It Matters To Me (The Wandering Hearts Book 2)

by Wendy Owens

  “Yeah, it’s no big deal.” I shrug my shoulders, sighing a breath of relief when I see on the app that the driver will arrive in three minutes.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t have any more cash on me, but—” he stops, looking over his shoulder up the stairs.

  “It sounds like the pups are getting rowdy again,” I say smiling.

  “Kenzie, you did an excellent job today. Let me thank you by taking you out to dinner.”

  My brows narrow. Is he trying to ask me on some sort of date? “It’s a job. You thanked me by paying me what you said you would. Well, that and by not being a psycho serial killer and chopping me up into a million pieces.”

  He laughs and adds, “Jesus, you’re funny.”

  “Seriously, we’re good. Thanks for the work.” I wave the money between us before shoving it into my shoulder bag.

  “I’m serious, you did a great job, and I want to take you out to dinner to discuss business,” he continues.

  “Business?”

  Another thundering thud comes from the loft. He turns to look up the stairs in a panic, then turns back to me. “Yeah, would tonight work?”

  Considering that was probably the most fun I’ve ever had at any job, I nod.

  “Text me your number and I’ll send you the details,” he shouts over his shoulder as the door automatically shuts behind him. I realize I’m smiling as the Uber driver pulls up. I get in the car, and in a panic check my back pocket to ensure I still have his card with his number. It’s there. I squeal, and the Uber driver gives me the ‘you’re weird’ glare as well.

  I STARE IN THE MIRROR, questioning my outfit choice. Does it say professional or … frumpy? Frumpy. Absolutely. Outfit choice one screamed uptight Catholic girl; two shouted horny girl open for business, and now I’ve rocketed straight to frumptastic.

  What am I doing? Are you an idiot, Kenzie? What are the odds this is actually a business dinner? I blow out a breath of air, my lips flapping wildly as I wonder if my doubt as to Aiden’s motives is from wisdom or hope. I shake my head, returning to my closet, pulling out my favorite skinny jeans with the tattered hole in the knee.

  My head snaps to where I dropped my bag near the door. A reminder sounds of an earlier ignored message. I walk over and retrieve my phone. Half expecting to see Ben’s name on the screen, I breathe a sigh of relief when I spy the text that is there instead.

  Anna: You alive still?

  Smiling, I type my reply.

  Me: Barely.

  Though I failed to mention my photography job to my bestie—let’s be real here, it was only supposed to be one gig— apparently, my mother had taken it upon herself to call and fill her in on all the details. Perhaps it’s my fault for clueing my mother in on the fact that Aiden was a mega hottie. Either way, as soon as I was in the car, heading home, I discovered a voicemail from Annabelle informing me she expected a full debriefing.

  Anna: :/

  Not funny.

  Me: A little funny.

  Anna: So everything was okay?

  Me: Yep.

  Anna: Vague much?

  Me: Not much to tell. He did slip in dog crap.

  Anna: Gross!

  Me: Not all bad.

  Anna: How is dog crap not all bad?

  Me: It meant he had to shower.

  Anna: Alone?

  Me: Yes! But …

  Anna: But what???

  I wait. Saying nothing. Knowing the silence is torture. I type a few letters to give the appearance I’m replying then delete them, delighting in her frustration.

  Anna: Let me guess, he talks from his genitals?

  Me: LOL! How exactly does that work?

  Anna: You know what I’m saying ;)

  Me: Not sure if he was even interested. Guess we’ll see tonight.

  Anna: You slut! What’s tonight?

  I laugh.

  Me: Please. Hope you know me better that that.

  Anna: I stand by my previous statement.

  Me: He says it’s business. Quit worrying. It’s in a public place.

  Anna: What about Ben?

  Me: How many times do we need to do this?

  Anna: Until I’m convinced this isn’t just a fight.

  Me: IT’S NOT!

  Anna: Do you miss him?

  Me: Yes, but I’m not mad it’s over.

  Anna: Sad?

  Me: Maybe. All I know is I need to work on me right now.

  Anna: Holy hell, my Kenz is sounding so grown up.

  I send the most unflattering picture I can of me flipping her off.

  Anna: Keeping it classy.

  Me: ;)

  Anna: I love you too, babe. Have fun. Call me!

  Me: Have you seen Kenzie?

  Callie: Trouble in paradise, lover?

  I roll my eyes at her response. Leave it to Callie to never miss an opportunity to flirt, even if it’s with one of her friends’ boyfriend. Boyfriend? Is that what I still am? I feel a panic creep into my chest.

  Me: I’m getting worried about her.

  Callie: She bailed on girl’s night and our night of debauchery.

  I pause, allowing an ounce of hope to enter my thoughts.

  Me: Did she say why?

  Callie: Girl stuff.

  What the hell does that mean? I wonder.

  “Screw this,” I growl, scrolling through my contacts and clicking on Kenzie’s name.

  I wait, listening to each ring as I hold my breath. Answer. Answer. Please Answer.

  “Hello?” There’s hesitation in her voice, but I don’t care, she answered.

  “Kenz? Are you okay?”

  There’s the hesitation again. Then a breath into the phone, followed by silence.

