by RC Boldt
The way she says this, in a matter-of-fact emotionless tone, guts me. No one should be accustomed to being alone—not to that extent. Hell, I’m closed off and a loner, but I still have my mom and our hodgepodge family.
Turning, she faces me and crosses her arms. “And just now, you were watching me for whatever reason.” She cocks her head to the side. “Analyzing my choice of ice cream?”
I narrow my eyes, mouth twitching as I try to resist the urge to grin. “One never jokes about ice cream.”
Her lips press thin, and something about it is just…sexy as fuck. Prim and proper. Concealed. Damn if I don’t love the layers she has.
I love that she shares some of those layers with me.
“Okay, so…” I study the ice cream varieties in the freezer case. “At first, I would’ve taken you for a cookies and cream or a butter pecan kind of woman. But then I changed my mind.”
She studies me intently. “What made you think differently?” Her voice is hushed, and for some reason, I get the impression my answer will make or break this odd moment.
“You’re complicated. Intriguing. You’ve got layers—multiple layers. There’s more to you than meets the eye.” I eyeball her cart again, and the sight of those sad contents sets me into action. Lifting my gaze to hers, I wink. “Come on. Let’s go.”
Wariness floods her expression. “Go where?”
“Trust me. You’ll love it. Best meal and”—I nod toward the freezer case behind her—“better dessert than that any day.”
She stiffens as if she’s a wild animal cornered by a poacher. “No, thank you. I’m fine.”
“Sorry, Doc, but you’re coming with me.” I set the whipped topping in her cart and commandeer the handle. “What else do you need?”
Her hard glare is sexy as fuck. “Look, Agent Lattimer, this might work with—”
I lean in closer, bringing us eye to eye. She might do a pretty good job of controlling her reaction to me, but the way her breath catches slightly and her pupils dilate tells me enough.
My tone is hushed. “What’s wrong? Are you scared to have dinner with me again?”
Immediately, her shoulders straighten, and she lifts her chin defiantly. I can practically hear her teeth grinding together. “No.”
I gesture to her cart. “This doesn’t compare to Thanksgiving dinner, let alone at my mom’s.”
Chapter 63
Kennedy
Oh, hell no. Pure unadulterated panic ignites inside me. My voice sounds far calmer than I expect when I say, “No, thank you.”
A spark of something dangerous flickers in Landon’s eyes—mischief—while he pulls his phone from his pocket. As if we’re engaging in an epic stare down, he holds my gaze while he thumbs the keypad and presses the speakerphone button.
It barely rings twice before a woman answers. “Please don’t tell me they’re out of whipped topping.” A trace of a Southern accent lingers in the woman’s voice, concentrated in certain words.
“No, ma’am. I got it, but I ran into someone from work and wanted to ask if you could set another place at the dinner table.”
My eyes go wide in horror, and I shake my head rapidly back and forth. Silently, I mouth, “No.”
Of course, he just winks. “She’s nervous, but I told her not to worry.”
A teenage boy’s voice calls out in the background. “If that’s Landon, tell him I’m callin’ dibs on the best end of the wishbone when we crack it.”
Landon grins, his affection for the boy evident, and there’s no other word to describe his smile except for devastating.
Devastating. It’s how it’ll feel if he ever sees the real me and walks away.
His mother shushes the boy before answering Landon. “Of course, I’ll set another place.” There’s a pause before her voice takes on a hushed quality I can’t pinpoint. “Is it Dr. Alexandre, by chance?”
His eyes soften. “Yes, ma’am.”
The smile in his mother’s voice is evident. “Oh, that’s lovely.”
“But there’s just one small problem.”
“What’s that?”
Landon’s brown eyes are watchful. “She thinks she’s imposing and won’t agree, so I thought I’d let you talk to her.”
I’ll fucking kill this man with my bare hands.
My glare is harsh enough to shrivel his balls—or so I assume—but he seems impervious. Instead, I appear to amuse him, and he flashes me a smile that has an odd melting effect on my insides.
