Right from the Start

by Jeanie London

  As far as Kenzie was concerned, Hendersonville was the model for healthy family living, abounding with opportunities to engage in community and outdoor activities and culture. Not too rural. Not too urban. Perfect. Which was why she’d chosen her hometown as the base for her agency.

  Because she liked living here.

  The very thought of working in this beautiful building made her breath catch, which is why she’d arrived a few minutes early to her appointment. She needed to wrap her brain around this unexpected opportunity so she could think clearly and weigh the offer with reason, not emotion.

  The Family Foundations Project.

  The certified letter had arrived just before the close of yesterday’s business day with an invitation to participate in the project by relocating her agency into this building. If she understood the letter correctly, the city would cover the cost of renovations to meet her agency’s specific requirements, and she’d contract for an extended period at a very reasonable rent.

  An opportunity of a lifetime?

  She’d heard of the Family Foundations Project but was sketchy on details. She didn’t care for walking into any meeting unprepared, but there had simply been no time for research. By the time she’d gotten home from last night’s class and finished prepping for today’s meetings, she’d barely been able to keep her eyes open. So she’d jotted down a list of questions to ask the mayoral representative. Lots and lots of questions.

  Her cell phone beeped, and Kenzie glanced at the display. Time to go. Would not do to keep the mayoral representative waiting. She’d barely crossed the street and knocked when those glass-paned front doors flung wide and a man appeared.

  “Good morning, Ms. James.” His voice was rich-timbered and male, a voice equally comfortable at hushed conversations by candlelight or projecting over a crowd. And a bit throaty, too, as if he hadn’t been awake long. “Thanks for coming today.”

  Kenzie barely had time to shake off that ridiculously personal thought before he extended his hand. “Will Russell.”

  The first thing Kenzie noticed was how big his hands were, long-fingered and strong with the rough skin of a hardworking man but a grip unexpectedly gentle.

  The second thing she noticed was that his name sounded familiar. For a suspended instant, she racked her brain to remember why—an effort because his fast smile blinded her.

  Figuratively, of course, but she mentally shook herself. By the time she’d slipped her hand from his and realized she hadn’t yet replied because she was too busy staring, she belatedly said, “Kenzie James.”

  He motioned her inside, and she stepped past him into the once-familiar reception area. “You’re the mayoral representative for Family Foundations?”

  “I am.” He shut the door and beelined to the refreshments set up in the former reception window.

  Kenzie stared at the neat line of Will’s business haircut. He was a big man, physical in an earthy, I-work-with-my-hands sort of way. Not so much crazy tall or overly muscular, just a bit off scale. Athletic, broad-shouldered. Larger than life in a way that made her think of old movie stars like Clark Gable, debonair and charming.

  “I know it’s early,” he said genially. “But with the short notice I was afraid I wouldn’t make it on to your schedule, so I brought coffee.”

  He seemed so eager to make up for the perceived inconvenience that Kenzie didn’t have the heart to decline. Particularly since he looked as if he could use a cup himself.

  “Black, thank you.”

  While she waited, marveling over her remarkable awareness of this man, Kenzie remembered why Will Russell was familiar.

  A man for the people.

  She could practically see his face on the campaign propaganda that had arrived in her mailbox during the last municipal election. His expressions had ranged from smiling to thoughtful to somber, depending on the issue.

  He’d campaigned on his blue-collar roots because he hadn’t had political experience. A local business owner, if memory served. He’d won his seat. Coming face-to-face with that blinding smile and those dimples suggested a reason why.

  Even so, Kenzie hadn’t voted for him.

  Well, weren’t they off to an interesting start? Will probably had no clue that this process would have been so much simpler had the mayor pro tempore or any of the other council members shown up.

  Someone who hadn’t already crossed Kenzie’s path.

  Did Will even know his ex-wife—his last ex-wife—had consulted with Positive Partings during their divorce?

  The man certainly didn’t act as if he knew. He seemed perfectly cordial as he offered her the first cup before pouring one for himself and taking a sip.

  “Why don’t we look around, Kenzie?” he suggested. “I’ll tell you about the council’s offer then address your questions. Sound good?”

  She nodded and placed a firm lid on her reaction. She didn’t know Will personally, so judging him based on one side of a story wouldn’t be kind or fair. If the mayor sent him to represent her, then Kenzie needed to give him a chance. She had a high regard for the mayor—Hendersonville’s first female mayor—who was as laid-back and delightful to be around as she was politically effective.

  So Kenzie followed Will through a doorway and stepped inside an open room that looked exactly as she remembered. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors made up the rear wall with a ballet barre running the length.

  “Great light and lots of space,” Will said. “Building was outfitted with central heat and air-conditioning a good twenty-five years ago, judging from the system. It’ll get new units and ductwork once we confirm how to parcel up the square footage. Place needs updates, but the building is structurally sound.”

  Kenzie took in the windows at intervals along the one wall, allowing light in. The early-morning sun illuminated dust motes of a building too long unused, wistful from the memories of the bright lights and all the activity of her memories.

  “Have you heard anything about the Family Foundations Project?” he asked.

  Kenzie sipped the coffee then admitted, “Not much, I’m afraid. Family Foundations was an issue during the last election. The project addresses some areas targeted for renewal by the mayor.”

  “That’s actually more than most people know. Unfortunately, turnout for local elections is dismal. Easy to get the impression no one cares. Glad that’s not the case.”

  “It’s a challenge to keep up with the issues,” she said. “I don’t come close, but I do make a point of attempting to catch up before I head into my precinct to vote.”

  “Did you vote for me?” He flashed that smile, blinding her with the glare.

  What was up with her and this man’s smile? “I did not.”

