Someone Like You

He swept a duster over his end tables, then plugged in the vacuum cleaner. “I do contracting work from home. I don’t have those kinds of connections.”

“She looks miserable, Niall. Please. Help me keep my word to her, and I’ll promise to keep mine with you.”

He sighed.

“Which one? That you won’t call every day? Bring food twice a week, clean my apartment when it’s fine the way it is?”

MaryAnne snorted. “This is also your office, not a barn. I made a reservation for lunch tomorrow at Five Leaves.”

He rubbed his jaw stubble. “I’m not the right guy for this. Better cancel it.” A restless feeling overtook him, and he wondered, despite himself, if he wouldn’t like to see Kayleigh. Even if it was just to reassure himself that she was all right.

MaryAnne’s eyes crinkled. “What’s the harm in a meal with an old friend?”

He held in a bitter laugh. If she knew the truth... But it was a secret he had to bear alone, the weight of it dragging him to dark places. And that was without the added guilt of a woman’s friendship that he didn’t deserve.

“Out of the question.” He flicked on the vacuum, hoping its hum would convince MaryAnne to leave. He didn’t want to be rude. She meant well. But she needed to focus on herself instead of him—and now Kayleigh.

The vacuum shuddered to a stop, and he glanced up at MaryAnne. She twirled the end of the cord. “She was your friend. Meet with her. Plus, I promise I won’t come by for a week except to drop off your laundry.”

He drummed his fingers on the handle. Save him from pushy women. Fine. He’d see Kayleigh. He owed her that much. More, really, but it was all he could give.

“Two weeks and no laundry,” he countered.

MaryAnne lightly whipped his arm with the cord. “A week and a half, and that’s my final offer before I bring her here myself.”

He glanced around the cramped space, pulse thudding, and threw his hands up in defeat. “I’ll go. But I won’t be able to help her. If you see her tonight, tell her that.”

“Tell her yourself,” MaryAnne called, lugging his laundry out the door before he could stop her. “Twelve o’clock tomorrow!”

Niall stared at the spider plant. What would he say to Kayleigh after shutting her out for two years? How could he face her, knowing her brother’s death was his fault?

He didn’t have a clue.

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_e409450f-836b-5494-8213-782fc6a9a408)

SLIGHTLY OUT OF breath, Kayleigh rounded the corner onto Bedford Avenue the next day and sidestepped a man wheeling a box-laden dolly. When the humid air blew her frizzing hair in her face, she shoved it back behind her ears. She’d been too excited to see Niall to waste time straightening it, and now she wished she had. At least she’d worn her favorite sundress and lipstick. Appearances had never mattered to them before, yet somehow, today, she cared about how she looked.

“What’s the hold up? Move it, buddy!” a cab driver shouted at a truck blocking traffic. He laid on his horn, and several beeps behind him filled the air. When she passed the road-rage scene, the moist, fresh scent of laundry exploded from a dry-cleaning business as a well-dressed man exited with bagged garments.

Ah, Brooklyn. She would have missed this dynamic borough if she’d married Brett and moved to his condo. Her neighborhood might not have the Upper East Side’s ease of access to Manhattan, but it vibrated with life, with the rumbling of overhead trains, the rattle of store owners opening security gates around the corner from gentrified streets and the ever-present noise of screeching tires, car horns and booming speakers.

Something about Brooklyn’s clamoring fervor made her more conscious of the thud of her heart, the rasp of her breath and the heat of her skin. It made her feel alive, vibrant and brimming with possibilities...such as reconnecting with Niall Walsh.

When MaryAnne had called her with the lunch date, she’d had to hear it twice. It seemed unreal, but here she was, moments away from seeing her friend again, and she couldn’t be more elated...or nervous. Did he really want to see her, or had MaryAnne twisted his arm? If he’d called her, she’d feel more certain.

Too anxious to sleep, she’d spent most of last night imagining how their lunch would go—what she would say, what he would do.... Would their old friendship rekindle or would they sit awkwardly like strangers? He’d always been her rock, strong and considerate when her world had fallen apart. Her mind flashed back to the summer she’d turned thirteen, when her parents had divorced.

