Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Kenny
S tone’s property was ridiculously pretty all snow-covered and silent, but it was this quiet that sent a slight chill through me.
He’s fine. He’s fine. He’s fine.
I rang the doorbell again. It was normal for him to take a minute to answer. Totally normal.
He’s fine.
Right as I held up my fist to knock, he pulled the door wide.
His hazel eyes squinted out at me, the brightness of the snow no doubt nearly blinding him. He’d pulled his longish hair back so it looked neat rather than like a clue to a puzzle, so this and the clarity in his gaze eased the frantic gallop of my heart .
“Hi, friend.”
He stood there for another second before stepping back and making space for me to enter.
“Thank you so much. And yes, I’m doing well, thank you so much for asking!”
My fake enthusiasm for his nonexistent question had him shaking his head.
He led the way into the kitchen and his Alaskan Malamute, Bear, raised his head, then slumped back down on his bed.
“I come visit you and I get no love from you or your dog. Noted, ” I said, but approached Stone’s beast of a dog anyway. I took a knee and held out my hand. He nuzzled it instantly and gave it a soft lick, blue eyes looking at me with such feeling, it always made me a little sad.
Not because Bear was sad. Bear had a dog dad who’d be more than willing to die for him, he’d lived for him. In their story, that was the most loving thing possible, and it was beautiful.
Bear’s comfortable energy and those blue eyes drilled me right in my chest, though. More and more lately, I’d felt a longing for my own pet. I could’ve gotten one by now, and probably should’ve, but I’d always felt like I’d know the right one at the right time. Like love stories—I’d just know.
This might have also extended to the way I thought about not just a pet, but a person, too. I wanted a person. As more of my closest friends paired off with loving, wonderful partners, happiness and hope filled me up, up, up. But there was the small voice I couldn’t avoid hearing that asked when it would be my turn, and the harsher answer insisting it never would be.
“I don’t need checking on anymore.”
Stone stood watching me pet Bear’s soft head, his arms crossed and feet spread wide .
“I’m not checking on you. I’m just…”
“Checking on me.”
I huffed. “Well, yeah. But I want you to check on me, too, and so I showed up so you can do that. Cookie’s working and Beast’s busy and I just wanted to see a friend.”
Not just a friend, but someone who knew me. Everyone at Saint was a friend and now Liz was a new friend, but this restlessness in me needed a touchpoint grounded in more than just the here and now. I needed the history of friendship, the honesty of shared service, the vulnerability of shared pain.
Stone moved away while I hugged Bear—the dog was nearly ninety pounds of black and white fluff Stone kept shampooed and brushed and pampered. He required hugging.
“Let me get us a snack and some tea.”
I smiled into Bear’s thick winter coat which Stone really must’ve just washed because it smelled fresh and clean in a way a dog almost shouldn’t.
“He’s such a good host, isn’t he?” I asked Bear.
“Just making sure you’re fed. You look skinny.” His words came out in a scowly grumble as he rustled around in the kitchen, which made me ridiculous levels of happy.
I shouldn’t have been so pleased by his concern, but I remembered times when he could hardly manage to eat, let alone worry about anyone else. His fussing over me was evidence of his triumph.
“I’ll have you know I’m not skinny. I’m just not a giant like you and Beast. Some of us are normal human sized.” At just over six feet tall, I was, by many metrics, one of the shortest male members of Saint Security. That said, Beast stood a bit over six-foot-four, and I was fairly certain Stone clocked in around six-three, so they were the big boys of the crew.
I stood and slipped down the hallway to the bathroom. After washing my hands, I returned to the living room to see Stone setting a little tray with teacups on saucers and two dessert-looking things on a plate in the middle.
“Shortbread cookies and mini lemon bundt cakes.”
My mouth dropped open. I made no effort to hide the amazed and delighted grin on my face.
“This looks amazing and also I have a feeling you baked those both from scratch and I think it’s finally time you tell me what’s going on with the baking.”