He hands me the phone, and I draw in a deep breath. “Hello, Mrs. Lattimer.”
“Hello, sweetheart. I hope my Landon hasn’t made you uncomfortable, but I always welcome anyone, especially on the holidays. The more, the merrier, I always say.”
“I appreciate that, but—”
Mrs. Lattimer lowers her voice to a conspiratorial tone. “And between you and me, I could do with a woman’s company after being surrounded by all this testosterone.”
Two male voices shout in the background. “I heard that!”
My protest sits at the tip of my tongue when Landon’s mother cuts in. “My apologies, but I have to go and check on this turkey. I’ll see you both soon!” The call ends, and I stare down at the phone in dismay. When I lift my eyes to Landon’s, I expect to find him with a smug expression in place. Instead, he appears thoughtful.
Both hands gripping the handle of my cart, he tips his head, gesturing toward the front of the store. “Come on, Doc. Let’s pay for everything and get going.” His tone is gentle, as if he’s handling a skittish animal. I certainly feel akin to one right now.
He pushes the cart up the aisle, and I walk beside him, desperately scrambling for a way out of this.
Instead of any surefire ways, all I can think of is Mrs. Lattimer’s voice and how the warmth in it traveled through the phone. I imagine the woman who takes in all sorts of down-on-their-luck people would probably make a feast fit for a king and simply garner enjoyment from seeing everyone around her happy and well-fed.
It may be torturous and masochistic, but I want to experience it just this once. I want to be around a mother who is a loving, caring nurturer and see exactly what I missed out on.
I’d be lying if I said I also don’t crave the chance to observe Landon and his mother’s relationship firsthand. To see and meet the woman who helped mold him into who he is today.
Just as we approach the line of checkout lanes with others making last-minute purchases, a woman calls out, “Landon? Is that you?”
I’ve come to know him well over the past few months, so when his spine stiffens, I immediately go on the defense. When I lay eyes on the woman, I sense there’s history between the two.
She doesn’t appear to notice me even though I’m right beside him. Her eyes practically eat him up like he’s some decadent dessert she’s been saving her Weight Watchers points for.
“Hey, Kelsey.” Landon’s greeting is stilted but polite. It doesn’t appear to deter her, however.
“How have you been? It’s been a while since I last saw you. Your mom said you’re still with the FBI?”
Landon emits discomfort in thick waves, and it gnaws at the pit of my stomach because a man would only react this way for one reason.
This woman—this Kelsey—hurt him at some point.
Without thinking it through, I act on pure instinct and hook my arm through his. His body goes rigid before relaxing slightly. I peer up at him, my voice nothing but sweet. “Honey, aren’t you going to introduce us?”
A muscle in his jaw flexes, but once our eyes lock, the shadows in his subside, giving way to relief and affection. “Baby, this is Kelsey. She’s an old friend.”
Kelsey’s head jerks back as if Landon’s description served as a physical slap. What makes it more interesting is the fact the woman has a wedding band on her left hand.
Turning to face her, Landon offers a polite half smile. “Kelsey, this is Kennedy.”
I have to give the woman credit. A
split second of a sour expression flits across her face before she pastes on a bright smile and offers me a polite, “Nice to meet you.” Then she addresses Landon. “Kennedy is your…?”
Holy fuck. She doesn’t know when to stop.
Landon’s smile kicks up a notch, and he gives me a quick wink. “That’s right. Kennedy’s mine.” Unlooping our arms, he settles a palm protectively at the base of my spine. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have Thanksgiving dinner to attend. Good to see you, Kelsey. Give my best to your parents.”
Then he guides us past, leading the way to a new checkout lane that just opened up. As the cashier begins ringing up the few items, I try to edge past Landon in order to pay. Of course, he blocks me with that sexy smirk toying at his lips and swipes his card through the reader.
With the bags in one hand, he steers me out the exit and draws to a stop on the sidewalk. “I’m assuming you walked here?”
“That’s right.”
He tips his head to the side, suddenly appearing a touch bashful. “My car’s the black one over there.”
