Chapter Twenty-seven
Carter
Outside the pub, I look up at the sky. It’s hard to believe a storm is coming. I see stars. The moon. And the air is completely still. There’s not one indication of changing weather.
I have a love-hate relationship with snow.
As a tow truck driver and part owner of an auto shop, I love it.
Every storm showers us with new business.
Every patch of ice has the potential to bring a new customer.
But as the father of a special-needs son, I loathe those same icy streets and sidewalks, fearing Christian could take a bad fall and end up in the hospital.
Kenna is also staring up at the sky. “Do you really think we’re going to get a storm?”
I shrug. But damn, I hope Mia and the meteorologists are right. Because despite how much I hate it for Christian, this storm might be my only hope of keeping Kenna here a bit longer.
Offering her my elbow, I say, “Shall we?”
She hooks her hand around my arm and we cross the street.
Apparently the news is out. I’ve never seen Truman’s so packed, especially on a Friday night. I grab a basket. We don’t need a lot. I always keep a decent selection of food in the freezer.
I lead Kenna to the produce department first where we grab some fruits and vegetables. Then we hit the bread aisle. This is where I notice the sparse shelves. As I’m picking up one of the last few loaves of bread and a pack of hot dog buns, I hear my name.
Lincoln and Tiffany are coming the opposite way, their cart loaded with enough supplies to get through an apocalypse. I shake my head. “You expecting snowmageddon?”
“I was out of town all week,” Tiffany says. “The cupboards are bare.”
I hold my tongue and don’t ask why they wouldn’t stay at Linc’s place then. He’s got the appetite of a silverback, and a stocked pantry to accommodate it.
I’ve never quite understood their dynamic.
They’ve been together well over two years, yet there doesn’t seem to be a sense of permanence in their relationship.
He claims the reason he won’t move in with her is her snoring.
But I know there’s more to it. It’s like she never wants to go to his place.
Sure, hers is a tad nicer, and, according to Linc, way too girlie for him.
I get it. We’re mechanics. More often than not we have grease and grime under our nails. I can only imagine Tiff’s place is full of things like lacey pillows, curated gallery walls, scented candles, fairy lights, and floral prints.
Suddenly, I have a strong desire to know what Kenna’s apartment looked like. I don’t really get the girlie fru-fru vibe from her. I imagine her place would look somewhat like mine did when Christian was little—like a tornado had just come through. The thought reminds me of Amelia, and I smile.
“Kenna, you remember Lincoln. And this is Lincoln’s girlfriend, Tiffany.”
Kenna and Tiffany shake hands. Tiff looks between us, curious. She glances back at Lincoln for a second, then says to Kenna, “Wait. Are you the same girl Lincoln told me about last week? The stranded one?”
Kenna holds up her arms, palms up. “Guilty.”
“And you’re living in Carter’s basement?”
Kenna nods. “Also true.”
“And you’re both single parents.” Tiffany’s head bobs between us. “All the makings of a great romance novel, if you ask me.”
Kenna’s blush is bright red.
Lincoln stifles a laugh then whispers to Tiffany, “Babe, I told you not to say anything.”
“Say anything about what?” I ask.
Tiffany smiles deviously. “About how you talk about her incessantly.”
I don’t spend a lot of time with Tiffany.
Mostly because I don’t do girlfriends, and that limits our opportunities to hang out as couples.
But I’m beginning to get the hesitation on Lincoln’s part.
The reason they’ve been together so long without the mention of a ring.
She’s brusque. Unabashedly inappropriate.
Adolescent even. Have I never seen this before? Surely I have.
I punch Lincoln’s bicep. “Thanks, dude.”
He holds up his hands. “Wasn’t me.” He takes the cart from Tiffany and starts pushing it away. She follows as he asks, “Since when do you know about romance novels? You never read.”
She scoffs. “Are you calling me stupid?”
The bickering continues until they’re out of sight.
“Sorry about that,” I tell Kenna. “Tiffany can be…” I run a hand through my hair. “I don’t even know what Tiffany is. I don’t get what my brother sees in her.”
“She’s very beautiful.”
“Are you calling Lincoln shallow?”
