The Last Goodbye by Sarah Mayberry Page B

a moment the only sound in the kitchen was the sound of the kettle heating.
    “You and your father really know how to push each other’s buttons, huh?”
    Tyler gave a small, humorless laugh. “You could say that.”
    He waited for her to say more, to probe, but she didn’t. Instead, she sliced the cake and arranged thepieces on the plate. After a second, she put down the knife and looked at him.
    “I want to say something about last night. I know this probably isn’t the best time, but it’s been bugging me, so I’m just going to spit it out.”
    “Okay.” He turned to face her, leaning his hip against the counter and crossing his arms over his chest.
    Her breasts lifted as she took a deep breath and launched into speech. “I meant it when I said I like you, Tyler. And I’d hate for what happened, or, more accurately, what didn’t happen to stop us from being friends.” Her expression was very earnest, which only made her look cuter than usual.
    “Because I wanted to sleep with you and you said no?”
    “Yes.”
    He filched a slice of cake. He took a bite, chewed and swallowed. Then he looked her in the eyes.
    “I like you, too, Ally. And I’m happy to be friends.
    But you should probably know I’m still going to want to sleep with you.” He shrugged apologetically. “It’s kind of a one-way valve. Not really something I can turn on or off at the drop of a hat.”
    “Right.” She seemed thrown by his directness. “Well, I guess I can handle that.”
    He ate the rest of the cake in one big bite. “Good,” he said around his mouthful.
    She smiled. “Nice manners.”
    He glanced at her curvy hips, shown to advantage by her skirt. “Nice skirt.”
    She slapped his hand away when he reached for another piece. “No cheating.”
    He knew she wasn’t talking about the cake. “I’m only human.”
    Her gaze dropped to his chest, then his hips. “Tell me about it,” she muttered, so quietly he almost didn’t catch it. Then she grabbed the plate of cake. “Can you bring the tea in when it’s ready?”
    He watched her backside until she disappeared through the doorway to the living room.
    He didn’t understand her. There had been desire in her eyes when she looked at him. She wanted him, and she’d wanted him last night, too. And she’d stated boldly that she liked him. Yet she was determined to only be friends.
    The kettle clicked off as it reached boiling point. He poured water into the mugs, automatically taking his father’s tea bag out after a brief dunking. His father had always preferred a weak brew.
    Tyler stilled when he registered what he’d done. He let out a small, heavy sigh.
    A large part of him might want to drive off and leave his father to his own devices, but an even larger part seemed to be determined to do the right thing, no matter what the cost to himself or his peace of mind.
    A couple of days, he reminded himself. You can suck up almost anything for a couple of days.
     
    A LLY SWATTED A FLY AWAY from her face. She was sitting on one of the twin wooden sun loungers on Wendy’s side deck, a glass of iced tea beside her, her notepad in hand, pondering how best to respond to Bankrupt Bridesmaid, a reader who was asking for advice on how to deal with a friend who had morphed into Bridezilla the moment her fiancé proposed.
    Ally preferred to draft her responses to reader letters with pad and pencil, having learned long ago that her brain communicated best with the blank page via a pencil rather than a computer keyboard. Once she had her responses roughed out, she polished them at her laptop before emailing them into her editor.
    Normally she loved questions like this—it gave her a chance to sound off against the ridiculous excesses of the modern wedding. During her tenure, Gertrude had developed a bit of a reputation for being tough on Bridezillas and young couples who seemed determined to start their married lives encumbered by the huge debt of a lavish, over-the-top