Chapter Twelve
Carter
At six o’clock, I knock on the basement door.
Amelia bursts through as if she were waiting on the other side. “We’re going to see the babies!”
I laugh. “They aren’t exactly babies anymore, pumpkin. They’re walking. They can say a few words. I think Asher said their favorite word is ‘no’.”
“Awww,” she pouts. “I wanted to see real babies. Like my dolls. Only real.”
“My friends Trevor and Ava have a baby. Maybe I could introduce you.”
Kenna comes up the stairs carrying a mixing bowl. She holds it up. “Do you have a serving dish I could transfer this into?”
I pull one from a cabinet and hand it to her.
“Mommy, Carter knows a baby. A real baby. One that can’t walk and talk. Can I see it?”
Kenna looks at me, waiting for an explanation.
“Amelia is a little sad that Bug’s siblings aren’t little babies. I was just telling her about Jordan, my friend Trevor’s kid. You remember the coffee shop? Trevor and his wife Ava own it. Jordan is almost always there with Ava.”
Her eyes close briefly. “Their coffee is amazing.”
“We could go get some. Tomorrow morning? The weather looks nice. We could walk there and get some fresh air.”
“Can we, Mommy? I want to meet a real baby.”
Kenna cocks her brow while glaring at me.
Again, I’ve put her in an awkward position.
She has to agree to it or risk disappointing Amelia, something I know she hates to do.
Kenna knows what I’ve done. I know what I’ve done.
But, hell, if she’s only going to be here for a few more days, I’m making it my mission to spend as much of that time with her—them—as I can.
I mean, after last night. The way she was dancing. The electric thrum between our bodies. How she looked into my eyes. She was feeling the same things I was. I’m sure of it. Just like she was a few days ago when I almost kissed her.
But for some reason, she won’t give in to it.
Doesn’t mean I won’t keep trying to wear her down. Because… shit, I never believed in stuff like love at first sight. Fate. Destiny. Yet, I swear to God, when I look at her, I can’t help but think all those things.
But the clock is definitely ticking.
She shakes her head while scraping the last of the potato salad into the serving bowl.
I know this head shake. It’s one of those ‘I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this’ expressions.
She did the same head shake when she agreed to live in the basement.
She did it before dancing with me. Then again when she accepted the dinner invitation.
And it’s more than just that one mannerism I’ve figured out about her. She has different smiles as well. The one she has when she looks at Amelia playing or sleeping is the one that takes my breath away. It’s a sweet, prideful, calm smile that shows me just how much she loves her.
The one she uses when she meets new people is the polar opposite. That one’s a trepidatious, closed-mouth smile. Cautious and forced, it’s a barrier she uses when she doesn’t know if she can trust the person. It’s the way she looked at me before she got into my tow truck the first time we met.
Then there’s my favorite smile of all—the one she seems to reserve just for me.
Or I like to think she does anyway. I don’t really know her well enough to come to that conclusion, but a man can dream.
I’m not even sure she’s aware of how different it is from the others.
It’s a gentle smile. A total relaxation of her face followed by a tender, slow blooming of her lips that brings out a crease in her right cheek, a wrinkle in the bridge of her nose, and a luminous glint in her eyes.
It’s like her eyes, her lips, and her spirit are all smiling at me at once.
I step closer. “Say yes, Kenna.”
Her eyes find mine, and that awesome fucking energy is back, humming between us. A raw, powerful life force that further fuels my desire.
“Say yes,” I mouth in silence.
Amelia is still badgering Kenna in the background when the smile comes out. The smile that melts my goddamn heart.
“Okay,” she says, her expression turning from reverent to playful. “But only if you buy me another one of those croissants.”
“Done.”
Amelia claps and dances around like she’s won the lottery. But I know I’m the real winner in this one.
Christian walks into the room. When he passes me, there’s an overwhelmingly familiar scent that lingers. Heavily. I close my eyes and tip my head back, trying not to laugh as I recognize what’s happening. Ugh. He’s borrowed my cologne. I make a mental note to teach him how less is more.
Kenna must smell it too, because she’s snickering quietly.
I shake my head and smile. Well, like father, like son. I guess we’ve both got it bad.
~ ~ ~
Allie is a genius.
I’m not sure if Kenna realizes that Allie has been topping off her wine all night long.
