14. Kendra
Kendra
Up before the sun and working in my studio, as usual these days, I wipe my hands and check the time, which has slipped away from me out here like it always does.
I wash my hands in my big sink by the window that looks out over my driveway into the backyard of the Savellis’ house .
. . but it’s not their house anymore, is it?
Just as I’m correcting my thoughts, the man himself, enemy number one, strides out of his sliding back door, across the deck, and into the yard.
Shirtless, he looks like a freaking god carved from stone.
His muscles have that hard-earned look, not just from exercising, which he obviously spends a lot of time doing.
No, his whole body is perfected by the work he puts in through his job too, and that twists something deep in my gut that I really want to ignore.
Water runs over my hands as I watch him.
Stretching, jumping, twisting his body, push-ups, sit-ups.
Then he turns on a different clip of music that pulses “Swing” by Savage and Soulja Boy through the quiet morning air straight to my clit.
And now he’s jumping rope in some complicated routine timed perfectly along with the music.
I am embarrassed to say my guilty pleasure is watching Eli’s fitness page from an anonymous account I set up, specifically so he wouldn’t know it’s me.
I have been hypnotized by his rope skills and rippled body more times than I care to count.
It’s my deepest shame that absolutely nobody knows about.
“Son of a bitch!” I yell out as water overflows from the sink. I was so distracted watching the free show from my window I didn’t even notice the plug was in my sink, water filling to the brim, overflowing, and soaking my floor and my trusty pink Converse shoes.
“This is not how today was supposed to start . . .” I grumble to myself, quickly shutting off the water and gathering supplies to clean my self-inflicted flood.
“Need some help?” His deep, soothing voice caresses me from the open doorway of the studio.
“No thank you,” I say, keeping my back to him so he cannot see the profound blush on my face from my embarrassment.
“I’m happy to give you a hand. It’s the neighborly thing to do.” Now I can’t help but look, and when I do I am greeted by his stunning grin and that fucking dimple.
Kryptonite.
“All done, see? It was just a little water, no big deal.” I stand up, wiping my hands on my favorite jeans to wear out here.
Hand-stitched flowers down my thigh and tiny ladybugs along the back pockets, rip in the thigh, a big hole in each of the knees, stains and scrapes from years of effort and art.
Eli’s eyes trail up and down the length of my body before he gives his head a little shake, like he’s reprimanding himself. Just as he’s about to say something, the baby monitor in his hand goes off with a tiny cry.
“Shit, sorry.” He looks down at it. “I thought I would have at least another half hour so I could grab a shower before I had to feed her again. Ugh, I’m all sweaty.” He looks down at himself.
Now I can’t take my eyes off his glistening, bare chest.
“Do you need some help?” The words slip past my lips before my brain can stop them. Shit.
“That would be really great, actually, thanks! Come on over.” Eli spins on his heel, marches out of the doorway, blazes across my driveway, his, and back into his house in record time. I have no choice but to just follow him.
Timidly, which is not a word anyone would place on me normally, I leave my wet socks and shoes outside and I go through the sliding door off his deck.
It leads into the kitchen, which has a small round table with four chairs, oak cabinets, yellow-painted walls, and a wallpaper border full of a variety of chickens.
This is not where I would picture someone like Eli living.
I know this isn’t anything he picked out, and I’m sure he will eventually change things, but still it feels odd knowing this is all his space now.
Eli walks back into the kitchen, black cutoff T-shirt on, just like the ones he always used to wear, and a tiny, cranky baby in his arms. The sight makes my heart feel like it is going to pound right out of my chest.
Do not cry, Kendra. I do not give you permission to cry right now.
“Okay, do you mind feeding her a bottle while I go take a super-fast shower? I would tell you I would be done before her, but she has been pretty greedy the past few feedings.” Eli chuckles and smiles down at Wren.
“Sure, I can do that,” I say quietly.
“Are you okay? I know you help Sutton with Kins all the time, so I figured you are probably more of a pro at this than I am.”
“It’s fine, Eli. I would love to feed her. No problem. And don’t feel the need to rush, we’re fine.” I try my best to give him a reassuring smile.
Relief rolls over him immediately as he moves about the kitchen making a bottle. One handed. The other cradling his baby girl. It should not be so attractive to watch him with her.
I love and hate every second I get to bear witness to this.
I feel like a voyeur to my own existence in this moment, floating in the corner of the room, watching my heart being wrung out. It’s happening, Eli’s doing it to me, and he has no idea he’s responsible—has been responsible for my tangled heart for my entire adult life.
Once the bottle is warmed, I follow him to the living room, which is just as cozy and un-Eli as I imagined it would be. Sitting in the rocking chair I wait patiently. Eli kisses the top of Wren’s fuzzy, dark head of hair that matches his own before he gently transfers her into my waiting arms.
Oh my God.
Wren’s little body presses into my warmth, relaxing, and surprisingly comforted by the beating of my thunderous heart next to her ear. She quietly but quickly gulps at the bottle, just like Eli said she would. Tears fill my eyes as I stare at her.
Eli’s baby.
He has a baby . . . with another woman. The reality of that, in my hands, is so hard. A truth I can’t run and hide from.
I love babies and children, always have, but it’s also always been complicated.
This is different. I am usually really good at holding my feelings in separate places when it comes to this.
My personal situation doesn’t mix when I’m with my friends’ kids or other babies I see.
But this? This is as personal as it gets.
Rocking gently, I stroke the back of Wren’s soft hand. Lost in memories and my own feelings, I forgot that Eli was even standing there watching me.
“Kendra? Are you two good?”
“Yup,” I manage to whisper, not looking at him.
“Alright, I’m just gonna hop in the shower then. Thanks.” Eli bends down and kisses the top of Wren’s head again. I try and fail to not inhale the heady scent of his sweat mixed with the sandalwood soap he’s always used.