“You’re taking me out of camp and making us move upstate on parents’ weekend?” she’d demanded when her mother had called the day before she and Kayleigh’s father were supposed to visit her at Otter Creek.

“Well...I...ah—” Her mother had cleared her throat, then seemed to take a long gulp of something before finally saying in a rush, “Your father and I are getting a divorce.”

“A what? Why? You and Daddy are happy.” Her heart had taken flight in her chest and beat against her ribs trying to escape. How could this be? They’d never fought like her friends’ parents. It didn’t make sense.

“We’re just not compatible,” her mother had said with a breathy sigh.

Kayleigh had turned her back on her inquisitive camp director and cupped her hand around the phone and her mouth. “What does that mean?”

“Your father and I don’t get along. I’m sorry, but we’re getting divorced.”

“And why didn’t you figure this out before you got married?” Her voice had risen, anger and fear lancing through her. Her artist mother and stockbroker father had always seemed like a mismatch, but they’d made it this far. Why break up? And why call now instead of waiting to tell her when camp ended? When Kayleigh was home, in familiar surroundings, better able to process the devastating news?

It had felt as though the world had reversed its spin, and everything she’d assumed about her life and family was wrong, her faith in both broken.

“We rushed into it. Please understand.” Her mother’s voice had turned pleading. “If we’d taken more time, maybe this could have been prevented.”

“What about Chris and me? Don’t you care about us? How we feel?”

“Of course we do. We’ve waited to tell you until now so that you’d enjoy the first part of the summer with your camp friends and have the second half to get used to your new home. It’s what’s best for you. You trust me, don’t you?”

Speechless, Kayleigh couldn’t imagine what to say. How could she trust her mother after this? Dropping the phone, she’d raced outside to discover Niall waiting beneath a pine tree. His eyes had searched hers, and he’d taken off after her as she’d dashed down to the beach, needing to be near water. Its undulating surface and calm blue depths had always soothed her restless spirit.

His shoulder had brushed hers as they’d sat on the dock, their feet swinging. Although he hadn’t spoken, his quiet, steady presence had reassured her in a disintegrating world.

“They’re divorcing, and they didn’t give us any warning. Not even a hint,” she’d said at last, her harsh voice startling a mallard that took flight, squawking.

“I’m sorry, Kay. That really sucks.” Niall had unclenched her hands and held one in his own. Despite her anguish, she’d felt a shimmer of pleasure at his touch.

“I hate them.” She’d chucked one of the rocks she’d scooped up on her run to the navy water, glad at the loud splash it’d made. “They only care about themselves. Not me and Chris. Mom’s moving us upstate tomorrow, and I don’t even get to say goodbye to my friends.” She looked into his large brown eyes. “Except you.”

“I don’t want to say goodbye,” he said, his voice cracking at the end.

Kayleigh chucked another rock, farther than the last. “We don’t have a choice, because my parents made it for us. According to them—” she’d made air quotes “—they ‘know best’ and need to separate because they don’t get along.”

He’d used the bottom of his shirt to wipe away the angry tears flowing down her face, his touch gentle, his soulful eyes full of concern.

“You said they didn’t spend a lot of time together.”

She’d swallowed hard, recalling that her mother had often disappeared into her studio behind their brownstone. “If they didn’t want to be together, then they shouldn’t have gotten married. I’m never going to be like them. Never getting divorced.”

He’d pulled her head to his shoulder and rested his cheek atop it. “Lots of people do.”

“Not me.” Determination had gripped her. “And I know how to make sure of it. Can I borrow your notepad and pen?”

Niall had reached into his shirt pocket and pulled them out. No matter how much he was teased, he’d always carried them around to jot down ideas.

“Are you writing them a letter?” he’d asked. The bright afternoon sun brought out the lighter brown strands in his dark hair and a fleck of gold in his eyes. Funny that she’d never noticed it before. A fluttery feeling took her by surprise. This was Niall, she’d reminded herself. A good friend. Practically a brother. Nothing more. Yet suddenly it’d been hard to look him in the eye.

She’d pulled the pen from between her teeth. “I’m making a list for myself. Traits for the perfect man. That way, if I follow the list, I’ll marry someone I’m compatible with. Guaranteed happiness. No surprises. You should make one, too.”