by Mariah Dietz
“Go get Kennedy,” he says.
I’m grateful Coen suggested I bring a flashlight, because the woods are pitch black. The heavy foliage doesn’t allow even the stars to shine through. Once I get to the pond, though, it’s easy to follow the footpath to Kennedy’s.
I lean against a tall chestnut tree at the edge of the Wallaces’ property line. Standing here in the dark, waiting for her, is eerily close to more than a dozen court cases I’ve studied, convincing me I should go back or text her or something other than stand here like a stalker.
The sounds of giggling pierce the night, and my focus moves to a window dimly lit by a flashlight.
“Stop taking pictures!” I hear Kennedy exclaim. I watch something fall from the window and realize it’s the screen.
I’m two steps into the yard when I freeze, hearing another window slide open. A light flips on, and Grace appears in the window next to where Kennedy is dangling her feet out the windowsill.
“What are you doing?” Grace leans forward.
“You don’t have a screen on your window?” Kennedy asks.
“I took it out in high school.”
“I knew you used to sneak out!”
Grace laughs quietly. “Why are you sneaking out? You don’t have a curfew anymore. Unless . . .”
There’s a pause, and I hold my breath, waiting to hear her explanation.
“Who are you going to meet?” Grace asks.
Kennedy drops down the short fall from her first floor window and faces her sister as Violet leans out the same window to join in the conversation.
The feeling of being an interloper grows as the women hush each other and remain silent for a moment, listening for something in the house.
“It’s just me, Mom!” Grace yells, and with a flick of her wrist, she shoos Kennedy forward.
Kennedy hunches down, listening to a conversation between Grace and her mom that I can barely hear over the crickets, frogs, and cicadas as I slink back to the chestnut tree, regretting my decision to be here even more.
“Go!” Violet hisses. “Now!”
Kennedy slowly stands and then jogs toward the forest line surrounding the back of their house—toward me. I pull my flashlight from my back pocket and flash it twice. Kennedy stops, and I flash it twice more. She continues, but slower, until she reaches the tree where I’m waiting.
My heart pounds as she stops in front of me, changing the scent of the night air and raising the temperature several degrees. She’s changed into a pair of pink cotton shorts and a white tank top that makes her tanned skin look darker. “What are you doing?” she asks. “You scared me.”
“I didn’t want you to walk through the woods alone.”
Her lips curl. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you might be starting to like me, Joey DeLuca.”
“Well, we can’t have this town losing their only librarian.”
She scowls.
“Come on.” I take her hand and move the flashlight to stream across the footpath I followed here.
“How many people come back here?” I ask.
“Not many. Mom said more were coming last year when they put up the playground, but because you have to walk to it from the parking lot, I don’t think many do. They’ve got a big playground in the middle of town that gets used a lot. That’s the one Grace and I grew up using, and I think for a lot of people, it’s what they know. Plus, they can go to the library or the market while their kids play.”
“And parents don’t worry about leaving their kids to do stuff?”
“Well, most don’t leave small children out there alone, but you’ll hear a lot of parents share a sentiment here, and that’s ‘it takes a village.’ People are happy to help others because they know they’ll be returning the favor another time.”
My fingers tighten around hers.
“And there are certain people you’ll learn to want to do favors for because they will do super nice things in return. Like you know that blueberry pie you’re so fond of? Mrs. Watts over on Black Walnut Lane bakes them, and if you get in her good graces, she’ll bake you pies and cookies and all kinds of treats.”
“Anyone else I need to make sure to help?”
“Let’s see . . .” She pauses. “Judy Bartlett, who lives over on Cedar Crest, makes really good jams all summer long, and her husband, Ken, has bees and will give you jars of honey. And then Jerry and Sabrina Biggs have a giant smoker, and they smoke salmon and turkey and . . . well . . . pretty much everything. Kip is a handyman who knows how to jerry-rig just about anything. Jackson knows more about cars than the local mechanic, and you can’t forget Mrs. Wilson, who will happily supply you with endless amounts of homemade sock snowmen each winter.”
“Sock snowmen? Remind me to make friends with her,” I tease.
Kennedy laughs quietly. “I will. Trust me. I’ll even be sure to give you credit for things you don’t do, just to ensure you get plenty of them.”
“I’ve heard your brownies and cakes are famous here in Haven Point.”
“For a while during middle school, I was known for having a crazy sister,” she says.
Pain slices my heart.
“I baked a lot of brownies and cakes for a couple of years so we could be known for something else.”
“Do people still talk about her like that?”
Kennedy absently brushes her arm against mine. “The summer before I went into high school, I was at the playground in town and heard a girl whisper to her friend—something super creative, like there goes the nuthouse or something ridiculous.” She shakes her head. “I punched her in the nose.”
I pull my head back, surprised and moderately impressed. “You punched a girl in the face?”
Kennedy nods. “You aren’t the only tough guy in town.” She bumps into me and sways a bit when I don’t budge.
“Did that stop it?”
She nods. “I was known for my right hook for the summer, and everyone was so shocked by it, they stopped talking about Grace and allowed the next rumor to pass through. Every once in a while, Grace would miss a week of school or be seen dancing in the rain in the middle of the night, but by that point she was dating Ethan, and suddenly they found it endearing. Like by him accepting her, they did too.”