I flick my eyes to the bags in his grip. “And I have to get in it in order to get my groceries back?” The edges of my mouth tug upward. “Is this the equivalent of a stranger luring a child to their car with the promise of candy or a puppy?”
Voice husky, his brown eyes lock with mine. “I think we both know if anyone’s in fear of being lured, it’s me by you.”
His voice drops an octave, and my heart skips a beat, my attention shifting to his lips as they move with each word. “And I’d follow you just about anywhere.”
Easing back a step, he winces. “Look, I know I cornered you into coming to dinner, but the truth is, I really want you to come.” Raking his free hand through his hair, mussing it slightly, he heaves out a sigh. “But you don’t have to.”
A horn honks in the distance while I peer up at him. A flash of vulnerability etches his handsome features before we’re blasted by a gust of frigid wind.
“I can at least drive you home, so you don’t have to walk in this wind.” He offers an outstretched palm, and I realize he’s giving me an out.
He won’t push, and for some reason, I kind of want him to. I want him to push me for more because I’ve never been someone who’s good enough to bring home to the parents. The idea of him deeming me worthy to meet his mother poses more of a temptation than I’ve ever encountered.
What the fuck is wrong with me? I’m putting myself and everything I’ve set into motion at risk by considering going home with him.
“Just a heads-up,” he murmurs softly. “I can practically hear the gears grinding in your head.” Warmth colors his expression. “It’s fine. Let’s get you home.”
“No.” My response startles us both, my eyes going wide and his following suit. I clear my throat. “I, uh, I’d like to go with you.” I place my hand in his, and when his fingers curl around my gloved ones, warmth fills me to my core.
He stares at me for a beat until his lips curve into a smile I’ve not witnessed before. It’s one laced with hope, happiness, and affection.
And it’s all for me.
Chapter 64
Landon
As soon as I buckle my seat belt, she poses the question I’d been expecting.
“So…you and Kelsey were a thing at one point?”
My laugh is more of a grunt. “Unfortunately.”
“Ahh.” I wait for her to prod me for more. Then I realize that’s not Kennedy’s style.
Silence settles over us as I drive toward my mom’s house. “I met her right before I joined the military. Asked her to marry me before I deployed. Then, halfway through deployment, she told me on a Skype call that we were over.”
I feel the weight of Kennedy’s eyes on me but force myself to continue. “She ended up marrying the guy she cheated on me with. And in an ironic twist, it turns out he’s the one who’s pretty promiscuous nowadays, if the rumors are anything to go by.”
She remains quiet for a beat. Just as I pull onto Mom’s street, she says, “And now she realizes what she threw away.”
I wait until I pull into the driveway and park. Looking over at her, I find her watching me with a thoughtful expression. In an attempt to lift the mood, I tease, “You make it sound like I’m a catch.”
I expect her to roll her eyes or squint at me. She shocks the hell out of me when her eyes crinkle at the edges, and her voice takes on a soft, almost tender quality. “That’s because you are.”
Then she unbuckles and slips out of the car, leaving me to wonder if maybe I’m getting somewhere.
Maybe I’ve got a chance with Kennedy after all.
Chapter 65
Kennedy
Anxiety claws at my throat with each step we take toward the house. My hands won’t stop trembling regardless of my attempts to will it away.
Once we reach the door, Landon reaches for the handle but drops his hand and peers down at me. “Hey.”
“Hey.” My voice quivers, and I fucking hate it. I quickly avert my eyes, focusing on a scratch running across the right of the door.
When he doesn’t make any move to open the door, I dart a questioning glance at him.
“Kiss me.”
My head rears back slightly at his command. “What?”
“Kiss me.” The sight of his smirk is welcoming, but his words have me confused. “It’ll get your mind off other things.”
Slanting my brows together in suspicion, I squint at him. “You think so?”
“Absolutely.” He leans closer. “And I know you like the reaction you get from me.”
“How do you figure?”
