17. Mckenna
SEVENTEEN
MCKENNA
The Ivy is one of Boston’s trendiest restaurants, where you go to see and be seen. It also boasts incredible food, a divine atmosphere, and an impressive wine list. You need to make a reservation well in advance if you’re not one ofThe Burnt Clovers’bandmates or a hockey player for the Boston Hawks.
While I’ve been to The Ivy countless times for brunch or dinner, for drinks with friends, tonight feels different.
I’m on edge, unsure of myself. It makes no sense since The Ivy is my element. Still, nerves skate up my spine, and doubt clouds my head.
I’m wearing a black miniskirt from three seasons ago, a tight, cream-colored turtleneck, and boots. I smooth my hands over the front of my skirt and give myself one last glance in the mirror.
Tonight is going to be fun. Allegra will be there. The guys from the band. This is hardly a date; it’s a night out with friends. And Mav and I have been getting along lately.
My heart nearly cracked when he shared Warren Willoughby with me earlier today. I hate to admit it, but the thing that caught me most off guard is Maverick’s depth. Since I met him, I’d written him off as a party guy with no substance.
But his relationship with his pop, his confiding in me, and my oversharing with him about a time in my life I’m not proud of felt too real. Why the hell did I tell him about the stupid lipstick?
Is that why I’m nervous?
I grab a small cross-body purse from my nightstand and steel my shoulders. I used to frequent The Ivy, and restaurants like it. I used to wear the latest fashion trends and effortlessly flit in and out and around different social clusters. I inhabited this world and its wealth naturally.
This isn’t a big deal. The skirt is fine! Not new, but classic.
I take the stairs slowly, not wanting to trip and fall on my face. When I’m halfway down, Mav comes into view. He’s standing at the bottom of the staircase, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his gray slacks. He’s wearing a designer blazer, a colorful pocket square tucked into the pocket, and loafers. His blond hair, freshly dyed to cover the blue, is styled away from his face, and his blue eyes drink me in slowly, like hot chocolate on the first day of winter.
I grip the banister tighter as I hear his audible inhale.
His cologne greets me, male and masculine, and distinctly Mav. Why the hell does he smell so good?
“You’re wearing loafers,” I babble.
He snickers and waits for me to clear the steps before responding.
“I happen to have good fashion sense,” he retorts.
I give him a look, and his grin widens.
“I’m serious,” he continues, walking to the closet and tugging open the door. He removes my black wool coat, correctly assuming it’s the one I plan to wear. “I may have a personal shopper”—he holds the coat out to me, and I slip it on—“but I know what I like.”
“Well, you look nice,” I admit, tying the sash at my waist.
Mav pauses and catches my eyes. The corner of his mouth quirks. “And you look beautiful.” His tone is filled with sincerity, and his words, his words nearly bowl me over.
Beautiful? Mav thinks I look beautiful? Is he serious? Or is this all practice for our date? For our budding relationship?
Gah! It doesn’t matter!
“After you.” He pulls open the front door and gestures toward the waiting Escalade.
I step outside and clasp the neckline of my coat, bunching the material together to ward off the cold. “It’s freezing.”
“It’s Boston,” Mav replies. He opens the back door to the SUV, and I slide inside.
He slips in beside me, his presence more comforting than I’d like to admit.
We exchange pleasantries with Alfred, who drives us to The Ivy. While Mav and Alfred talk sports—the Hawks’ win against Tennessee, the Badgers’ loss to Phoenix—I stare out the window and try to handle my emotions.
I’m downright scared. The edge of frustration I usually hold in Mav’s company has morphed into uncertainty. Will people buy our fake relationship? Will anyone call us out?
A reminder of the guy from Whole Foods flickers through my mind.
The possibility of running into my mom or dad causes dread to settle in the pit of my stomach. What would I say? What would they do?
A lick of fear runs up my back, and I shiver.
Alfred approaches the restaurant and catches my eyes in the rearview mirror. “Have a good dinner, Kenny.”
“Thanks, Alfred.” I manage a smile.
Mav extends his hand, and I pause to glance at him.
His blue eyes swim with an emotion I can’t place, and I steel my spine, find my resolve, and tuck my hand in his as he helps me from the car.
Mav’s hand is large and steady on mine. His fingers grip mine loosely, and he gives a little squeeze. It settles me, and I relax into his touch, surprised when he doesn’t release me but draws me closer.
On some level, Mav and I are in this together. After months of shouldering everything solo, it feels nice to have someone else relate. To have someone understand my confusion. My uncertainty. Even if that someone is Mav.
We enter The Ivy as a couple.
The heat of Mav’s body presses into mine. His grip on my hand roots me to the moment.
My nerves ping-pong, and my heart rate jumps. My mouth dries, and my mind whirls.
The bustle of the restaurant—moving bodies and quiet conversation, craning necks, and genuine laughter—wraps around me.
Mav exchanges a few words with the hostess, who leads us through the restaurant. My body tenses as I recognize several faces. Friends of my parents, acquaintances who used to run in my social circles.
Will my parents care that I’m dating Mav? Will they call me to learn more? Will they want to meet him?
I drop my head as my shoulders bunch around my ears.I retreat into myself like a turtle hiding in its shell.
Mav squeezes my hand again, and I glance up. His eyes hold a note of compassion, a thread of worry. “I got you,” he murmurs the words quietly.
