Allison let us in with a smile. She hugged her brother to the side since each of us were carrying trays of food, and much to my surprise, took a turn to hug me, too.
“Oh my goodness, I can smell the enchiladas already. They smell delicious. Thank you so much for cooking, Kendall.”
“It’s my pleasure.” I absolutely loved being able to share my food with everyone.
We went into the large, two-story house, and I was immediately greeted by an adorable four-year-old who took exception to my jacket.
“Your coat is ugly,” she said without warning.
“Chelsea, don’t be rude,” Allison admonished her daughter and turned a deep shade of red.
I unzipped the offensive garment and knelt down to her level, loving her curly hair and freckled face. “It is rather hideous, I know, but I live in California where it’s warmer, so I didn’t have a winter coat. This was the very last one they had at the store here in Virginia.”
She gave me a smile. “You live in California with my uncle?”
“Uh, the same state, yes.” Didn’t need to perpetuate the girlfriend rumor which was probably already running through town.
The girlfriend ruse had been more fun than I probably should’ve had at his expense. To be honest, I’d liked putting him out of his comfort zone. Probably wasn’t the best career move, but it had been an icebreaker of sorts. We’d been able to laugh about it in the truck later. And what could I say? Having his arm around me hadn’t been the worst feeling in the world, either.
“I like your boots,” the little girl said shyly, rocking back and forth in that adorable toddler fashion that either meant she had to pee or was nervous upon meeting someone new.
“Thank you. I definitely lucked out with those.”
“I have pink ones. You wanna see?”
“You bet.”
Within no time I was introduced to Allison’s husband, Warren, and Liam’s mother, Clara. While her children and grandchildren seemed to be dealing with grief in a very non-grief way, I could tell with one glance that Clara was struggling. Her smile didn’t quite reach her red eyes. I’d seen the same expression on my nan when she’d buried my grandfather.
“Hello, my dear. Allison tells me you’re quite a chef.”
“Oh. Well, I certainly enjoy cooking.”
“And you work at the same law firm as my son?”
“Yes.”
Her pride was evident in her expression. “He’s such a hard worker.”
“He definitely is.” At least it was something we could agree on.
As we all dished up and sat at the dining room table, it soon became obvious there was something off in the dynamic. After grace, Clara remarked, “Freddie’s favorite food was Mexican. He loved it when I made him tacos for dinner.”
Liam’s jaw tick clued me in that I was missing something.
But I was always one to mind my manners, so I forged ahead. “I was very sorry to hear of your loss, Mrs. Davenport.”
“Oh, thank you, dear. Please call me Clara. It was just so unexpected. He would’ve loved this meal. He wasn’t a bad cook himself.”
“You don’t say?” I gave her a smile, but when I glanced over toward her son, he seemed tense and uneasy. I didn’t get it. And evidently I wasn’t to be enlightened anytime soon.
“You know anything about making a good margarita, Kendall?” Allison asked straight after dinner. She looked as though she needed a drink.
“I do. You in the mood for frozen or on the rocks?”
She grinned. “Frozen would be divine. I bought tequila and lime juice. I also have a mix, but it’s kind of nasty.”
She led me into her kitchen.
“Tequila and lime juice are good,” I said. “Do you have triple sec? And some sugar?”
She fished through the cabinet and came out with a bottle. “Yes. I have it.”
“Great. I only need a small sauce pan and sugar to make the simple syrup.” Margaritas always tasted better to me with a balance of sweet and sour.
“How do you know all this?”
“I bartend on the weekends.”
“You do?” came Liam’s voice as he entered the kitchen with plates from the table.
Shit. I hadn’t meant for him to overhear me. Not that my moonlighting was against the firm rules, but I didn’t want him asking questions. “Yeah. On Friday and Saturday nights.”
“Where?”
“Um, at a dance club. Do you have a blender?” I inquired toward Allison, hoping to change the subject.
“So, you work full-time, go to school, and work part-time on the weekends?” she asked.
“I like to stay busy.” I stole a glance at Liam and saw his scowl and a throb in his jaw. Did it piss him off to hear I had a life outside of him? The only thing missing was his sigh of disapproval, and it would have been like old times in the office. Deciding to ignore him, I went about making the best possible margaritas.
An hour later, I noticed my boss hadn’t indulged in anything alcoholic. Too bad. It probably would have improved his mood.
After the dishes were done, we all piled in the cars to head to bowling. I chanced a glance at my driver, whose mood seemed to be worsening by the moment. “Everything okay?” I asked.
“Fine.”
The word almost made me snap. I started to second-guess my decision to come tonight. Or to get in the car alone with him while everyone else had ridden in the minivan. At least I could be grateful the bowling alley was only five minutes away.
Once we arrived and got situated with our rental shoes, we decided on two lanes and were put on the far side. Bumpers were put up for the kids which meant no gutter balls. Probably a good thing since I hadn’t bowled in years.
Allison came over with a pitcher of beer and some cups. “My bowling game gets better with beer,” she joked.
