17. Kent
Chapter Seventeen
KENT
Liz decided against coming back up to my office and instead opted to return to my penthouse to catch up on other things. A little space is probably needed. When I walk into my apartment that evening after eight, music fills the room, and the smell of baked goods wafts through the air.
As I make my way into the main room, I notice my entire place is a mess. There’s crumpled wrapping paper and stringy ribbons on the floor. Messy pillows and blankets are piled on the sofa. Leftover cups and plates litter the end tables.
Did Liz do all of this?
I follow the scent into the kitchen, walking slowly, knowing that it’s not going to be pretty when I get there. I’m right. It’s not. The counters are coated in dusty white flour, a dozen or so cracked egg shells, and the floor is littered with Christmas-colored sprinkles.
Dahlia looks up at me with a brilliant grin. “I’m baking!”
“I can see that.”
She stirs the batter in a bowl with a wooden spoon. “Don’t worry, I’ll clean it up. You want some cookies?”
“Sure,” I say, taking a sugar cookie from the top of the heap and taking a bite. Delightfully sweet. “Mmm, these are pretty good.”
“I know. It’s my secret recipe.” Dahlia says.
“What’s the secret recipe?” I ask, walking over to the open bottle of wine on the counter.
“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a secret anymore.”
Ordinarily, I would tease her about this to no end or until she gave up her secret recipe. But now that I’m keeping the biggest secret of my life, I’ll let it go. So I change the subject. “Where’s Liz?”
“She went out. Dinner and a kickboxing class, I think.” Dahlia brushes flour off her hands.
Kickboxing class, huh? That tracks. No doubt she needs to smack a punching bag around to discharge some of that fiery energy. I could think of another way she could use that energy. And it’s a lot more fun than kickboxing.
“I don’t think she likes me.” Dahlia frowns.
“Bollocks. Why do you say that?” I ask, knowing Liz would have to be mad not to like Dahlia.
“Because she hid out in your office all afternoon. And when she did come out, she hardly engaged with me and then left. That was like three hours ago.”
I dust off the flour and sugar sprinkled seat at the kitchen island and slowly pour the Cabernet into a fresh glass. Liz avoiding Dahlia has nothing to do with her opinion of my cousin. “She’s just a little shy,” I lie. Again. “I don’t think she’s used to living with anyone.”
“Well, she better get used to it if you two are getting married.”
My face grows hot at the enormity of my secret.
Of all the situations I’ve found myself in over the years, pretending to get married has to be the most mind-boggling.
I consider the harm in telling Dahlia the truth this very instant.
Knowing her, there’s a good chance she won’t approve and it will make a complex situation worse.
So I redirect the conversation yet again.
“Where did you get all these baking supplies?” I gesture around the counters.
“You had most of this stuff. I just needed sprinkles and cookie-cutter shapes.” Dahlia holds up a plastic, red shape of a Christmas stocking.
“How much longer before your house is ready?” I ask, half-joking.
She rolls her eyes. “Right after the new year.”
“I can’t believe you’re actually moving to London. Permanently.” When Dahlia turned eighteen, she inherited the family’s Kensington townhouse, where she stays several times a year. But she’s never actually given up her home in sunny Los Angeles for the dreary London life.
“I’m so over L.A. Nothing’s happening for me there. I just feel like I need to mix things up, you know? Kind of like you.”
“Like me?” I ask and sip the red wine.
“Yeah, you’re engaged! It’s like the shake-up of the century.” She pops a cookie sheet in the oven. “You, Drew, and Mick, you guys are so lucky to have found someone to spend your life with.” There’s that frown again, only this time, it’s much longer and her eyes are misty.
“What’s that look for?”
She shrugs and wipes her cheek, smearing white flour on her skin. “I don’t know. I just feel like life isn’t moving like it should. My acting career’s been stalled forever, and I cannot meet a single decent guy in L.A.”
I can’t stand that look on her face. If only I could tell her that I’m not as lucky as she thinks.
Or at least in the way she thinks. If I could find her a partner and get her a stellar role, I would.
“Do you want me to set you up with one of my decent mates?” I ask.
Do I even have any that aren’t already attached?
She shakes her head. “No thanks. I want it to happen naturally. You know, like reaching for the same album at the record store or losing my hat in the wind and a gorgeous, kind man finds it.”
I tilt my head. You can take the girl out of La-la land but you can’t take La-la land out of the girl. “That sounds more like a movie than real life.”
“Maybe but I’m holding out for a sign. Because a man with a shirtless dating app profile pic is not a sign. Trust me. I’ve made that mistake before.”
I crinkle my nose. I’m pretty sure I have a shirtless photo on my dating profile. Perhaps I ought to take it down tonight. “On that note, I have a few things to finish up so I’ll let you get back to destroying my kitchen.”
“Ha, ha,” she says.
I take my phone and wine glass and rise from my seat. “Listen Dahlia. The right guy is out there for you. And when you meet him, you won’t need any signs. You’ll just know.”
Her eyes soften along with her expression. “Aw, Kent. Since when have you become such a romantic?”
I shrug, grab another sugar cookie, and back out of the room. “No idea. Goodnight.”
“‘Night.”
After I disable all of my online dating profiles and finish my glass of wine, I wait up in my office until I hear Liz return. The moment footsteps draw closer, I spring from the sofa and charge out the door.
Liz already has her hand on my bedroom doorknob and she startles. “Geez, you scared me.”
“Did you think I was the bogeyman?” I fold my arms and lean against the wall in the dim hallway.
She shoots me a wry smile. “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not that scary.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” I say, and she lets out a small laugh.
My gaze draws down her fit legs to black trainers.
I catch a sliver of her skin at the hem of her cropped hoodie and resist the temptation to grab her by the waist. “You should’ve told me you were going to kickboxing.
You’re not the only one who needs to blow off some steam.
” I flick my brows. I truly can’t help the compulsive, suggestive gestures.
Even in the darkened hallway, I can see her cheeks grow pink. She rolls her eyes. “I pegged you for more of a squash guy.”
“I see.” She’s not totally wrong about that. Dash and I play a couple of times a week. “There’s wine and cookies in the kitchen. Care for a nightcap?” I ask, hopeful.
“Thanks but I’m beat,” she declines.
“You’re a real heart-breaker, you know that?” I tease.
Now her cheeks are fully flushed. “Goodnight, Kent.” She turns the knob and escapes into my bedroom. Without me.
“Sweet dreams,” I say to a closed door. She may have left me out in the cold, but I’m still grinning with a warm sensation in my chest. Damn, I like that girl.
“What are you doing?” The light flips on and Dahlia’s voice enters the hallway. Now I’m the one who startles.
“Blimey! Where did you come from?” I say, gripping my T-shirt over my chest.
Dahlia knits her brow. “Did Liz just go in there without you?”
“Yeah, she’s just getting ready for me,” I lie, but inside I’m pretending that it’s true.
“Maybe I should stay at Mick’s manor.”
I fight the urge to say that it’s probably not any better over there, seeing as Mick is newly engaged. No doubt they’re definitely shagging like rabbits. Unlike Liz and I, who have yet to get past the first kiss.
“There is a lot more space over there. Plus, you’ll have Earl.”
“I do love a good butler.” Her gaze draws up to the ceiling as if she’s considering the idea, which would be best for all of us. “Are you gonna join your lady?” She points to the closed, and probably locked, door.
“Soon,” I say. “She takes a while.”
“Well, don’t stay up too late. You have to work tomorrow,” she says, turning back towards the main room.
I watch her walk away until she’s long gone, then sneak back into my office. I hope she doesn’t come snooping around again.