He’d started doing it a few years ago here and there, but lately he’d leaned into it. He’d showed up with a platter full of some cookie or biscotti or homemade cracker during our Monday all-hands, and it’d taken us all a while to realize he’d made them.
“You came here for a reason, so let’s start with?—”
My obnoxious and maybe slightly exaggerated groan of ecstasy when I popped the entire mini lemon cake thing into my mouth cut him off but honestly, there was no exaggeration. It was delicious. Somehow buttery and light at the same time. Soft and spongy but like, with a nice give.
I needed to watch more British Bake Off and remind myself of the proper terminology.
“Decent, then?” he asked, looking a little less scowly as I swallowed and took a dainty sip of tea, pinky out.
“That was incredible. Honestly. I could eat a hundred of those and still want more.” I held my fingers out, dramatically circling the plate he’d filled with the sweets, and plucked up another one.
“Good to know.” He pulled out a small notebook and scribbled something with a pen he’d magically produced .
I blinked. Who was this man? I mean, I knew him. I did. But this part of him felt unfamiliar.
“Yeah, I guess. So, are you thinking you’ll sell baked goods? Or is it just a hobby?” I reached for one of the shortbread cookies.
He didn’t answer, only watched me as I chewed. Good grief, the man knew his way around a baked good.
I may have made another mildly inappropriate sound in appreciation of his gifts and talents.
His staid face cracked the tiniest bit, a smile sneaking in at his crow’s feet and the corners of his bearded face. He might try to hide it, but he liked knowing people enjoyed his goodies.
He also had no plans to chat about said goodies, and so I needed to suck it up and be honest.
“So. I did that weekend mission.” He’d likely heard of it since I knew he and Cookie had hung out Saturday.
He waited, sipping his tea silently, his eyes telling me he was listening.
I wanted to squirm. I wanted to run.
Instead, I just let ’er rip.
“I was with Liz. Liz Malcom. And she’s so…” I let out a pent-up breath and pulled my hat off my head, ran a hand through my hair, then settled it back down. “She’s freaking great.”
He set down his teacup. “Not here for long, though, is she?”
I slumped back against the couch, eyes on the ceiling. “Nope. Maybe a few months, but something tells me she might leave sooner. Seems kind of restless.”
I couldn’t quite pin down what I sensed in her other than discontentment. Whether it was at being here or with her job or the situation she’d vaguely mentioned had driven her to come back stateside and moonlight with Saint, all was not right in Liz Malcom’s world.
I pinched the delicate curve of the teacup’s handle, wondering if I did so hard enough, it’d break.
“So? Are you going to ask her out again?”
Stone knew, like most everyone at Saint now, that I’d struck out with her before. It wasn’t like she’d broken my heart, but since it was the first time I’d attempted taking someone out whom I was actually interested in, it had been noteworthy.
I laughed but it sounded less joyful and more tired. “I also ran into my family in Vegas on the way home.”
His brows rose. Not everyone knew about my family’s messy story, but those closest to me did.
“You okay?”
My heart squeezed, aching for the pain I always used to feel just thinking about my family. I appreciated his care for me, relieved he was able to ask me that, and loving him for it.
“I am. Surprisingly. It was a crap show for sure and I hate that it happened in front of the client and Liz, but I saw G and ultimately it reminded me I don’t need them to be my family. I have a new one and it’s not contingent on performance or achievement or anything else. I’ll never regret something that reminds me of that.”
“Me neither.”
Our gazes held for a moment. Did all the times we worried he’d forgotten it flash through his mind, too?
Whatever the case, eventually, I snagged another shortbread and ate it in bliss before asking him the question we both knew was coming.
“Time for some Bake Off ?”
He nodded, flicking on the TV, and we began. I needed the distraction from the mission, from my jumbled thoughts about Liz, and maybe a little from the wanting. I tried not to live a grabby life, reaching for more and more. I’d achieved a lot and hoped to have many years to go. I didn’t want to live in a state of hands out, gasping for more, more, more. I wanted to hold and honor and cherish what I had. Contentment was what I really wanted.
Even if, sometimes, it felt like there were pieces missing.