I winced a bit since it seemed everyone was into this little family outing except for their mother, who’d been quiet so far. She’d decided not to bowl and was only helping her granddaughters with their shoes. But who was I to point this out? Perhaps this was the way her children hoped to put a smile on her face.
Finding a yellow six-pound ball, I was relieved to find it would fit my small hands and wasn’t a weight that would embarrass me.
“You realize your ball is a child’s ball?” Liam smirked.
I simply shrugged, returning his smirk. “Great, then Chelsea and I can share.”
We were about to start when Allison shouted toward us. “You two should bet something on the game.” Her cheeks were rosy from the alcohol.
Warren, her husband, had already pronounced her a lightweight and had fetched her a glass of water to try to offset the effects. Clearly, this hadn’t done much yet to settle her down.
But the idea of a bet made my boss smile. “You any good?” he challenged.
Nope. Not at all. Much to his amusement, I changed my selection to the eight-pound pink ball. I might need the extra two pounds. “Go big or go home, Mr. Davenport. Now, what shall we bet?”
“What do you have in mind?”
Oh, damn. The way his husky voice hit me conjured up thoughts completely inappropriate for family time or a boss.
As if he could read my mind, his brow quirked.
Think fast, think fast. “If I win, you cook with me tomorrow.”
“What?”
“I teach you how to cook a meal. You give me your undivided attention.”
“Deal.” He turned to walk away.
“Wait. What’s your side of the bet?”
His eyes sparkled. “To be determined.”
TBD was an option? What did that mean? With my luck, I’d probably be tasked to work extra hours.
He was up first, affording me an unobstructed view of his great ass. Which I must say looked incredible encased in denim. Jesus, he even bowled like he was in control. And when his first shot was a strike, I knew I was trouble.
Three frames later, I wasn’t just losing; I was
being annihilated.
But right now, his four-year-old niece was up, with her tongue between her lips and a look of fierce concentration. And when her second throw knocked down all of the pins after taking an excruciatingly long time to go down the lane, we all cheered. Even Liam, who hadn’t been drinking and wasn’t overly relaxed, was all smiles for his niece.
At the tenth frame, I took my stance and glanced back at his smug face. I so wanted to stick out my tongue at him, but I refrained. Barely. Then I focused. Point the ball in the middle. Little extra umph. Nope, went left. Shit. It hit the bumper but then it bounced into the middle and—holy shit. Strike.
I did a little dance and squealed. Turning around, I saw him shaking his head.
“Good thing for the bumpers.”
Leave it to Liam to rain on my parade. Never good enough in his eyes. At least everyone else seemed happy with my small success.
They decided to play another game, but my boss couldn’t be bothered. Nope, he was too good for it.
“I have a quick call to make, but you guys go ahead and play without me.”
Disappointment was obvious on everyone’s face. It only fueled my annoyance with him. I took a seat next to his mother while the kids took a quick bathroom break before the next game.
“I should’ve warned you not to bet against my son. He’s an athlete like his father was.”
“Oh, yeah? What other sports did Liam play?” Call me forever curious about someone I shouldn’t be.
“Baseball was his sport of choice. I used to love watching him play catch in our front yard with his father. They’d do it for hours.”
Shit. I had a prick of conscience. Perhaps my boss was coping in the only way he knew how.
We were four frames into the second game when Liam returned from his call. His mother patted the seat beside her. “I was telling Kendall about the times your father used to throw the baseball around with you out in the yard. Remember?”
His entire body stiffened up. “Yeah. Do you want anything to drink, Mom? Soda? Iced tea?”
“No, thank you. He’d take you to your practices, too. And watch your games. Do you remember?” Her expression seemed hopeful for her son to give her the slightest crumb.
He shot to his feet. “I remember. I’m getting something to drink. Anyone else want something?”
What the hell? He couldn’t even be nice to his own mother who wanted to reminisce about his father?
“I just want to talk about the good times, Liam. Can’t you do it for me?” Her tears were welling up, but he was downright icy.
“I’ll be out in the truck.” He leaned down to kiss her cheek and whispered something into her ear before stalking out.
If I’d thought my boss was a dick before, this took it to an entirely new level.
Chapter Eighteen
Liam
I whispered to my mother that I loved her more than anything, but I still wasn’t over all the bad times that had followed the good ones. And I was sorry.
God, was I sorry. I wished I could fake it. I knew she wanted me to. Feeling like a class A prick for hurting her, I went out to the truck to wait. I was tempted to ask if my sister could drive Kendall home, but it would only add to my level of asshole. I turned up the heat and tried to calm myself from the resentment brought on by my mother’s skewed recollection.
Yes, I remembered him throwing the ball with me. I’d been five or maybe six and would do almost anything for his attention. But the moment I wasn’t perfect, he’d get irrationally angry. I was never good enough. And yes, I’d remembered the T-ball practices and games when he was sober. They’d been amazing. But they’d been few and far between. Instead, my memories were of fighting tears at the constant critical comments. My mother wanted to paint the picture differently, rewrite history, yet I couldn’t forget the bruises, the screaming, or the sound of the front paned window breaking the night he left us for good.
