Chapter 22 #2
He’d worn a beautifully tailored black tux, one hand thrust into his trouser pocket, the other clutching a flute of champagne. He’d been gesticulating with that hand, spilling some of the liquid in the process. He’d looked so damned animated, so alive and happy, and Kenny had been riveted.
She had frozen in her tracks and simply watched him, that golden, perfect, godlike creature.
Then the music had changed, going from a typical string quartet to a soulful, romantic ballad. The change had been so jarring, he’d stopped talking and looked upwards, as if expecting to find the source of the music somewhere in the heavens.
He’d looked in her direction, and his eyes had skimmed right over her. Kenny’s heart had sunk to the soles of her feet, but then he’d stilled, and those same beautiful eyes jerked back to hers…
—vivid, green, piercing—
… and everything had stopped.
He’d thrust his glass into this brother’s chest, leaving the other man no option but to take it, and prowled intently toward her.
So lethal and graceful and predatory.
He’d stolen her breath.
Then he asked her to dance.
And nothing had ever been the same again.
“…ever go private?” Libby was asking her, and Kenny dragged herself out of the past to focus on the other woman’s question.
“Sorry, I didn’t catch that,” she said self-consciously.
If Libby thought it was odd that she wasn’t paying attention, she didn’t show it. She merely repeated her question.
“I was wondering if you’d ever consider private practice?”
“Uh…not really. I don’t need the money. And the public health system is already understaffed and underserved. I can make a real difference in people’s lives where I am right now.”
“Don’t a lot of doctors in the public sector burn out faster?” Libby asked with a concerned frown.
“Yes. I suppose that’s one of the reasons I took this break.”
“And talking about work probably doesn’t help,” Tina said pointedly and Libby winced.
“Sorry, I can get a little single-minded sometimes. I was just curious.”
“Oh, I don’t mind at all,” Kenny said, warming to the other woman even more. “I am a little burnt out. And I did allow work to dominate my life for way too long. But I always found it rewarding and meaningful. I just have to get better at putting my own needs first.”
She cleared her throat awkwardly.
“So, am I to take it that the men are cooking today?” she asked, changing the subject.
“Oh, hell yeah,” Libby said vociferously. “I do not want to spend one of my only days off in the kitchen.”
Tina nodded her vehement agreement.
“Are they good cooks?”
“It took us a while to convince them that every Sunday couldn’t be a braai day,” Tina said with a laugh.
“If they could get away with tossing steaks and boerewors on the grill every week, they’d be happy as Larry.
So they’ve learned to…” She stopped and looked at Libby. “What was that word that Grey used?”
“Diversify,” Libby said with a laugh and Tina chuckled as well.
“Don’t worry, they won’t poison us,” Tina comforted, before adding a concerning disclaimer. “At least, not enough to kill us.”
“Right,” Kenny nodded. “Yes, thank you, that wasn’t a concern I’d had before now, at all. So tell me everything I have to know about Love Island?”
“What exactly do you think they’re going to do to her, Smith?” Harris asked in exasperation as Smith once again glanced toward where the three women were comfortably ensconced on the living room furniture, watching an inane TV show with lots of flesh on display.
“Kenna can be a little shy,” he noted, doing a piss-poor job of peeling the potatoes Harris had handed to him after his arrival. “It’s easy to mistake it for aloofness.”
“Tina likes her,” Harris said with a shrug. “They’ll be fine. Also, why do you care?”
Fuck.
“Things have changed.”
Greyson, who’d been the process of basting the beef in the oven, glanced up at Smith’s words.
“Because you kissed her in front of the whole town, you mean?” Harris’s much more annoying brother asked.
“Barely anyone saw that kiss,” Smith dismissed. “They were all ducking for cover.”
Harris made a choked sound. Greyson closed the oven door and straightened up, folded his arms across his chest, and leaned back against a kitchen counter.
“You going tell him? Or should I?” The irritating twin asked enigmatically.
“Tell me what?”
“My good friend, Spencer Carlisle, has great sporting ambitions for this town,” Greyson intoned. “He improved the community sports field. Then he got sponsorships for the football, rugby, netball, and cricket teams.”
“Sounds like a paragon among men,” Smith said drily.
“His latest, purely unnecessary, improvement had him roping in the big hitters, Hollingsworth and Brand, for donations.”
“We’re big hitters too,” Harris interjected.
“We didn’t finance the Minitron,” Greyson reminded. “Hollingsworth was a silent investor, but Brand was all over that baby. I just think he likes seeing his name up in lights.”
“Will you fucking get to the point?” Smith snapped, then swore when he nearly cut himself with the potato peeler. “Why are you waffling on about this?”
“The point is that our tiny sports field has a size-appropriate big screen. And the game is usually live-streamed. Why? I don’t know.
I think it has an audience of fifty on a good night.
It also serves as an outdoor cinema for underserved communities on Friday nights, but that’s neither here nor there.
Didn’t you notice it showcasing your every goalkeeping failure last night? ”
His blood ran cold.
“What are you saying?”
“Our off-site camera operator, while filming the chaotic mass exodus, kiss-cammed you and Kenny.”
“Fuck.” Smith’s eyes helplessly tracked back to Kenna, not sure how she was going to take this news. “That… It was a private moment.”