I don’t think Allie is trying to get her drunk.
She’s just being a good hostess. But Kenna is getting drunk.
Or at least tipsy. And if I thought I liked sober Kenna, I really, really like this let-your-hair down version of her.
She’s smiling, laughing, and talking more than I’ve ever seen.
But is it the wine she’s responding to? Or is it Allie?
The two women got on like sisters the moment we walked through the front door. And don’t even get me started on how Kenna has taken to the twins. It’s like she was born to be a mother. It makes me wonder again what else she does other than be a mom to Amelia.
I think about how she’s been with Christian. With him being a teenager, the dynamic there is totally different. But Kenna has struck the perfect balance between helping him when needed and standing back to let him shine.
Most new acquaintances fall into one of two groups with my son. They either ignore him because they just don’t know how to interact with him. Or they’re overly helpful, thinking he can’t do anything on his own. Kenna seemed to know exactly how to be around him from the very first moment.
Damn, this woman is perfect.
I watch her hold little Alex on her lap, reading to the sleepy toddler as Bug does the same with Alex’s twin sister, Christina.
Then I remember she’s not perfect. Or at least her life isn’t.
She hasn’t let anything slip tonight. Why she left the city.
Why she’s living in my basement and not a hotel.
Why she pays for everything with cash. Maybe she hasn’t been drinking as much as I thought she was.
But none of that really matters to me. Yes, I want to know the answers.
But the answers won’t change this deep-rooted feeling inside me.
One that has me drawn to her like a moth to a flame.
The twins get put to bed. Amelia, Bug, and Christian settle in to play a video game in the other room. And the four adults top off their drinks and head to the living room.
I don’t miss how Allie holds back Asher to give Kenna her choice of seats. There’s a long, L-shaped couch across from which sit two low-backed chairs. Don’t take one of the chairs.
When Kenna sits on the couch, Allie shoots me a raised-brow look then motions to the place beside her new friend.
Who knew my neighbor was such a great wingwoman?
I waste no time taking the cushion next to Kenna’s, leaving a respectable amount of distance while still being near enough to smell her intoxicating flowery scent.
Allie and Kenna strike up another conversation.
I love how the two are getting on, and I’ve just chronicled a fourth smile—the one she has around Allie.
One that tells me she feels safe and comfortable.
One that tells me perhaps she needed a friend.
Because I get the feeling Kenna doesn’t have many friends.
After a few minutes of Asher and I listening to the women talk about kids and babies, he turns to me and thumbs to the TV. “Want me to turn on the Knicks game?”
It’s not that Asher and I don’t get along.
We do. But he’s a businessman married to a millionaire.
I’m a blue-collar single dad. Sure, he was a single dad to Bug before marrying Allie, but that’s about the only thing we have in common.
And while this isn’t the first time I’ve had dinner at their house, Allie is usually involved in the conversation, keeping it moving right along.
My sister, Mia, as Allie’s best friend, comes often when I’m here, which adds yet another buffer.
When Asher and I are on our own, however, we might as well be two teens at a high school dance.
Yep, awkward glances around the room and forced conversations to at least appear socially adequate.
It usually ends up with us talking about Christian and Bug.
One time he cornered me in the kitchen to make sure I’d gone over the birds and the bees with Christian.
Apparently it’s not his intention to become a grandfather when he still has toddlers around.
I cringe at the thought and nod to the TV, welcoming the idea of watching basketball over having another weird-ass conversation. He gets the remote and turns the game on, keeping the volume low so it doesn’t disturb the ladies.
An hour later, we’re heading home. The four of us. Like a family.
It’s strange, yet oddly satisfying.
In my head, I’m seeing bits and pieces of a future I never imagined. One where Kenna and I are walking side-by-side, holding hands. Where Amelia is a few years older and joking with Christian about something she did at school that day. Where Christian has become a big brother and mentor.
Jesus.
Inside, Kenna tries to guide Amelia to the basement door, but her stubborn daughter resists. “I’m not tired. And Christian promised to play a game with me.”
Kenna holds up a finger. “One game.”
Amelia dances over to the game closet in the living room. She opens it and stares inside just like I stare in the refrigerator most nights, contemplating what I want for dinner. After a minute, she pulls out Chutes and Ladders.