He’d been livid because social services was investigating my black eye from the week before. I’d stepped in the way of his fist when it had been directed at my mother and had received the brunt of the blow on my face. There’d been no way to hide it this time around. I believe it had been that investigation which had saved us all. Sometimes I wondered if my mother would’ve ever had the courage to tell him to leave.
I tamped down on the resentment that threatened to bubble up. I couldn’t go there. She’d been an abused and battered wife and mother without the self-esteem to recognize she could do better. Afterward, she’d done the best she could. Growing stronger. Working hard for us kids.
I’d finally calmed myself down by the time Kendall hugged my family and got into the truck. I gave my sister a small wave, knowing she understood more than anyone else why I’d needed the space.
We were silent on the way back to the house. I could only imagine what my assistant was thinking, but I wasn’t about to dump my family history on her.
The house was cold when we went inside. It was after nine o’clock, and all I wanted was some peace and quiet along with a glass of whiskey.
I noticed Kendall’s agitation as she took off her coat. She didn’t bother to make eye contact with me. Instead, she went out the back door and came in with an armful of wood.
“I can do that.”
“Don’t bother.”
“What’s with the attitude?”
She turned and glared.
“If you’re somehow pissed that I needed to leave the bowling alley, it’s none of your business.” Her obvious judgment made me defensive as hell.
“You’re right. It’s not my business. But I’m also not surprised by it.”
Her assessment stung more than I’d like to admit. “You know nothing about it.” I should have walked away before things escalated, but instead, I stood there clenching my fists.
“No, I don’t know anything about it because you don’t share anything.”
“Do I need to remind you? You’re my legal secretary. We work together.” Maybe I was the one who needed the reminder. “Anything personal is off-limits.”
She grabbed the matches and lit the paper under the kindling. “Then, why did you bring me here?”
“I brought you here to work. Nothing else. Yet somehow you’ve managed to become entwined in my personal shit.”
“Obviously with an agenda, right? I’m forcing myself into people’s lives and cooking them meals. What a dick move of me to be nice to people who have only been nice to me.”
Smoke started to come out of the stove, interrupting our conversation and prompting me to ask, “Did you open the flue?”
“The what?”
“Never mind. Clearly, you didn’t.” I moved past her to open the lever that allowed smoke to go up the chimney.
“God, you are such an asshole. I never do anything good enough. Ever. Not all of the files I brought in a suitcase instead of shipping them, not the house because you didn’t want the motel, not the non-four-wheel drive I didn’t know to reserve. Hell, I couldn’t so much as get a fist bump for my very first strike tonight because it wasn’t good enough, either, since there were bumpers. But I can handle your perpetual disappointment. After all, you’re just my boss, and I’m just your secretary. And this is just a fucking job until I can afford to quit it. But watching you make your mother cry tonight three days after your father died— That was a new low. Even for you.”
I stood there in shock, absorbing her words like a punch to the gut while she turned and strode down the hall to her bedroom.
She shut the door and effectively shut me out.
Did I really make her feel that way? The way my father had made me feel? Like she was never good enough?
Kendall stayed in her room while I got the fire to the point where the heat was finally warming up the house. I sipped my whiskey, sitting at the dining room table, feeling lost as to what to do next. When I heard her door open, I stood up from the chair.
But she walked straight to the kitchen, keepin
g her eyes averted, and simply went for the refrigerator for a bottle of water.
“My father abandoned us when I was eight. He’d given me a black eye while in a drunken rage toward my mother, and social services was investigating. He broke the picture window in our living room with a lamp and just took off.”
She turned quickly, her eyes wide. Her voice was small. “He hit you?”
“Mostly it was directed toward my mother after he’d get drunk, but I’d get in the way of his fists sometimes trying to protect her. This was one of those times.”
Her arms hugged her waist.
Since I was in for a penny, I might as well go for the full pound. “He only came back six months ago. Said he found Jesus and had been sober for a year. He moved back in with my mother. She forgave him after twenty-five years of desertion.”
“But you didn’t?”
I shook my head. “Not even a little.”
She let out a broken sigh. “I’m so sorry.”
I held up a hand. I wasn’t sure what I was more afraid of: her sympathy or the fact we’d just obliterated a thick line between professional and personal. “Don’t. Don’t apologize. You didn’t know.”
Shit. I could see the tears run down her face. I stepped closer, having to put my hands in my pockets to keep from wiping the moisture from her pretty face. The instinct to touch her was incredibly strong. “Don’t cry for me, Kendall. It was a long time ago. I struggle when my mom wants to only remember the good times. Because there weren’t nearly enough of those.”
“Still, I went and called you an asshole and said those terrible things to you. I’m sorry.”
“I deserved them especially if I caused you to feel that way. I don’t mean to.”
If I was making her feel less than, then I was probably a lot more like my father than I’d ever want to admit. Maybe the apple didn’t fall far enough away from the tree. The thought left me chilled to my very core.
Miss Understanding (The Miss Series Book 1) Page 9
