9. Chapter Nine
Chapter nine
Kennedy
Steady pounding of the rain hits the windows as a cloud of gray surrounds the outside. The weather is fitting for Thanksgiving in the late Ohio fall. This is my first trip back home in nearly two years. Last year, I was too busy sorting out where I would be working that I didn’t want to risk leaving the city in case I was contacted for a job interview. It was a good thing I didn’t leave, since Nelson Signature contacted me the Friday after Thanksgiving to meet the following Monday.
It’s crazy how much life can change in a year. Not only my job, but as I glance around at the long dining room table my mom has decorated for every holiday my entire life, I take in how much my parents have changed. With time comes aging, and with both of my parents retired, I notice how much older they appear. In my mind, they’re both the same spry thirty-year-olds who taught me how to ride a bike or how to make perfect chocolate chip cookies.
“Sweetie, how’s the city?” Mom asks from where she’s sitting across from me. She reaches for the bowl of sweet potatoes before passing them to her left, where my sister sits.
Scooping out a large portion of green bean casserole—my favorite—I pass the bowl to my grandpa, where he’s eyeing the green bean and cream of mushroom concoction speculatively. “New York is still New York. Oh, but there’s this new coffee shop that just opened down the street from the townhouse, and Lana and I did a coffee experience there. We got to go in and sample four different origins of coffee and brewing methods while they teach you about how to recognize the differences in flavors and aromas. It was a lot of fun!”
“Now that sounds right up my alley,” Olivia chimes in. “What was your favorite?”
“The Puerto Rico coffee in the V-60 was my favorite.”
“What’s wrong with Maxwell House from a coffeepot?” Grandpa grumbles from his place at the head of the table. My dad and grandpa have always sat at the head of the table while my mom, sister, grandma, Aunt Julie, Uncle Ed, and myself sit in the middle.
“There’s nothing wrong with it, Dad,” Mom says with an eye roll. “You know how adults today enjoy the finer things in life.”
I chuckle because, to everyone sitting around this table, except for Olivia, no one has left the county in years. And while it’s a great county, that is slowly coming to times, it’s still so behind on the happenings of the big city. The latest thing to come into town was a new automotive garage and a microbrewery.
“Olivia, I see you have some new designs on your body.” Aunt Julie points to the start of my sister’s sleeve. Tattoos of flowers and vines line her arms, with a new detailed monarch butterfly weaved from her wrist around her forearm and toward her bicep. The flowers aren’t new, but the butterfly is, which is drawn beautifully and captures the eye immediately.
“My roommate moved to Texas, so we decided to get butterfly tattoos together.”
“Why a butterfly?” Uncle Ed asks around a forkful of food. His manners have always been lacking.
Reaching for her glass of water, Olivia takes a long drink while I scoop another serving of green beans onto my plate. They’re truly the superior Thanksgiving side dish. “Butterflies symbolize a lot of things in different cultures. They signify a powerful beacon of growth and new beginnings, which was perfect for Bret and myself since she was moving and I was starting a new job.”
“At a tattoo parlor,” Grandma adds with disapproval in her tone. No matter how wonderful her grandchildren are, Grandma can never get over the issues with tattoos. She doesn’t understand the idea of marking yourself permanently.
Using her roll to mop up the rest of the food on her plate, Mom turns to Olivia, wearing a hopeful expression. “Do you think you’d ever move back home?”
Eyes widening, Olivia looks at me for help. With a shrug, I leave her to her own devices. Mom has been trying to get us girls to move back home every chance she gets. And while I understand her home feels empty without us, she did a good job of teaching us to spread our wings and fly.
“What would I do? Open a tattoo parlor on Main Street?”
“Yes!” I nearly shout, as my grandmother gasps.
Olivia sends me a wink as Dad interrupts the conversation. “Kenny, how’s your resort project going?”
“Oh, what project is this?” Aunt Julie asks.
“Nelson Signature acquired a resort in St. Lucia, and in January, my design pitch was selected for the remodel. ”
“Sounds like a vacation to me,” Uncle Ed chimes in, always looking for a way to get something handed to him for free.
“I’m not sure about that. There’s a good chance I’ll never have the opportunity to visit the resort. Everything is done through emails and virtual meetings.”
“We’re really proud of you, sweetie. Both of our girls.” Mom’s warm smile meets her eyes as she reaches over and squeezes Olivia’s hand.
The rest of dinner flies by, and soon enough, plates are cleared, pies destroyed, and my dad’s dropping Olivia and me off at the new microbrewery, Iron Horse Brewing Co. so we could have a little sister time.
The bar is packed with familiar faces, many home for the holiday, much like we were. Conversation flows as easily as the drinks and time seems to slip by as a local band plays music from our high school days. My phone vibrating on the table pulls my attention from where I’m watching Olivia flirt with the Blackwood brothers.
Tate and Gage have been in love with my sister for as long as I can remember. Tate graduated a year before me, while Gage was a year or two older than Olivia, falling in between the two of us in school. Liv looks like she fits in perfectly with their group, and I wonder if Tate will finally confess his love to my sister. Unlikely, but it’s worth a shot. Glancing away from where the three of them are playing pool with a few others, I see the name “Golden Boy” flash across the screen.
Leave it to Tristan to ruin a perfectly good holiday .
“What could you possibly need?” I say by way of greeting.
“Hello to you too, Firecracker,” Tristan says before letting out a long groan. “What is that awful noise?”
“That sound, Golden Boy, is the sound of a local band playing our town’s anthem, Wagon Wheel.”
“Sounds delightful.”
