Page 211 of Holding On To Good

Something else she refused to let herself think about.

“I’m not here for Urban,” Miranda said.

Willow frowned. “You’re not?”

“Of course not. If I’d wanted Urban, I would have called or texted him or gone to his house.”

That did make more sense than Miranda chasing the man down, going to any and all places he might possibly be.

“Okay,” Willow said slowly. Suspiciously. “Then why are you here?”

Miranda cleared her throat. Switched her purse from her left shoulder to her right. “I’d like to speak with you about something.”

Willow’s suspicion spiked. Hard. Not once during the years Miranda and Urban were together did Miranda ever seek Willow out. When they did happen to find themselves in the same vicinity, whether Urban was present or not, their exchanges were pithy, pissy and brief.

Just the way they both liked them.

“Let me make it easy on the both of us,” Willow said. “Whatever you’re here to discuss with me, I’m not interested in hearing.”

Miranda raised her perfectly shaped eyebrows over her perfectly subtly made-up eyes and cocked her head to the side so that all her glorious, golden hair slid across her shoulder. “You are a very rude person. Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?”

“My mother taught me that personal boundaries—for my emotional, psychological and physical health—were, at times, more important than being considered rude. Didn’t your mother teach you not to show up uninvited to someone’s home? Especially when that someone doesn’t like you?”

“My mother taught me that I could go wherever I wanted and be with whoever I chose because I’m beautiful. She was right.” Miranda shrugged, then swallowed as she rubbed at a wrinkle in her dress as if smoothing away its existence would somehow erase what she said next. “And she was wrong.” Another shrug, then she dropped her hand. Lifted her chin. “Or maybe I was wrong to believe her.”

“So sorry your golden beauty wasn’t enough to get you everything you want out of life.”

Willow had been shooting for dry sarcasm but her words came out sharp and mean.

Guess Miranda wasn’t the only asshole here.

Miranda slid her a narrow look. “It got me enough,” she said, nailing the deadpan delivery Willow had so badly missed.

Saving Willow from choking out the apology rising in her throat.

Though she did take a sip of the coffee she’d poured for Hayden to hide her grin.

Not that she was softening toward Miranda. She just appreciated a well-aimed comeback.

“As enjoyable as this little interlude has been,” Willow said, “which is to say not enjoyable at all, I’m going to be rude again by cutting our chat short for the simple fact that I no longer wish to continue it.”

But when Willow started closing the door, Miranda’s words stopped her.

“I want to hire you to help me find a house to buy.”

Something ugly twisted in Willow’s stomach. Fear or worry or maybe it was the sharp sting of jealousy that had clung to every encounter she’d ever had with this woman. “Wow. You’re really going all in on this, aren’t you?”

Miranda sent her a perfectly pretty frown. “This?”

“This whole get Urban back plan.”“I don’t want Urban back.”

“You sure about that?”

“I think I know my own mind,” Miranda said in a bored tone. “There may have been a time when I thought I wanted to reunite with Urban—”

“A time? Like a month ago when you cried on his shoulder about your marriage and then invited him to dinner?”

Miranda’s lips thinned. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised he shared our conversation with you, even though it had been private.”

---