Harris threw his brother a quelling glance. Greyson nodded and remained silent.
“Smith.” Harris’s voice was quiet, which only made the hairs on the back of Smith’s neck stand on end. “For some reason, boredom maybe, somebody uploaded the kiss onto a couple of social media platforms. And it’s gone a little viral.”
“A little viral?” Smith whisper-yelled, not wanting to alert Kenna. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“About half a million views in the last twelve hours.”
“Oh my fucking God.” Smith started to rake a hand through his hair, and nearly scraped the skin off his forehead because of the fucking damned peeler he was still clutching in his numb fingers. He tossed the thing aside with a clatter. Luckily, the sound didn’t draw the women’s attention.
“Look, it’s not that bad,” Harris said. “You’re married. It’s not like that couple who got caught cheating.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Smith asked in confused impatience. “What couple?”
“Uh…nothing. My point is, you’re married, it’s a no harm, no foul situation.”
“It was an intimate moment between my wife and I,” Smith choked out. “Kenna’s intensely private, and she’s going to hate this. Can we have it taken down?”
The brothers exchanged glances and Greyson’s mouth tightened. He shook his head slightly, his expression sympathetic.
“Smith, you know that’s not how the internet works,” Harris told him. “It’s been shared thousands of times across platforms. It’s taken on a life of its own.”
“Why would anyone care? It was just a kiss. But it was ours. Ours alone. Our moment.”
“I’m so sorry, man,” Harris muttered, squeezing his shoulder.
Smith looked up, and saw Kenny leaning forward to listen to something Clara was telling her. She was smiling at the little girl, and nodded when the toddler took her hand.
Smith’s heart turned to warm goo when Kenny followed Clara to the little plastic table in the corner of the room where Piper and Flopsy, the dog, were already seated. She gracefully folded her tall, lithe body almost in half to sit down on one of the tiny chairs.
She was wearing another one of those pretty summer jumpsuits, dark blue, with flowy wide legs, and off-the-shoulder sleeves. She’d kicked off her shoes at some point and her bare toes peeked out from beneath trouser legs that—without the heels she’d been wearing—pooled around feet.
He wasn’t sure how she was going to react to this news. He didn’t want her upset or humiliated.
He raked a hand through his hair and focused on Grey.
“I’ll sue the bastard who filmed it in the first place.”
“He’s just a kid with a laptop, man,” Greyson said. “One of Spencer’s youth center teens. It’s Spencer’s way of keeping him involved in the matches. Lukhanyo—the boy—is frail and bedbound. So he monitors the cameras and manages the live stream from his home. Bright kid.”
Smith screwed his eyes shut in frustration.
“If it’s any consolation,” Harris ventured tentatively, “the reactions have all been overwhelmingly positive.”
“It’s not,” Smith said with a scowl. “It was nobody’s business.”
“I get that, but you were kissing her in a very public space, Smith.”
“No fucking privacy in the goddamn world anymore,” Smith griped with a resigned shake of his head.
His eyes drifted to Kenna again, and despite his agitation, a soft, helpless smile tugged at his lips.
Piper had curled up in Kenna’s lap, a sippy cup in her mouth, and seemed to be dozing off.
One of the toddler’s plump hands was wrapped around a strand of Kenna’s hair.
Kenna ignored the baby’s hair pulling and appeared to be in the middle of an earnest conversation with Clara.
To Smith’s delight, she picked up a little plastic teacup and took a sip and then winced and lift a hand to fan her tongue.
Clara went off into gales of laughter and then exaggeratedly showed Kenna how to blow over the cup to cool down the imaginary tea.
He had never seen her around small children before, but had always assumed she would be awkward as hell.
Instead, she appeared to be genuinely enjoying herself.
She looked up unexpectedly, a smile on her face, laughter in her eyes, and caught him watching. Her smile transformed into a naughty grin and then she shocked the hell out of him when she playfully crossed her eyes, sucked in her cheeks, and puckered her lips.
Smith couldn’t contain a sharp, surprised chuckle, and then had to beat back bitter disappointment when Piper wriggled in her arms and distracted her from him.
Seeing her like this, so relaxed, clearly happy, enjoying every moment without reservation or trace of self-consciousness, was immensely gratifying. And it only brought home how truly tense, sad, likely depressed, and closed-off she’d been during their marriage.
Yes, Kenna wasn’t all sunshine and laughter all the time, and Smith was realistic enough to know that the quiet reserve would always be a huge part of her personality. She would need moments of introspection, moments when she’d rather be alone with her thoughts.
But there was also this side of her. The side she showed only when she felt comfortable and safe. Smith decided it was his job to ensure that she always felt free to be herself.
Reticent, uncommunicative, withdrawn, goofy, sweet, warm, adorable, and absolutely perfect Kenna.
Every part of her was singular and beautiful and Smith wouldn’t have her any other way.
“Those potatoes aren’t going to peel themselves, Smith,” Harris’s unwelcome voice intruded right in his ear and Smith whipped his head around to pin his friend with a dark stare.
Harris grinned unrepentantly and shoved the loathsome potato peeler into Smith’s hand.
“Back to work, bud.”