” the waitress asked.

“I’m well. You?”

“Just fine.” She handed them both menus, her movement stuttering when she got her first full look at Ty. “Can . . . can I get you something to drink?”

When Ty ordered iced tea she grinned widely at him, as if he’d said something funny.

After she moved off, Ty flicked open his menu. “What type of restaurant is this?”

“Health food.”

“Do they serve burgers?”

“Veggie burgers.” A tiny shaft of pleasure twanged within her.

“BLTs?”

“FBLTs.”

He glanced at her. “Which is?”

“Fakin’ bacon, lettuce, and tomato.”

“And fakin’ bacon is made from?”

“Organic tempeh. It’s vegan.”

“Well, that’s good to hear. I’m a big fan of tempeh.” He set the menu on the edge of the table. “What’re you having?”

“Nothing.” The ball of nerves formerly known as her stomach wasn’t useful for actual eating. Also, she hadn’t sunk a dollar into expensive restaurant food in months.

“No appetite?”

“No.”

“Not sure how you can resist an FBLT.” His crooked half smile sent his dimple into his cheek. “Is this a kid table?” He indicated his wooden seat, which did look miniature with him on it, and their tiny round table. “Why’s it so small?”

“It’s not small.”

“Did you choose this place for the small tables or the lack of privacy or because you knew I’d hate the food?”

“The lack of privacy and because I knew you’d hate the food. The small tables have come as a surprising perk.”

Another flash of dimple.

Celia didn’t mention that the outdoor seating also permitted her to wear her sunglasses as a shield.

The waitress delivered Ty’s tea, then took his FBLT order while giving him a free helping of eye contact with a side of flirting.

Celia glanced around and caught several women studying him surreptitiously. Foolish, misguided women.

When their waitress moved off, Ty added sweetener to his tea and stirred it as if he had all the time in the world. “I was just in Vegas. I saw the Luv Shack while I was there. Do you remember it?”

“No.” Or at least she tried not to.

“Seeing it made me want to finish the unfinished business between us.”

“The business between us is finished, Ty. Completely, totally finished.”

“Then how come we’re still legally married?”

She frowned. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“I asked you first.”

She fiddled with her fork, positioning it perfectly. “I haven’t done anything about the marriage because I assumed you’d file for divorce and I’d simply sign the paper.” Also, she’d had a baby to worry about and an ongoing lack of funds. She slid her hands into her lap. “Why haven’t you filed?”

A shadow passed over his face. “I’ve never had a reason.”

“What about Tawny?” It cost Celia to say the other woman’s name out loud, but since he was putting her through this meeting, she figured he owed her some answers.

“When I went back to Holley and told her about you, she made our breakup permanent.” He raised a brow. “What? Does it surprise you that she wouldn’t forgive me?”

“A little.”

He leaned back in his chair. “After the story of our wedding spread through Holley, I was an outlaw to my own family for weeks. They came around slowly. The town started to forgive me when I turned pro and began winning events on the circuit. But Tawny wouldn’t even speak to me for more than a year. It took me another two to earn back her friendship.”

“Did she marry someone else?” Celia vehemently hoped she had.

“She’s had one boyfriend after another, but she hasn’t married any of them. Despite everything that’s happened, Tawny and I are still meant for each other, and she knows it. The next time she kicks a boyfriend to the curb, I’m going to make my move.”

His words hurt Celia more than anticipated. She squared her shoulders. “In that case, let’s go ahead and complete the paper work and make our divorce official.”

He slipped his phone from his pocket and held a finger over it. “What’s your address?”

“There’s no need for you to have my address.” That he knew her phone number and home city already scared the stuffing out of her.

“So I can send you the divorce papers?”

She pulled her attorney’s business card from her purse and pushed it halfway across the table. Thankfully Uncle Danny’s best friend from childhood was willing to represent her for a dramatically reduced fee. “You can send the papers to my lawyer.”

He put the business card and his phone into his pocket without comment.

Celia lifted her purse from the ground. “Since it seems we’ve said everything there is to say, I’ll be heading out—”

“Nope. I’m not done yet.”

She stilled, frowning. “Is the remainder of this discussion required or optional?”

“Required. If you want me to leave town, that is.” His lips curled up a little on one side, self-deprecating. “Which I can tell that you do.”

She set her purse back on the ground.