The woods recede as we reach Coen’s property line, and Shakespeare barks at us from inside the RV.
Kennedy’s eyes grow wide, our moment of privacy interrupted as the realization of what we’re about to do becomes more real.
When we reach the garage, I flip on the overhead light and follow her up the stairs.
“Is this crazy?” she asks, turning to face me as I turn off the light and close the garage door.
“Probably,” I admit.
“I still think you’re kind of a pain in the ass.”
“But you also kind of like checking my ass out.”
She ignores me. “And we’re in the room above your brother’s garage.”
“Would you rather be in your bedroom at your parents’ house?”
Her eyes cut to me, wide with repulsion. “You’re making this worse!”
I chuckle. “Are you worried people might find out about me? About us, I mean?”
“Worried isn’t the right word.”
My heart resumes the pounding rhythm it’s becoming accustomed to while waiting for Kennedy. “What is the right word?”
“Sometimes being back here makes me feel like I’m a kid again. I know that’s silly and weird, but I also never had a serious boyfriend when I lived here. And so after being gone for ten years, I don’t want to be back for a couple of weeks and have everyone thinking I sleep around or something.”
“So you aren’t embarrassed because it’s me?”
She shakes her head slowly and then quickly as she studies my eyes. “No! Of course not! It has nothing to do with that. I just don’t want people to think we’re having, like, this affair or something since everyone knows you’re leaving.”
“
And you’re leaving.”
“I’m . . .” She frowns, her green eyes pinched at the corners as she debates something.
“You’re what?”
Kennedy takes a deep breath that she releases in a huff. “I’m not sure anymore. I mean, I have an interview soon, and we’ll see how that goes, but I’m kind of considering staying.”
“You are?”
Slowly, she nods, her movements bordering on uncertainty. “I mean, I love living in Boston. I even think I loved the idea of being a teacher. But now that I’m back home, I’ve realized how much I’ve missed being here and my family and this crazy little town.”
My first question is if I have anything to do with her decision. If whatever this is between us is adding to her reasons to stay. The question twists and floats across my tongue as I draw closer to her. Kennedy doesn’t move, but her eyes track me, attempting to read me just as I’m struggling to read her. I stop, leaving a short gap between us. Her emerald eyes dance from my lips to my eyes and back again, driving me to the brink of insanity. Still, I manage to remain still, noting her pupils dilating as each pass to my mouth takes longer.
“Would your parents be okay with us?”
Kennedy blinks several times, pushing through lust to reasoning. She frowns and then shakes her head, preparing me for rejection. “The entire town of Haven Point loves you. You’re like a local celebrity.”
I want to point out that her words are a contradiction to her action, but I settle for smiling.
“You just wanted me to admit that, didn’t you?” she asks, pursing her lips.
Honestly, I couldn’t care less what the town thinks of me. I care what she thinks, and because she respects and loves her family, I care what they think—but I don’t tell her that. I close the space between us with one step and wrap my hand around the back of her neck, pushing my fingers through her glossy hair.
There’s a war happening in her eyes as I look down at her. Her focus is on my lips, confirming she wants me to kiss her, but her stance is rigid, her back and shoulders straight.
“I asked about your parents, not the rest of the town. You chose to stroke my ego.”
“Well, I take it back.” She whispers the words, and when her lips don’t become pursed with frustration like they often do when we argue, I smile.
“Too late.”
I notice her lips starting to purse and lean forward to kiss her. She kisses me like she has something to prove. Whether to me, herself, or both of us, I’m not sure, but I allow her to set the pace while I try to focus on her and this moment rather than getting lost in how good I feel. How good she makes me feel.
When her lips press harder, so do her fingers into my back, and when her tongue slides along mine, her body bows into me, relying on me.
Her annoyance transforms into lust and builds into desire, and her arms encircle my neck, and her body becomes flush against mine.
I reach beneath the layers of her cotton shorts and underwear, and as my fingers run along her, Kennedy pulls her head back—her mouth open and her eyes closed. When my fingers stop, she leans forward and kisses me again, gripping me tighter, and when I touch her again, she pulls back, the same nearly silent gasp passing through her parted lips.
It drives me crazy and wild and absorbs each and every single one of my thoughts and memories until there is nothing in this world but her.
Chapter 20
Kennedy
It’s been a week since I began sleeping in Joey’s bed.
Seven nights he’s met me outside of my house, his back against the same chestnut tree. I often wonder if he’s becoming as addicted to this new schedule or realizes how much I am.
Seven nights I’ve gone over in my own clothes because his oversize T-shirts are far more comfortable than the camisoles and shorts I’ve been wearing for the past decade, thinking I looked feminine and sexy—even if there have been few people to look sexy for. Now, I opt to lie in a T-shirt that smells like laundry detergent and focus on the notes of Joey’s cologne staining my skin in the most delicious manner with scents of citrus and then cedar, followed by the underlying fragrance of leather. It’s intoxicating, and addictive. When his eyes roam unabashedly over my body, taking in each detail—I feel sexy. And when I see him the next day wearing the same T-shirt he slowly peeled from my body, I’m once again reminded of his hands running along my bare skin and the trails his lips followed over.
