Page 42 of Merging Wright

“I heard there are some changes coming to town.” Tanza straightens a display of bracelets on the front counter. The glass display case is reminiscent of something from a 1970s jewelry store and doesn’t fit the theme of Tanza’s store or the elegance of her products.

“That’s one reason I’m here. Tanza, tell me five facts about you and your place.”

And so begins my research to help rebuild Wrightwood.

+ + +

That night, I’m awakened by the face of a man who looks like Mach but also does not.

“Hey.” I struggle upright on the couch in Camilla’s front room. “What time is it?”

“Time for sugar plum fairies to be in bed.” Myles gives me a warm smile as he tips his head toward the window. The glass is dark, and the deep black sky tells me nothing more than it is nighttime and possibly late.

I scrub my eyes with the heels of my hands, certain I’m smearing my mascara. “I fell asleep.”

Myles chuckles. “Already working hard.” After learning Mach’s history with the dining room table and his late wife, the front living room felt like a better option for a workspace. Myles is perched on the low table before the sofa where my laptop sits open, and papers are scattered around it. A notebook has slipped to the floor. A crochet blanket covers my lap, so someone spread the covering over my body while I slept.

“We have a lot to tackle,” I remind Myles. The faster we complete this restoration project the faster the benefit falls to him.

“You’ll figure it out. Ma’s been singing your praises for years with secondhand stories from Mach. I have faith in you, Jane Fox.”

I awkwardly laugh. Maybe his confidence could rub off on me a little. Project management is my forte, but I’m already overwhelmed. This isn’t one new client but a dozen all at once.

“It’s Jane Wright, now.” A deep but low voice fills the room. “And what the hell is going on here?”

Tipping to the left, I peer around Myles where Mach stands inside the front room entrance. His arms hang at his sides with fingers clenched in fists. His jaw tics as he glares at the back of his brother’s head.

“Just checking on our girl,” Myles says, winking at me without twisting to face his brother.

“The fuck you are,” Mach growls.

Here’s the thing; I don’t feel a single threat from Myles. Despite his similar looks to his twin, I also don’t feel that magnetic attraction I can’t seem to tamp down when it comes to Mach. Even though it’s been days of nothing more than simple words about our project, looking at Mach sets my heart racing and my clit clenching in memory of champagne kisses.

Calling me our girl is Myles’s way of razzing his brother, riling him up. However, I don’t want to be caught in the middle of their feud, old or new. Tugging the blanket higher against my chest, although not a stitch of me is revealed, I narrow my eyes at Myles.

“She’s not yours. Go home,” Mach adds.

“I am home.” Myles slowly twists his upper body toward his brother. “It’s you who has forgotten what this place is.”

“Trust me, there’s a lot I want to forget. And the sooner we get out of here, the faster I’ll put this place behind me again.”

Myles turns back to me, his eyes hurt but softening. “Never gonna be able to outrun your past.” Is he speaking to his brother or talking about himself? He rises off the low table. With a hobbled first step, he quickly aligns his balance and uses his cane to assist him exiting the room through a second entrance leading toward the back of the house.

Once Myles leaves, I turn back to Mach.

He takes a large step forward. “Do not let him get to you.”

His directness has me sitting straighter. What is it with these brothers? “Maybe you shouldn’t let him get to you.” I point between him and the door where his brother disappeared.

I’ve had my fair share of squabbles and disagreements with my siblings, but I can’t understand the distance Mach has placed between him and his twin. My brother might not be close with us sisters, but we still love one another and reach out to each other. My sisters and I might have different personalities and lifestyles, but we still respect one another.

Mach shakes his head. “It’s late. Come to bed.”

He’s kidding me, right? The comment is so husbandly, but he’s been nothing like a husband toward me. The hour is late, and I have no idea where he’s been. Then again, we had our night. Now, it’s business as usual.

“I’ll be up in a bit,” I lie. The sofa is comfy enough, and I can’t spend another night next to Mach. I can’t wake to him holding my hand or wrapping his feet over mine.

“Jane, you need sleep.”