He slid off his sunglasses and set them on the table. The blue
of his eyes—such a clear, bright, startling color—struck her like a cuff to the head. Just as he was about to speak, a waiter stopped at their table to refill his iced tea.

Celia angled her face toward the street to avoid Ty’s scrutiny.
You can make it through this one meeting
, Celia
. Her hands were trembling slightly and her blood pressure had climbed to a level that had to be unsafe.
Just this one meeting. Then he’ll go.

Ty studied her profile.

Celia in the flesh, right here in front of him after all this time. Angry and beautiful. Familiar and different.

She had on a stretchy circle of a headband, the size of a shoe-string, that kept her hair out of her face. Her curls fell to her shoulders, an inch or two shorter than he remembered. She’d set her chin at a stubborn angle. Slim nose. Pale pink lips. He wished he could get a look at her eyes, but she’d hidden them behind a pair of sunglasses.

She wore what looked like a pirate shirt as long as a dress, white except for some light blue stitching on the front. A tiny round charm with a
C
on it dangled from her thin gold necklace.

He didn’t like her brown leggings, and he hoped she hadn’t paid much for her sandals because they were nothing but soles and a couple strips of leather. Even back in high school, she’d dressed sort of hippie. “Did you get the bakery you wanted?” he asked.

She fiddled with the clasp on one of the bracelets she wore. “No, I didn’t.” The bracelet must be magnetic, because after she pulled the two ends apart, they snapped back together.

“Why not?”

“It was impractical.”

“Impractical?”

“It would have required a small-business loan and all my time. It might have failed. I didn’t want to take the risk.”

“Really? You seemed so determined.”

She looked at him for a long moment. “I had to grow up.”

He scowled, remembering that her dream of owning her own bak
ery had been important to her once. She’d wanted to brew gourmet coffee, serve tea to people in silly little china cups, and bake muffins. Since she’d gotten such a raw deal from him, he’d hoped that she’d gotten what she wanted career-wise. “What are you doing now?”

“I work at the university in cafeteria administration.”

She was a cafeteria lady? Man, how depressing. “Have you lived in Corvallis all this time?”

“Yes.”

Celia had been one of those kids who’d moved every few years during childhood. He understood why she’d chosen a hometown and settled down. And he understood why she’d chosen Oregon. It suited her. It was natural and green and granola.

His food arrived, and he took a bite of his FBLT. He didn’t like sissy health food. Not a bit. He believed in normal food, exercise, and hard work to stay in shape. “Since you asked, I still live in the greatest state in the country.”

“Oh? You live in Oregon also?”

He chuckled, then popped a few baked chips into his mouth. They tasted like stale paper. “Texas. You’ll never convince me that it’s not the greatest state, sweet one.”

She stiffened at his use of the old nickname.

He hadn’t meant to say it. It had just come out. He chewed, watching her. Long before he’d liked Celia romantically, he’d simply liked her. Back in high school she’d been a sweet, spunky, quick-witted girl. In Vegas, she’d been those things plus grown up and sexy as all get-out.

Neither the high school Celia nor the Vegas Celia was sitting across from him now. This Celia hated him and to have any woman hate him went against Ty’s grain. Especially Celia. There was something about her . . . something that got under his skin and made his chest hurt, even after all these years. “How come you use my last name?”

Her face blanked.

“When I found you on the Internet,” he explained, “it listed you as Celia Park Porter.”

He couldn’t see her hands because she held them beneath the table, but he could hear her fussing with her bracelet again.
Click. Unclick
. Click. Unclick
. “I was married, so I used my married name.” She shrugged uncomfortably.

He still remembered every detail of waking up in that hotel room bed with her against him. Her head had rested on his shoulder, her palm on his chest. As he’d looked down at her in the dim light, the realization of what he’d done had settled over him like a thousand-pound weight. He’d slid out of bed, showered, and stood at that blasted hotel window, watching cars crawl along the strip for what seemed like hours, freaking out inside his mind while Celia slept.

He’d never been a saint. Of the Porter brothers, Bo and Jake had been the good ones, and he’d been the hell-raiser. Even so, Ty had always viewed himself as mostly honorable. Not the same gold and shiny level of honor that his grandfathers and father had earned, but
mostly
honorable.

When he’d stood at the window that morning in Vegas, he’d known that he’d betrayed the trust of two women and turned whatever honor he’d had to darkest black.