  “Kenz?” I ask, my voice shaking.

  “I’m here,” she answers softly.

  “Where have you been?” I try my best to start the conversation, but I can’t seem to shield my anger and frustration.

  “Around.” She gives me nothing. There’s the stubborn girl I know so well.

  I imagine what she looks like on the other end of the line. Does she have her hair collected into her signature loose, top-of-the-head bun, or is she letting her red tresses fall and frame her face like she knows I like?

  “Can we talk?” I growl.

  She doesn’t lose control. There’s no crack in her voice or stress in her breathing. She’s confident and sure when she replies. “There’s nothing left to talk about.”

  “How can you say that?” I snap.

  “I don’t have time for this.”

  Her words hurt more than I believe they were intended to.

  “Why?” I demand. “Where are you going?” The curiosity overwhelms me as I imagine her rushing off to meet another man. Don’t, I tell myself. That’s not Kenz. She wouldn’t leave you for someone else. But, as the silence lingers after my question, the doubt begins to grow. Would she?

  She sighs and my eyes close. An uneasy feeling wraps itself around my ankles, anchoring me to the spot where I’m standing. Something shifts in my heart and I’m suddenly unsure of everything.

  “Ben, I meant it when I said—”

  “Kenz,” I interject, wanting more than anything in the world for her not to say the words I know are coming next.

  “We’re done.” But she says them anyway. “I have to go,” she says before I can string together the perfect sentence. The sentence that will fix it all; the sentence that will win her back. There’s a click and then a deafening silence.

  “Kenz?” I question, even though I already know she’s hung up. “Damn it!” I shout, my desperation transforming into anger again.

  I imagine her big doe eyes, the pools of jade sparkling.

  “Everything okay son?” My dad’s voice cuts through the thoughts.

  “Huh?” I gasp. “Oh yeah, fine.” I lie.

  “Good, then if you’re done with your love life drama, Mr. Thompson has been waiting over thirty minutes for his oil change,” my father teases. I smile weak
ly, thankful for the distraction.

  Hesitating, I think of claiming the last word in the conversation with Kenzie by sending a text, but then think better of it, shoving the phone into my pocket.

  HONEY. I’VE PASSED THE RESTAURANT a couple dozen times but have never been inside. While it is a casual place, it also isn’t a restaurant in mine or Ben’s budget. When Aiden texted me the location, I considered asking that we go somewhere else. Then curiosity got the better of me. After all, when else will I have the chance to eat at the chic farm-to-table eatery?

  Stepping inside, I see the hostess speaking to a young couple in front of me. My eyes dart around the open floor plan, an exposed brick wall, bare industrial ceilings, and reclaimed wood from floor to ceiling. I snicker to myself as I notice there’s no shortage of hipster diners. Ben would hate this place.

  My phone buzzes and I retrieve it from my small black handbag. My chest tightens. Speak of the devil. He just won’t let this drop, no matter how many times I tell him we’re not getting back together.

  Ben: Where are you?

  Me: It doesn’t matter.

  Ben: It Matters to Me.

  My eyes involuntarily roll. I’m sure very little matters to Ben, other than Ben.

  Me: Well it shouldn’t.

  Ben: What is that supposed to mean?

  Me: It means it’s not your concern anymore.

  Ben: Seriously Kenz, where in the hell are you?

  Me: We’re done Ben.

  Ben: Fine, whatever.

  His final text stabs through my heart like a hot poker of truth. I want him to leave me alone—why does it hurt so badly every time we interact? I want to tell him I’ll always love him. I want to tell him that this has nothing to do with who he is, but everything to do with who we are together—but how can I? He’ll never understand because he thinks when we’re together we’re perfect. He can’t stop long enough to look at us and see that together we’re all wrong. We hardly interact with one another when we’re in the same room. I can be sitting right next to him and yet I’m further from him than I’ve ever been.

  I look down at my screen, and see the dots indicating Ben is unleashing the mother of all text messages to me. I moan in frustration, unsure why I ever thought a break up with him would be easy.

  “There she is,” I hear, followed by a pause. I look up to Aiden’s smile, as he’s standing behind the hostess. He’s dressed in a pair of jeans that hug his hips and bottom in a way that my eyes can’t stop themselves from lingering. A blue sweater is pulled over a button up plaid shirt, the tails of which peek out from the bottom of the wool top layer. He’s hot, but in a way that looks like he doesn’t even try. I, on the other hand, spent most of the evening trying on everything in my closet. And ended up deciding on one of Ben’s favorite outfits.

  Quickly I shove my phone into my handbag and force a smile.

  “Right this way,” the hostess offers with a wave of her well-manicured hand. I envy her ability to enjoy her job. I smile and walk next to Aiden as we follow the petite and cheery brunette.

  “Everything okay?” Aiden whispers. My back stiffens as I feel his warm breath on my neck, just below my ear.

  I smile through my lie. “Fine.”

  We sit. I glance at the single page menu, trying not to think about the multiple vibrations in my purse, indicating additional messages from Ben.

