Chapter Twenty-four
Kenna
Did I really spend half the night in a man’s bed and not have sex? And how can cuddling with a man make one of the best nights I can remember?
What’s worse is how I like him even more now. I should be distancing myself from him, not lying in his bed telling him intimate details about myself. At what point will it become impossible to walk away?
He wants to be my ride-or-die. Is that something you can choose to be for someone else? Doesn’t it just happen naturally over time? Like one day you wake up and suddenly know they’re the one person you could never live without.
I rub my eyes, scared that I may have already come to that realization.
There’s a loud knock on the door at the top of the stairs.
“Come in!” I shout.
I quickly check my appearance in the rock-band mirror on the living room wall, rolling my eyes at my reflection when I start to feel like a schoolgirl with a massive crush. But as I hear Carter’s heavy footfalls coming down the stairs, I know this has long passed crush territory.
He rounds the corner and glances around the room. I know what he’s looking for. Boxes. Suitcases. The ones I should be packing but haven’t. The ones I told him last night, or early this morning rather, I would be packing.
“Are you one of those people who waits until the very last minute to pack?”
“I suppose I am.”
I’m not. When I was going off to college, I had my entire wardrobe packed almost a month before I left, leaving me to hunt through boxes every time I needed an outfit.
And every time I’ve moved, especially recently, I’ve had things packed before the sun went down on the day I made the decision, regardless of when the move was going to happen.
I’ve always been one to over-anticipate, over-prepare, over-pack. So why am I not doing it now?
“I have extra boxes in the garage. You’re welcome to them.”
His offer makes me sad. The man who was asking me to stay sixteen hours ago is now pushing me out the door?
“I can help you pack if you want.”
I shake my head. “I’m good. We don’t have much more than what we came with.”
He points to the ceiling. “You might change your tune when you see the size of the box that just got delivered for you.”
“Oh, no. Really?” My shoulders slump, knowing exactly what was delivered.
His head tilts. “I’ve never seen someone look so disheartened over a huge package. It looks like it could be a piece of furniture.”
“The package is for you, not me. They were supposed to put your name on it. And it wasn’t supposed to arrive until after I’d gone.”
“For me?” Confusion has obviously set in. “What is it?”
Amelia comes bounding out of the bathroom, and the moment she sees Carter, she runs over and hugs him. His face lights up when they embrace. Stop it, I tell my melting heart.
He ruffles her hair and thumbs up the stairs. “Christian just started on dinner. He could really use a helper to sprinkle garlic salt on the bread.”
As always, Amelia turns to me for permission, eyes wide and expectant. She loves ‘helping’ make dinner, even though the rest of us know her main contribution is making a colossal mess.
I nod. “Go ahead.” Once she’s up the stairs and I hear voices, I turn back to Carter, who’s glaring at me.
He strides over, puts his hands on my upper arms, and guides me back to the wall, trapping me against it. He holds my stare. “What’s in the box, Kenna?”
“Why don’t you go open it?”
“I’d rather you tell me.”
“Seriously? What’s the fun in that? You must be a thrill to be around on Christmas morning.”
His lips form a charming half-grin. “You could stay and find out.”
Okay, so he wasn’t pushing me to leave? He was just being chivalrous?
Staring into his eyes, I have flashes of a Norman Rockwell Christmas morning, the four of us sitting on the floor near a brilliantly lit tree, taking turns opening our treasures.
And his gifts to Amelia will be nothing like what Cyrus gave her on the one and only Christmas of our marriage.
Poor kid pulled plain tissue paper out of gift bags—and seriously, gift bags on Christmas for a preschooler?
—to find age-inappropriate toys that were choking hazards, and impersonal items such as clothes that didn’t fit or gift certificates.
Who gives an almost three-year-old a gift certificate?
No. I’m certain the man gazing deep into my eyes right now would be the complete opposite.
I push the perfect family portrait aside and declare, “I’ll be building snowmen out of sand come Christmas.”
I’m not sure if those words are to remind him that I’m leaving… Or me.
He sighs, sadness all over his face. He recovers quickly though, and I wonder if the same thing will happen as soon as I’m gone. Out of sight, out of mind. Will he finally go out on a date with that woman from the carpool line who seems to have her sights set on him?
A pang of jealousy momentarily debilitates me.
He leans in. “Answer the question, Kenna.”
“Uh… what question?”
I stumble over the words, because with him so close, his sexy, manly scent infusing me to my core, I can’t seem to remember my own name.
His quiet burst of laughter displaces the hair on the top of my head before he slouches down to my eye level. “What’s. In. The. Box?”
“Oh, that.” I feel heat cross my face at my brain lapse. I shrug nonchalantly. “It’s a stair lift for Christian. I found it on eBay.”
He blinks once. Twice. A third time. His eyes narrow as his brows smash together. He backs away and paces the floor between the couch and the small kitchenette.
Finally, after what seems an eternity, he belts out, “Are you serious? I know what those cost.”
“Consider it a thank you gift.”
His hands rake through his hair. “I thought you didn’t have a credit card.”
“I never said I didn’t have one. I just don’t like to use it.”
I don’t tell him that using it for eBay is safe as the charge won’t reveal my actual location like a charge from a local store or hotel would.
“Don’t misunderstand my reaction. I’m grateful. This might be the most thoughtful gift I’ve ever received. But…” His head shakes. “Woman, you confuse the shit out of me.”
“Sorry. That’s not my intention.”
He walks back over to me, his face much softer this time. “Why can’t you trust me?”
I decide to tell him the God’s-honest truth. “I’ve been burned before. I find it hard to trust these days.”
“Because of Cyrus?”
“Not just him. Others. Friends. Distant family.” I look away. “Everyone.”
“Kenna.” With a finger under my chin, he forces me to turn and look at him. “I promise you can trust me.”
“They promised too,” I say in a harsh whisper.
His gaze falls to the floor. “Jesus.”
“Don’t feel sorry for me, Carter.”
“This isn’t me feeling sorry for you. It’s me wishing I could do something to make your life better.”
The smile that overtakes my face is a sad, emotional one that almost brings tears to my eyes. I reach out and touch his arm. “You already have.”
“Go on a date with me.”
I shake my head and look away. “I can’t.”
“You can. Allie will watch Amelia, I’m sure of it. If you’re dead set on leaving this weekend, please do me this one favor. Nothing big. We can walk through the park. Maybe stop at Donovan’s for a bite. Catch a movie. Whatever you want.”
A date with Carter Cruz. An actual date.
It’s the last thing I should be considering.
But when I envision us walking hand-in-hand down the street, through the park, along McQuaid Circle past Ava’s coffee house, Donovan’s Pub, and lots of other small businesses, I completely cave to the part of me that wants this man to the depths of my soul. And I nod.
He belts out an excited, “Whoop!”
I laugh and he nods to the stairs. “Come on. You can help me with dinner. I’m making my famous tater tot casserole.”
“Famous, huh? What’s your secret ingredient?”
He chuckles. “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.” He winks. “Or marry you.”
My heart flips. Did he really just say that?
Obviously he was kidding since he’s already halfway up the stairs. When he realizes I’m not following and turns to see me frozen in place, his heated stare says so much more than his unspoken words ever could.