A dust rag hits me in the face, falling to the counter and dispersing my thoughts of Joey.
“What are you doing?” my sister asks.
I look to Grace and shake my head, pretending to act clueless—like I hadn’t been imagining Joey naked or counting down the hours until I climb back into his bed. “Nothing. I’m just tired.”
Blue eyes narrow with scrutiny. “You have this goofy look on your face.”
“Thanks . . .”
Grace laughs. “Seriously, though, what were you thinking about?”
“Nothing. I’m just tired.”
She smiles. Once upon a time, I thought I knew my sister. Believed I understood what made her tick. It’s taken me a decade of not living beside her and seeing her be torn apart by a stranger—and later, by memories of that stranger—to realize how much of her is what I remember her being like rather than who she’s become.
Though it’s difficult for me to admit, there are sides of Grace that I don’t understand and others that I don’t even know. This smile reveals one of those sides. I don’t know how to interpret it. Is she being playful? Teasing? Why does it look like she’s laughing at me because I’m the only one who doesn’t know a secret?
And then it dawns on me that she isn’t the only person who is a quandary for me. Dad has always been difficult—if not impossible—for me to read.
As quickly as the realization hits me, Grace is reaching for the company credit card that we keep in the cash register drawer. “I’m off to pick up lunch.”
“I thought Mom was bringing something in.” For years, my parents have either packed lunches, gone home in shifts, or Mom brings something hot in for us all to eat. It used to be a way to save money, and now it’s just habit.
Grace shakes her head. “Burgers and fries today.”
“From Frosty King?”
“Of course.”
My eyes grow with excitement. “Will you get me a strawberry milkshake?”
“Already ordered it.” Grace smiles, and like the sand shifting beneath a wave, so does my sister, and suddenly I recognize this smile—recognize her.
“Thanks.”
She winks and heads toward the door.
I should feel settled—relieved by the fact my sister and oldest friend isn’t the stranger I sometimes fear she is. But it creates a nagging in my head that is impossible to ignore.
The bell over the door rings, and I shift my thoughts aside and smile as Ella walks in.
“Hi, Kennedy.” Her smile is friendly, but there’s a shyness present that I haven’t noticed before.
“Hey!” I sound too happy and am likely smiling wider than a casual greeting warrants, but I can’t help it. I’ve been sleeping with Joey in the apartment over her garage, and something about this has me feeling both guilty and nervous.
She quickly pushes her dark hair behind an ear, her smile widening.
Mom comes in from the back room, smiling as well. “Hi, Ella. How have you been?”
“Good morning, Mrs. Wallace!” She turns her smile to my mom. “I’m great, thanks largely in part to you guys! That team of people you sent over to help install the insulation sped things up dramatically. They finished dry walling, and the taping and mudding is all done and dry, so I’m here to pick out some paint colors.”
Like anytime Mom receives a compliment, she beams. “I’m so glad we were able to give you a hand. I’m sure moving was hard enough. We wanted you guys to get situated and have it start feeling like your home.” Mom walks over to Ella and takes her arm. “We have paint samples
and swatches you can borrow that have all the colors, so you can decide at home with the correct lighting.” She leads her to the painting section, which is on the opposite side of the counter, and starts pulling large decks of samples down.
“Painting is a lot of work. Are the guys going to be doing it?” Mom asks.
Ella looks from my mom to me and then back, tucking her dark hair behind an ear again. “The guys are working on fixing the fence. It got broken in the windstorm, so I’m actually going to get started on it and see how it goes.” Ella smiles sheepishly. “I was a single mom for a long time, and painting was one of the DIY projects I learned to do pretty quickly on my own.”
I’ve never considered Ella being a single parent. Coen fits in so seamlessly with her and Hayden that it’s difficult for me to imagine him having not been a part of their family.
“You’re going to paint all by yourself?” Mom asks.
Ella smiles, accepting my mother’s onslaught of questions. “Well, they’ll be around if I need help.”
“Kennedy will go with you!”
Mom’s suggestion leaves me speechless. My eyes bore into her shoulder, pleading with her to stop.
But Mom ignores me. “She used to help her dad paint when we hired out projects. She’s great at cutting and making sure there are no drips or lines. Plus, it would be good for her to get out and make a new friend. Since she’s been back, all she does is work or go swimming.”
Or sleep with Ella’s future brother-in-law . . .
“I don’t want to intrude.” My voice sounds raspy, my words uncertain, because the last thing I want to do is offend Ella.
Mom drops her chin, looking at me over the top of her gold-rimmed glasses. “Nonsense. This will be great.”
Ella smiles timidly and glances toward the door. My embarrassment grows with her clear discomfort. “That would be great.”
If this were any other resident here in Haven Point, I’d likely be considering my missed milkshake and burger, which Dad would likely polish off without guilt. But all I can think of is how incredibly awkward this is going to be.
Mom talks to Ella about dimensions and paint finishes as Ella selects a color.
