Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Kennedy Noelle
Well, this took a turn.
I gulp, audibly, at the glint in his eye.
I pull back, and for the first time since I met him, I really look at him.
He’s clearly older, maybe ten or so years.
Fine lines frame his dark blue eyes, eyes that look like they have seen and experienced a lot.
I scan the rest of his features: a small scar on his chin and a five o’clock shadow over his strong jawline.
His mousey brown hair makes the blue of his eyes more noticeable, and when he clears his throat, it's then I realize I must have been staring for quite some time.
“See something you like.” His tone is playful as he winks.
My cheeks heat with embarrassment and try to hide it with a chuckle. “You wish, old man. I don’t go for men who are close to cashing in their pension.”
A deep rumble comes from his chest, and his head falls back, and I startle, shocked at how forward and kind of rude I am being to this perfect stranger, but I am done with men controlling me, done with being a doormat.
This break up is an opportunity for me to reinvent myself, be the confident Kennedy Noelle Kensington I know I am.
“You are a firecracker, aren't you?”
I flick my blonde hair over my shoulder and shrug. "Grow up in a house full of girls, the only way to survive it is to be ruthless and have a sharp tongue.” I wink for some unknown reason, and the way his eyebrows rise and his lip quirks up has me feeling some type of way.
“Sisters, huh? How many have you got?” he asks, settling back into his seat, making an attempt to fold his arms across his broad chest, but fails due to our close proximity.
“Three. Have you got any?
“No, just one brother. So, your parents had four girls. Jeez, were they hoping for a boy?” he teases.
“Yep,” I say popping the p. “My dad really wanted a boy, but instead, he ended up with four girls. There's Kate, Kendra, Kendall and then me.”
“Aww little baby Kevin.” He smiles, his tone playful, and I can't help but smirk.
“No, my name’s not Kevin.”
“So, what is it then?”
“You shouldn’t give your name to strangers.”
He eyes me suspiciously. “True. But it begins with a K?”
I nod. That’s all he’s getting.
He narrows his eyes, “All of you have names beginning with K. Who’s your mom? Kris Kardashian-Jenner, or whatever her name is?”
I shake my head and laugh. “No, but she is called Kirsten, and my dad is Robert. My mom wanted us all to have the same initials as her. But hold up. You don’t strike me as someone who watches reality TV. How do you know who the Kardashians are?”
“Casey, my girl…” He pauses, and I don’t miss the way his jaw tightens before he hesitantly says, “My ex-girlfriend, she watched it all the time. I watched a few episodes with her. It was okay, not really my thing.”
I want to pry, but I’ve just met the man. Our conversation is interrupted by the shrill ring of my phone playing “Baby Got Back” by Sir Mix–A–Lot.
I frantically search my purse for the offending phone, as the woman I’ve named Janet scoffs again and mumbles something under her breath.
“Is your ringtone, Baby Got Back?” He asks.
“Yes,” I yell as I begin tossing items from my purse.
When one lands in his lap, he groans, and I wince.
I pull the phone out the purse, which I swear has got louder with every word of the song, and swipe the screen and say far too loudly, “Kate, what's up?” I hunch my shoulders and try to make myself seem smaller when I realize all eyes are on me in this carriage. Janet is looking at me like I’ve just pissed in her coffee cup, and I mouth an apology as I hold a hand up in surrender.
“Oh my god, I just got your message. Where are you?” My sister asks, concern filling her voice. Kate is the eldest and the one I’m closest to. She’s the first person I call in any situation.
“I’m on a train, heading to Mom and Dad’s. Are you there yet?’
“Yeah, we’re all here, and what do you mean you’re on a train? Kennedy, you’ve never got a train in your life,” Kate says, her voice growing louder with each word.
“I am aware of that, Kate, thank you, but since I wasn’t counting on being dumped the day before Christmas, options for transportation were limited,” I whisper hiss.
“Dad would have sent a car.” I can hear the faint chatter of my family in the background, and the tears that threaten to fall sting my eyes.
“I haven't told them yet,” I shamefully admit. How do I admit to the rest of my family that I’ve failed? I didn’t get my internship, and Carson has picked a job opportunity over me.
“What?” Kate yells so loudly; I have to hold the phone away from my ear. “What do you mean you haven't told them? I think they will know something's wrong when you show up alone.”
