CHAPTER EIGHT
KNOX
I don’t think I’ve ever stepped into another home and seen the person who lives there so clearly.
Kenley is in every inch of this place, between the handmade decor, the bold colors in her painted furniture and throw pillows (even her big bowl of produce in the kitchen adds color to the space) and the homey feeling she’s created in here through her many throw blankets.
Not to mention, there are books all over.
On small shelves, on the coffee table, on her desk.
She’s got live plants and dried flowers all throughout while random bits of art, clearly created by Sloan, grace random spots all over, from the coffee bar to the fridge to her bedroom.
This may not be the home Kenley would have chosen, but she’s clearly made the choice to make it the best home it can be.
We walk our way up the narrow staircase to the second floor, still wrapped up together.
Outside of the impractically slanted ceiling making it impossible to stand upright anywhere but along the center wall, her bedroom is tiny but cozy.
She’s accommodated the small space by opting for a sofa in lieu of a real bed.
And I notice, she’s scrapped a dresser in exchange for another small coffee bar. Man, I dig how this woman thinks.
“What’s the system?” I ask. There’s always a system. Especially when there are this many throw pillows and random blankets.
“The pillows and blankets go over on the bench by the window and the bedding comes out of the cupboard under the coffee bar,” she fills me in.
“Got it. This thing pull out?” It would take up the whole room, but I can’t imagine she sleeps on this thing as it is.
“Nope.”
I stand corrected.
“The old one my parents put
in here did, but it was messing up my back, so I had to switch,” she explains. “I can always go sleep in Sloan’s room and let you have it to yourself,” she offers.
“I think you’re missing the point of what we’re doing here,” I tease her.
“Trust me, we’ll fit just fine on there.
I don’t plan on keeping a lot of space between us.
” On that note, I release her to go about making the bed and I notice she jumps right into action to get the job done herself.
“Whoa, hold on.” I reach for her arms again, catching her mid motion. “What are you doing?”
She looks confused. “We’re making the bed.”
“No,” I shake my head, slowly backing her up to have a seat on her little bench, out of the way. “I’m making the bed. You’re going to sit back, relax and let me.”
“But,” she starts again. Then she stops. Apparently aware that there’s no reasonable argument to be made here. “You should know I feel very weird about this,” she huffs.
“Because you have some sort of OCD and are worried I will make the bed wrong?” I ask, removing the cushions and placing them beside her on the bench, where she instructed me to.
“Because I always make my own bed.”
“I assumed as much.” I have a feeling she’s been doing her own everything for a very long time.
And likely not just doing for herself, but for everyone she comes in contact with.
“I hate to have to tell you this.” I don’t really hate it.
I’m sure she can tell because I’m smiling while I say it as I’m pulling off the last of the throw pillows.
“But you’re going to have to get used to letting me do some shit around here.
Especially when it comes to taking care of you.
It’s a guy thing. We like it. I like it.
Don’t deprive me.” I wink at her before I turn away to get the bedding.
She doesn’t say anything else after that. Just waits until I’m done, and everything is ready for her to climb in.
“Alright,” I announce, taking in the bed now that it’s finished. Not surprisingly, Kenley’s bedding is just as colorful as the rest of her stuff. “Ready when you are.”
I fully expect her to throw her guard up yet again and run for the bathroom linking her room to Sloan’s to change. I don’t expect her to strip as she’s walking, arriving at her bed in only her cropped tee and panties, having unhooked and untangled her bra along the way.
“You do that every time you go to bed?” I ask, unzipping my pants to follow her. “Because we might have to start taking a lot of naps.”
“I notice you’re doing that a lot,” she says, mouth quirking at the corner like she can’t decide whether she’s pleased or amused. “What’s all this we business you keep throwing around?”
“Nope,” I tell her, mid pulling my shirt over my head, “we’re not doing that now.” Then I toss the shirt to meet my pants in the middle of her room beside her own trail of clothes and climb in beside her.
She laughs. “We’re not doing what now?”
“The thing where you try to backpedal so you can feel more in control again of what’s happening,” I tell her, sliding my arm under her shoulders to pull her over onto my chest. “This is a go with the flow moment,” I murmur into the top of her head and the soft, messy curls of her hair as she’s nestling up against me.