A hand flies to her chest. “Of course not, I—”
I grab her hand. “I was kidding, Kenna. And I suppose Tiffany is attractive.” I look into her eyes. “Not as beautiful as some, though.”
I wait for the blush. It doesn’t come. Is she getting used to my compliments?
“You suppose?” she says. “How can you not know? Big boobs. Blonde hair. Legs up to there. She’s practically a supermodel.”
I shrug. “I guess I just don’t notice those kinds of things.”
“I’m calling bullshit. You’re a guy, Carter.”
“I mean, yeah, sure, she’s attractive. But physical looks aren’t what I see in people. Kindness. Generosity. And acceptance—especially when it comes to Christian. Those are the qualities I find irresistible.” I squeeze her hand. “You also being gorgeous is just the cherry on top.”
Now she blushes.
I’ve basically just told her she’s my dream woman.
“Come on.” I gesture toward the registers. “Let’s go check out.”
“Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“If there’s a possibility of getting snowed-in, we need comfort food.”
I grin, amused. “Comfort food?”
“You know. Chocolate. Chips. Popcorn. Stuff like that.”
I nod emphatically. “Now you’re talking my love language.”
I stiffen a bit. I didn’t mean it the way it came out. It wasn’t my intention to drop the ‘L’ word in any way, shape, or form.
Oddly, though, she doesn’t bristle or pull away. She laughs. “I’m glad you think so. Because during Winter Storm Fern, I ate my weight in Kit Kats, Ruffles, and Orville Redenbacher. Oh, and wine. Lots and lots of wine.”
I join her laughter, thoughts of us holed up at home, eating and drinking our way through a blizzard, taking root. I release her hand only long enough to get a second basket from the depository at the end of the aisle. “What are we waiting for, let’s load up.”
~ ~ ~
My arms are like Jell-O when we finally walk into my house just after eight pm.
I purposefully gave Kenna the bags with bread and chips, and I took the heavy ones, weighed down with wine and veggies.
As we’re putting our bounty away in the pantry, I glance outside and notice a few snowflakes dancing in the floodlights.
Pumping my fists would seem adolescent, so I keep my elation to myself.
Besides, it’s going to take a lot more than flurries to keep her here.
“I’ll go get the kids,” she says, after rummaging through my cabinets to find a vase for the flowers we picked up from the park bench on the way back.
I hold up a bottle. “I’ll open the wine.”
Ten minutes later, when the three return, I’ve got bowls of snacks laid out. Kenna eyes them. “Those are supposed to be for if we actually get snowed in.” She sees the deck of cards on the table. “And what’s that for?”
“Slapjack.” I draw near and whisper, “If this is really our last night together, I plan on making it count.”
Her lips curve into a smile, and I wonder if she’s thinking what I am—that I’m planning on making tonight, especially later tonight, a night neither of us will ever forget.
“Slapjack! Yay!” Amelia squeals.
An hour later, I find myself laughing and shaking my head. Because while I had intended this to be a game for two, somehow having all four of us play has made this night even better.
“Time for bed, sweetie,” Kenna declares when Amelia looks like she can barely keep her eyes open.
We’ve kept her up way past her bedtime.
“I can’t walk, Mommy. My legs are too tired.”
I hop out of my seat and crouch down next to Amelia. “Hop on, pumpkin.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Kenna says.
“I want to,” I say, looking into her eyes. “I really really want to.”
I give Amelia a piggyback ride down the stairs and deposit her onto Kenna’s bed. Since when did it become hers?
“See you later, alligator,” I say.
“After a while, crocodile,” Amelia replies sleepily.
Before I leave, I turn to Kenna and whisper, “See you later, alligator?”
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
I smile as I ascend the stairs. Because I wouldn’t miss it either. Not for anything. Money. Riches. Fame. Hell, I’d give up the shop if it meant getting to be with her. And that right there is something I never thought I’d say in a million years.
Never say never.
It’s the thought I hold onto for the rest of the night. Because she’s never given me any indication that staying was a possibility. Because barring the text earlier, she’s never outright admitted any true feelings for me.
Because there are a lot of things I never imagined myself doing. Before this. Before her.
Because in the past two weeks, my life has changed exponentially.