“I’ll cross that bridge when I reach it, Kate,” I say, annoyed.
“Mom had Sarah make Carson's favorite green bean casserole for dinner,” she states.
“Yeah, well, toss it in the trash.” Is my sister for real right now? My life has come crashing down, and she's worried about our parents’ housekeeper's casserole?
“She’ll be so disappointed to see that go to waste.” Kate slurs the last word.
“Have you been drinking,” I ask sternly as the guy beside me moves, shrugging off his dark dress coat, revealing a black jumper that hugs him in all the right places.
“Yeah, Daniel made eggnog. I’ve only had two, I swear.”
That means she's had four.
“Kenny, I gotta go, Dad is bringing out the good liquor.”
“Sure, I’ll call when I arrive in The Hamptons,” I reply with a tinge of sadness in my voice. I should be there now, starting the celebrations. Instead, I am alone on this god forsaken train, next to a stranger who’s clearly annoyed by my existence.
“Love you, bye,” Kate declares and then hangs up.
I toss the phone back into my purse and sigh.
“Are we going to talk about the ringtone? He asks.
“ No.” I say, my tone clipped.
“Are… you okay?” He guy asks hesitantly, but there seems to be genuine concern in his tone.
“Uh, yeah,” is all I manage as I reach for the pink cosmetic bag that landed in his lap. I have already over-shared with him and the entire carriage. He doesn’t need to hear anymore.
“Sorry about that,” I say sheepishly, placing it back in my purse. Theres an awkward silence as I pick at the sticker on my takeout cup. It’s then I remember our conversation before Kate’s call.
“So, why are you having a rough day?”
He shrugs. “Doesn’t matter.”
I twist in my seat. “Oh no, you aren’t getting out of this. I told you about my dumpster fire of a day. You are sharing.”
His eyes search my features, and my body softens under his gaze. I like the way he looks at me. I shouldn’t, but I do.
“Tell me your name.” It's not a question, more of a demand.
“Why?” I ask, tilting my head.
“I don’t like telling my private life to strangers.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek. I don’t really care about giving this man my name but it’s become a game, a game I want to play.
“I’ll give you my middle name,” I state.
“Fair enough.”
“If you give me your name,” I counteroffer.
He holds out his hand for me to shake, and my body tingles when our skin touches. His large hand covers mine, and my eyes lock with his.
“Noelle,” I purr, my tone far too flirtatious.
“Beckett.” Confidence pours out of this man; his voice is low and gravelly, and I press my legs together when something stirs to life down there. Everything about him is attractive.
“Noelle, how festive.”
“I’m a Christmas Day baby.” His eyes flash with realization. “Your boyfriend dumped you the day before Christmas and it’s your birthday?”
“Uh huh. I told you, I’m having a day.” “What an ass,” Beckett says.
Beckett. Beckett is a hot guy name.
I look down and notice we haven't broken our handshake. When he starts talking, still holding my hand, I don’t pull away. “I caught my girlfriend fucking our cable guy,” he says so matter-of-factly.
My mouth falls open in shock. “You what?”
“Yeah, right there, on our front room rug. An image I won’t be forgetting in a while.”
I place my other hand over his and squeeze. My heart hurts for this man. We may have had a rocky introduction, but he’s hurting like I am, and it’s Christmas. I can find compassion for him. “I’m really sorry,” I say softly.
“It is what it is,” he mutters. “I’ll have to burn the rug when I get home.”
I let out a small chuckle. “I think you should.”
A moment of silence is shared as he looks down at our connected hands. I know I need to move, but I can’t. I like how my hand feels in his. There’s something warm, comforting and safe about this man.
“Well, I think you win,” I say with a chuckle.
“It’s not a competition I wanted to win, but thank you,” he says playfully.
A voice comes over the speakers on the train, and when I glance around the carriage, I notice we have stopped.
Our hands break, and I turn in my seat, slightly embarrassed that I have spent the last several minutes holding this stranger's hand.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we are sorry to announce the train will be ending at the next station due to a technical fault on the line caused by the heavy snowfall. Please contact your ticket provider for a refund, and we apologize for any inconvenience caused.”
I let my head fall back against the headrest of my seat. Is this a joke? Am I being punked?
Can this day get any worse?