As the hostess leads us to the table, I catch whispers from dining patrons.
“Caught cheating on her husband. Had to be his fault. Look at him.”
“Seduced her. Yes, Senator Hayes’s wife. Angela.”
“A scandal! He wanted to run for President. That guy ruined his career.”
“Well, he’s a rockstar. What did everyone expect?”
Realizing that they’re dissecting Maverick, and not me, I straighten. Glare at a table I pass. Frown at a woman I recognize from the tennis club. How dare these people blame Maverick for what happened with the Senator’s wife? How is it only his fault?
Staring at the back of Mav’s head, his chin held high, I realize he’s trying to protect me even though he’s the one being ripped apart. I squeeze his fingers, brushing my thumb over his knuckles in solidarity.
He turns, flashing me a grin over his shoulder. But in his eyes, I note a hint of hurt, a dash of gratitude. I smile back.
When I do, I spot the table that looms ahead. Allegra stands and tosses her napkin next to her plate. Relief floods my limbs, and my smile widens.
Allegra envelops me in a hug, and I clutch my old roommate as if it’s been months and not a day since I’ve last seen her.
“You okay?” she murmurs.
“Of course,” I reply, pulling back.
Her eyes narrow.
“It’s a lot,” I admit, my eyes darting to the side.A stranger’s phone is angled in our direction, and I know they’re snapping a photo.
I drop my head.
Allegra looks around and notices the gawking of other patrons.Whether they’re staring at me, or Mav, doesn’t matter anymore. Right now, we’re an us.
She bites her bottom lip. “You get used to it. We wanted to sit in the open instead of a private room so people can see you and Mav together,” she explains in a low voice.
I nod, and my understanding kicks in as the other band members greet me.
“Good to see you again so soon, Kenny.” Derek presses a kiss to my cheek.
“You too.” I hug him back.
“Hey, girl.” Jameson pats my back and drops a kiss to the top of my head.
Levi rounds the table last, giving me a crooked grin. “Glad you’re here, Kenny.”
“Hey, Levi.” I kiss his cheek.
When seated between Allegra and Mav, I hold up my menu, hide behind it, and take a calming breath.
Of course, we’re seated in one of the restaurant’s busiest sections. Jameson explained that The Ivy was packed, and we only got a table at the last minute, but I know Jess—or maybe Kimberly—staged this intentionally.
Here, everyone will note how Mav and I interact with each other. Right now, we’re being studied and picked apart. My shoulders pinch at the realization.
I feel the eyes of my parents’ friends—tennis partners and country club connections—on my back and profile.Except for the first time, I worry less if they’re judging me and care more about their speaking poorly about Mav.
I glance at him from the corner of my eye. He tosses me a wink and I try to relax.
While I dislike being the center of attention, I can handle it. Especially when it comes from strangers. But more than half the patrons in The Ivy know my parents. They know some of the messiest details of their divorce. They’ve helped circulate rumors and kick up drama.And now, they’re directing those sharply honed skills toward Maverick.
Will they put a negative spin on my dating Mav? Will my parents become an unintended obstacle I’ll have to deal with?
Are we creating a new scandal rather than squashing an old one?
“Kenny.” Allegra’s voice cuts through my thoughts.
I lower my menu to glance at her.
“Wine?” She gestures toward the server, patiently holding a bottle beside me. I gather she must have said my name more than once from everyone’s expressions.
I flush with embarrassment. “Please.”
The server pours a generous glass, and I immediately take a gulp, hoping to calm my nerves and hide the heat in my cheeks.
“To Mav and Mckenna.” Jameson raises a glass, winking at me.
I burn brighter, realizing I drank before the toast.
The table drinks to my new relationship, and I swallow half the contents of my glass.
What is wrong with me?
Underneath the table, Mav’s hand lands on my thigh. I jump from the contact, and he pulls his hand away instantly, but I grab it, and lace our fingers together.
We’re in this together.
His eyes fly to my face, studying me.
“Sorry,” I wheeze, noting my mom’s bridge partner at a table to the right. She frowns at me. “I need to use the restroom.” I push back my chair.
I just need a minute to wrap my head around tonight.
Mav and I are here together. We’re a united front. I can do this.
“I’ll go with you,” Allegra offers.
“Oh, you don’t have to.” I wave her off, my gaze darting between her worried expression and Mav’s confused one. “I’ll just be a minute.”
My face is still turned toward Allegra as I move to push in my chair. As I step forward, I collide with a moving body. The heel of my boot snags in the thick, woven jute rug under our table.
“Oh,” I cry out, stumbling backward. I toss an arm out behind me to break my fall—or break my arm—but before my ass hits the ground, Mav grabs me, wrapping a strong arm around my torso.
I regain my footing and grip the back of Mav’s chair. “Thanks,” I murmur.
Mav’s hand on my hip flexes, but he doesn’t reply. His eyes are zeroed in on the man I bumped into.
“Fancy seeing you here.” There’s an edge to the man’s voice and my stomach twists.
I look up slowly, trying to calm my racing heart as nerves skitter up my arms.
His presence looms over me. His mouth twists, and his eyes flash, half with mirth, half with anger. My skin tightens.
“Branson.” My knuckles on Mav’s chair turn white as I try to regulate my breathing.
A slow, sinister smile stretches across Branson’s face. “Mckenna.”