“I’m glad you think so too. But seriously, what do you want, Tristan?”
“What’s the matter? You haven’t missed the sound of my voice?”
“I heard cats fighting in the barn earlier. Sounds about the same,” I retort.
“I’m wounded, Kennedy, deeply wounded.”
“Uh-huh.” Reaching for the pint glass in front of me, I enjoy a long pull of the American IPA and savor the fruitiness of mango and pineapple.
“Promise not to kill the messenger?”
“There’s never any promises in hate and war.”
“We need to leave for St. Lucia. There’s an issue with the resort.”
Sounds fade out around me as my pulse thunders in my ears. “I’m sorry, what did you just say?”
He starts to explain, but I quickly cut him off, telling him I need to find a quiet place. Too bad the only quiet place is outside and I’m not disappearing without telling my sister where I’m going. Finishing the last couple of sips of my beer, I stand from my seat and weave through the crowd of people gathered around to listen to the band.
Gage Blackwood eyes me as I approach the group. “Damn, Kennedy, you look good. Liv, why didn’t you tell us Kenny was here too? ”
“Who the hell is that?” Tristan grits from his side of the phone.
I smother a laugh. “Friends of my sister’s,” I tell him before pulling the phone away from my mouth.
“I’ve got to take this outside.”
Olivia nods, and I step around the group of bikers as I head for the back exit.
The patio is dimly lit, with only a few strands of bistro lights hanging from the poles. A couple of smokers are huddled together, and I find a table to sit away from the lingering smoke and glances.
“What’s the problem?”
“Finally,” he grumbles, and my eyes roll on instinct. “There is a problem in St. Lucia, and since we are the project leads, we need to be on location for at least a month.”
“A month!” My jaw drops. A month in paradise sounds amazing, but not being stuck on an island smaller than the county I grew up in. “When do we leave?”
“We really should be settled for a meeting first thing Monday morning. I can have the jet ready by Saturday morning.”
Nibbling on my lower lip, my mind spins with how I’m going to get to New York in time, when my flight home wasn’t supposed to be until Sunday. “Okay, I’ll see what I can do about getting my flight changed.”
“I’ll take care of it. Can you be at the Columbus Airport by nine tomorrow morning? Will that give you plenty of time to pack and get everything you need for a month or more in St. Lucia?”
Mulling over his words, I run through a list of all the things I’m going to need, like toiletries and island-appropriate business clothes. “Yeah, I’ll make it work. ”
“I’ll text you all the flight details.”
And with that, he clicks off the call, and I’m stuck sitting in the cold forty-degree weather, wondering how the hell I’m going to survive a month with Tristan.
Willing my fingers to work in the colder weather, I tap on my messaging app and find Lana’s name.
Me: Guess who is going to St. Lucia for at least a month.
Lana: A hot redheaded bombshell?
Me: Yes…
Me: With Tristan.
Lana: Lead with the juicy details next time!
I groan to myself. My best friend and my office bestie see this undeniable chemistry between us, even after all the frustrations I’ve vented to them about.
Me: Lana, he’s arranging a flight to come pick me up tomorrow and then we leave on Saturday.
Lana: *Wide Eyes Emoji* Oh damn. Do you have island clothes?
Lana: Wait, of course you do. What do you need from me?
Me: I mean I have vacation clothes but not stuff I’d consider wearing for work.
Lana: Then stop texting me and order store pickups. I’m free tomorrow. I'll be your pretty little errand girl.
Lana: No, promote me to assistant. Look at you going to St. Lucia and hiring an assistant. Look ma you made it *wink emoji*
Me: You’re delirious. But if you mean it, I think I might take you up on it.
Lana: Put that credit card to use and I’ll see you tomorrow.
Me: *kiss emoji*
Closing out of the messaging app, I pull open my notes and start making a list of all the things I’m going to need and what sizes will meet TSA standards. Wait, do private jets have to follow TSA standards? After a quick search, I find we don’t have to follow TSA requirements, which means I can order normal sizes of all of my things.
Light from the bar pours outside, and I hear “Kenny!” shouted. My cute little sister, with her silver hair shimmering in the night light, appears in the doorway of the bar and she has Tate Blackwood’s arm wrapped around her shoulder, while hers is at his waist. They look friendly, all cozied up together. I knew something was going on between the two of them .
“You two look cute,” I say, watching Olivia’s eyes widen while Tate smirks at me.
“Who was on the phone?” Olivia asks me.
Groaning, I toss the phone on the table and wipe my hand down my face. “Tristan.”
Her smile grows. “Aw, it’s sweet that he missed you.”
“He didn’t miss me. He called to tell me that I have to fly to St. Lucia for the next month. Apparently, there’s a problem with the resort.”
Her eyes widen as she raises her eyebrows up and down. “Have fun sleeping with the enemy.”
“Are you ready if I text Dad to come pick us up?” I ask her, ignoring her comment.
She nods as Tate tucks her closer to his chest. “C’mon, Livvy, head back to the house with us.”
“Not tonight.” She peers up at him. “I only have one more night with my sister.”
Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a cigarette. The two of them carry on while he has a smoke and we wait for our dad to show up, while I search for items I need for in-store pickup. Hopefully, by ordering tonight, I’ll avoid the Black Friday rush of tomorrow, which should be fine since most of the items I need aren’t the in-store specials but everyday essentials.
Tomorrow’s problems are for tomorrow.
Tonight, I’m heading back to my childhood home with my little sister to have one of our Reed sister sleepovers with popcorn and a cheesy 2000s romantic comedy playing in the background while we gossip.