  My mouth begins to water as I read the description of the roasted half chicken on top of mashed butternut squash and potatoes. I look up at Aiden. He runs his fingers through his hair, his eyes intensely narrowed at the page of delectable yumminess in front of him.

  I bite my lip, apprehensively pulling my phone out into my lap, even though I know I shouldn’t. It doesn’t matter how many times I tell myself not to look at that damn screen. I can’t help it, I have to look.

  Ben: I guess I’ll just start telling myself I’m over you and the way you look in that little black dress.

  Damn him and damn this dress. Why didn’t I go with the torn jeans? Why did I have to switch to Ben’s favorite right before I left?

  Ben: I’m not sure if it’s the way you felt in my arms or the way you always laughed at my jokes that’s making this so hard. Perhaps it’s the man you make me want to be. I can’t quit thinking about that crinkle in your nose when you smile, but if it’s what you truly want, I’ll try. I’ll keep telling myself I’m over you and hope I might start to believe it. I doubt that’s possible.

  My head is spinning, and all of the air is leaving my chest as if I’ve been punched in the gut. Years together and he has never managed to put two romantic words together, let alone something so eloquent. I glance down at my black dress— the black dress. A tear escapes. Damn it Ben. My thoughts are swimming in a whirlpool of confusion.

  “Kenzie,” Aiden begins. He can see me, through the smoke and the cloudy exterior I try to put up. He sees the pain, everyone can see it. I hate I can’t hide it. “What’s wrong?”

  I gasp, shaking my head. My heart feels as if it’s shrinking into a pile of dead ash by the moment. “I’m so sorry. Just ignore me,” I force a laugh through my watery gaze and tight throat.

  He reaches across the table, placing a hand just short of mine. I wonder if his skin is warm, if his flesh would be comforting to me or alarming. “I’m a pretty good listener,” he offers in a tender tone.

  His sincerity surprises me. The concerned eyes and empathetic smile seem different from the man I worked alongside all day.

  I laugh again, hoping it diminishes the perceived drama that I’m sure it must sound like I’m spewing. “Just guy trouble.”

  “Ah, I see.” He sits back and smiles in a way that makes me think he has jumped to the wrong conclusion.

  I shake my head. “No, I don’t think you do.” I’m not one of those pathetic girls that desperately chases after a man who doesn’t want her, and from his glare, I can see he thinks I am exactly that pathetic.

  He presses his lips together, crossing his arms. “Let me guess…” He taps his chin with a single finger as he studies me.

  I lift my eyebrows. “This should be interesting,” I snark.

  “No, come on now, give me a chance,” he continues. “I’m good at this stuff.”

  “What stuff is that?”

  “Reading people,” he answers.

  “Is that right?”

  He lifts his shoulders casually and shrugs, and I catch a quick flutter of his eyes. “I can’t help it. It’s a talent I was born with.”

  I go to bite the inside of my jaw, trying to stop myself from throwing down the gauntlet, but it’s too late, my tongue is quicker than my teeth and the words leap from my mouth. “Okay then, let’s hear it. What is it you think my guy trouble is?”

  “You don’t need me to tell you, you already know.”

  I smirk though inside I’m relieved. “Exactly. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  He’s no longer looking at me with humor in his eyes. There’s a seriousness to them now. Like the one he got when he was in work mode at the studio. “No Kenzie, I know exactly what I’m talking about.”

  He leans forward, eyeing me from side to side. I swallow hard. He continues, folding his hands in front of him, “You thought you had met Mr. Right. Everything was headed toward that big final happily ever after and wedding bells. But something wasn’t right.”

  He pauses. He doesn’t take his eyes off of me as I shift uncomfortably in my seat. I want to tell him he’s wrong, but so far he has hit the proverbial nail on the head.

  “Something changed, though. Maybe him … maybe you. Or maybe the problem was nothing ever changed. Regardless, you realized you wanted more, but he’s having a hard time letting go.” He shakes his head. “But what do I know, right?”

  “How did you—” I stop myself, balling my trembling hand into a fist in my lap.

  “I told you, it’s a skill,” he adds, offering a crooked smile.

  “Actually, it sounds like a
borderline stalkerish skill.” I taunt, attempting to redirect the attention away from the uncomfortable topic.

  He shrugs, lifting one eye mischievously in my direction.

  “Oh, I’m feeling much better now,” I laugh.

  “Look, Kitten, you’re going—”

  I interrupt. “Did you just call me kitten?”

  “Wow,” he laughs shaking his head before burying his flushed face into his hands. “I must sound like a total jackass.”

  “You could say that,” I agree.

  “My girlfriend was Kitten.”

  “Ugh, I don’t know what’s worse. The fact that you just accidentally called me by your girlfriend’s pet name or the fact that you had the pet name kitten for her,” I proclaim.

  “No, that was her name,” he corrects me.

  I gasp, nearly choking on my own spit. “Please tell me you’re pulling my leg,” I plead with him.

  He lifts his hands in surrender. “Hey, I didn’t name her.”

  “No, you actually chose to date someone with the name of a cute, cuddly animal.”

  “So you’re into judging books by their covers?” he asks, his face suddenly serious again and I wonder if it’s too soon in our relationship to mock the name of his ex-girlfriend.