He dips his head lower, his voice turning husky, eyes darkening with heat. “Because you make this little noise in the back of your throat that’s a little sigh mixed with a moan, for one.”
My fingers tingle with the urge to trace over his soft lips as they form each word.
“And,” he continues softly, bringing his lips to dust along my cheek with the faintest caress, “your eyes get this look like you’ve just achieved something that’s been out of reach.”
“Do I?” My words sound breathless to my own ears.
“Oh, yeah.” He draws back a fraction, eyes gleaming with barely banked lust. “So, how about that kiss?”
I rise to my toes to bring my mouth to his cheek just as the door jerks open.
“Making out, juuust as I suspected. Ms. Caroline! I told you so!” A tall, skinny teenage boy with a pierced lip and nose, head shaved on one side while the other side is a mere three inches long, grins at us. “You two gonna come inside or make out on the front steps all day?”
Landon urges me inside the house, and each movement feels as if my knees are rusty metal joints. Once inside with the door closed behind us, Landon puts the boy in a headlock, tugging him close. “Good to see you, too, kid.”
He meets my eyes as the boy breaks free and smooths down his hair. “Kennedy, this is Damon. Damon, this is Kennedy.”
Damon shoves his hands into his jeans pockets. “Nice to meet you. So, are you here under duress? Because if Landon used his FBI coercion, you can blink twice real fast, and I’ll get you out of here.”
“FBI coercion?” Landon rolls his eyes. “You’ve been watching too much crap TV.” Damon just laughs.
“Landon? Can you help me, please?” his mother calls out.
Landon’s head snaps up. “Coming!” He turns to Damon, his brows descending sternly. “Watch over her while I help Mom. And don’t harass her.”
Damon screws up his face into mock innocence. “Moi? Harass? Pfft. Never.”
Landon nudges him with a fist. “I mean it, buddy.” Then he turns and disappears around the corner.
And leaves me standing here, feeling awkward as hell. I’m inside Landon’s mom’s house. What am I doing here? I could call a cab. Or I could—
“You look like you’re contemplating escape.” Damon’s hushed words have me snapping my attention to him. He
offers a kind smile. “I recognize it ’cause I felt the same way the first time Ms. Caroline brought me back here.”
He looks around, and I follow suit, surveying the walls adorned with framed photos. “These are good people, and you quickly figure that out.” Turning back to me, he waves me farther inside. “Come on. You can help me finish setting the table.”
Before we take a step forward, a woman bustles toward us, wiping her hands on a dish towel. In an apron bordered with frills, her hair is light brown and chin length, she stands a few inches shorter than me and is slender. But it’s her eyes and smile I recognize instantly. She shares those with her son.
With outstretched arms, she enfolds me in a hug that’s tighter and stronger than I expect. An oof comes out of me, and Damon mashes his lips thin to suppress a smile. “Forgot to mention that we’re huggers.”
“I get that now.” My voice comes out strained because Mrs. Lattimer is still holding me in a rib-cracking hug.
She leans back to inspect me. “It’s so good to meet you, sweetheart.”
“Nice to meet you, too.” My smile is tight, forced, and every bit as awkward as I feel. “Thank you for being so gracious and allowing me to crash your Thanksgiving.”
“Oh, nonsense.” She links her arm through mine and steers me toward what I assume is the kitchen. Maybe Landon can save me? “Come with me. You can help me peel the rest of the potatoes, and we can have some girl talk.”
Oh, fuck no. Forcing a smile I’m certain appears more like a grimace, I say, “Sounds wonderful.”
“You’re very skilled with a knife. I’m old-school, and the one time I tried to use a peeler, I about sliced my finger off. I still usually end up nicking myself at some point.” Mrs. Lattimer lets out a little laugh. “Landon always says I’m in too much of a hurry.”
I glance around at the kitchen, where her double oven is filled. In the top are two casseroles and a baking sheet with rolls while the bottom holds the turkey. I’m peeling potatoes I’ve been informed will be mashed to accompany the green bean casserole and sweet potato casserole.