“You can over analyze and pull away later. After we sleep.”
“Okay,” she sighs softly, her fingertips making tender trails on the bare skin of my chest. “But only because you smell nice, and I like the way I can hear your heartbeat when I lie here.”
Then the motions of her fingers start to slow, and her breathing deepens, and I know she’s already dozing off.
For a while I just lie here, relishing the feeling of holding this woman in my arms. Gradually understanding the words ‘home is where the heart is’ in a whole new way.
A happy nomad all of my adult life, the realization I could suddenly be anchored, rooted in place through someone else, should scare the shit out of me.
But I fall asleep feeling more content and at peace with my life than I remember feeling in a long, long time.
KENLEY
I wake with a start to the sound of my phone ringing. It’s Sloan’s ringtone. I push myself up to reach the small table I use as a nightstand only to find myself touching a bare chest. Right . Knox.
I’ll have to dwell on that new twist in my reality after I answer the phone and talk to my kid.
“Good morning, Toots,” I say, noticing Knox starting to move and stretch. I just hope he wakes up fast enough to recognize I’m on the phone before trying to talk to me, or God forbid, make some sort of manly morning groan sound.
“Hey.”
As soon as I hear her voice, I know something is off. She’s keeping her tone too low to be natural, and the volume is down substantially from her go-to, ‘world hear me, I have something to say’ levels.
“What’s wrong?” I check the time. It’s way too late to be worried about waking people, so that can’t be the reason either.
“Daddy and I were going to go to brunch,” she whispers.
I can tell she’s been crying because she sniffs every so often.
“And then when we were on the road, he started saying how nice it would be to go pick up this lady he knows from church and invite her to come. That she has two kids and that I would really like hanging out with them.” She scoffs.
“Except they’re three and five, so I think he meant to say babysit.
Which is fine too. I love to babysit. But not when I think I’m going to brunch with my dad on the one weekend he’s been home to see me all month long! ” she screech whispers.
“Totally understandable.” I look at Knox as I say it. He’s definitely up now, even pulled himself into a more upright position, leaning his head against the back of the sofa. He looks concerned, but for now he’s remaining patiently silent.
“I thought so too,” she goes on. “But when I told Daddy I really just wanted to spend time with him and not make it a group thing, he got really pissed and said he already invited them.” Her voice cracks like she’s about to start crying again.
“So, I asked if he could just drop me off at home on the way then. But that made it even worse. He started speeding up, driving all crazy and then he had to slam on the breaks a lot to keep from hitting other cars or running a red light. It was scary. And all he said was, ‘You win. No brunch’. And then he gave me the silent treatment all the way back to his house. And I didn’t even say I wanted him to cancel brunch with his friend. I just didn’t want to go.”
I take a breath, trying to calm myself. Just once, I’d like to get through one overnight visit at his house without getting a call like this. “So, what’s happening now?” I ask as calmly as I can.
“I don’t know. I’m locked in the bathroom. But I can hear him slamming things around out in the kitchen.” She sniffs again. “I don’t really want to go back out there. But I don’t know what to do.”
I do. And I’m already getting out of bed to do it. “Just stay put. I’ll be over to pick you up in twenty minutes.”
“No,” she winces. “That’ll only make him madder.”
“He can be mad at me. I’ll just tell him we had something come up and I needed to get you earlier than planned,” I assure her, trying to pull on my pants and keep my phone wedged between my shoulder and ear at the same time. “Let me handle it. It’ll be fine. I promise.”
“Okay.”
“Do you want to stay on the phone until I get there?” I offer, digging through the shoe basket in my closet for a pair of flip flops.
“No, I’ll go pack my stuff so I’m ready to go,” she says quietly.
“Alright. See you in a few.” I swallow down my own anxiety. “Love you.”
“Love you too.” Then she hangs up.
I find my flipflops and fly out of the closet into the bathroom to speed-brush my teeth. A minute later I’m racing back into my room, fully prepared to tell Knox I have to go as I run by him.
Except he’s already standing in the doorway, fully clothed, my truck keys in hand. “Ready?”
“I have to go get Sloan,” I explain, going to take the keys from him. “She had a fight with her dad.”