  “I’m crushed.” Humor showed deep in his striking eyes, gray and so clear they seemed to sparkle. “May I ask why? Just generally. Was it district or about a specific issue? The council is nonpartisan, so accountability? Availability? I’m guessing it wasn’t about political experience because the guy I ran against had less than I did, which is saying something.”

  Did he grill every voter? She supposed it was a natural politician question, but he surprised her with his candor. She sidestepped answering by asking a question of her own. “I was unaware of your experience.”

  “A three-year term on the Historic Preservation Commission. That’s why I know so much about the Main Street Advisory Board. They’ve been working on revitalization of the downtown district since long b
efore I came on board. It’s largely because of the new historic status of the area that we’ve been able to get funding. We’re improving the infrastructure trying to grow tourism and new business. All good stuff. You’re invited to be a part.”

  “First question.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Why me?” Her agency hadn’t yet celebrated its second anniversary, and one typically had to be involved in government bureaucracy to even know Positive Partings existed.

  Or be familiar with the divorce process.

  Which Will Russell was, with not one but two divorces behind him. And he couldn’t be much older than she was. Thirty-ish? He’d never attended her classes. Of that she was certain. There was simply no overlooking this man.

  Idly sliding a hand along the barre, he gave an occasional tug as if testing the stability. Then he met her gaze in the mirror, addressing her question with his undivided attention.

  “Family Foundations targets public services, downtown revitalization, economic growth, infrastructure and family support. You’re a locally based agency doing public service work for our community that’s directly related to families.

  “This building sits on the outer boundary of the Main Street Historic District, so it qualifies for renovation funds. But we can’t allocate those funds until we have tenants to provide steady revenue and, because we’re using the city’s money, there are guidelines for tenancy.”

  Kenzie was suddenly glad for the coffee, which provided a chance to glance at her cup and avoid the intensity of his gaze. “The letter mentioned sharing the space.”

  “The other tenant will be Angel House. It’s a local resource center for families and a preschool for exceptional students.”

  Sipping her coffee, she kept her gaze fixed on her cup and asked, “What sort of exceptionalities?”

  “Primarily autism but other pervasive developmental disorders along the spectrum like Asperger’s.”

  Kenzie considered that. “Two local businesses that serve the community through family support. Divorce and special needs. One provides services through the public court. The other through private education. One business deals exclusively with adults, while the other deals with children. Family Foundations is covering all the bases, isn’t it?”

  He raised his cup in a mock toast. “Very good. People may not always agree on the issues, but everyone wants their tax dollars at work where they can see it. We’re trying to hit as many demographics as possible.”

  Kenzie could practically feel approval radiating off him. This man wore his heart on his sleeve. She had no idea why, but his inner child was instigating her inner child in a big way. She could feel his intensity straight to her toes.

  Chemistry. Honestly.

  Running a hand along a windowpane, she glanced out at South Main Street, at the traffic rolling past, at the people on the street even this early in the day. Such an incredible location. “So who decides how space will be allocated? Preschoolers need room to run around.”

  “This is a big building. A former dance studio.” He pulled on the barre to emphasize his point. “There’s a recital hall in the back. When you count the parking lot, this place encompasses an entire city block. We’ll create two separate facilities. The exact square footage will depend on your needs.”

  “Who gets the parking lot?” The lot was to the side of the building, cleverly accessible from West Orchard Street rather than Main, which could have created difficult traffic situations or limited accessibility during rush hour.

  And there was usually plenty of activity on the street, so Kenzie wouldn’t feel so isolated getting to her car after night classes. A definite minus for her current location.

  Most folks were pleasant enough, usually inconvenienced to attend court-ordered classes and wanting to get in and out as fast as possible more than anything else. But her career hadn’t been free of stressful incidents. Such was the nature of dealing with the adversarial divorce process.

  “The lot will be accessible to both tenants,” he reassured her. “There’s plenty of room even for the school staff, and, if for some reason you need overflow, there are the metered lots nearby.” He covered the distance between them with a few long strides. Then he was so close she had to tip her head to meet his gaze.

  She resisted the urge to step away.

  He gazed out the window toward the parking lot in question, which was barely visible from this vantage. The morning sun backlit his profile, cast his expression in shadow.

  “We’ve got some preliminary plans drawn up,” he said. “Nothing firm, of course, but every possibility sections the building from front to back, not side by side as you might expect with this much square footage. Your agency will benefit from the visibility of Main Street since you deal primarily with the general public. Angel House will have considerably more square footage, but they’ll take the back portion of the building with the recital hall entrance on South Wall Street. It’s more appropriate for a school setting. How does that sound to you?”

  “Definitely can’t beat the address.”

  That pleased him. She could tell by the way his expression eased, turning down the intensity a notch. “Come on.”

  Motioning toward the door, he led her into the other smaller studios and administrative offices that made up the remainder of the first floor. “I want you to see the whole place so you can imagine your agency here. I understand you need more space for classrooms. Is that right?”

  “Eventually,” she said noncommittally. Not only did she intend to expand service by hiring more instructors, but also to start training educators from all over the state. Divorcing parent education needed consistency to be effective.

  She’d already laid the groundwork with the state. In fact, that was one of the main reasons she’d ventured into opening her own agency. Through the years, she’d garnered a lot of support to fill the need for quality education.

  She hadn’t dared to hope for a location so close to the city center, an address that lent her credibility in such a big way.

  Without Family Foundations, she could never afford such a high-visibility location.

  “Who knew dancers needed so much space, right?” Will commented. “There are a lot of mirrors.”

  “And ballet barres.”

  A dimple flashed. “These rooms are perfect classroom size, don’t you think? The square footage ratio for your students is something like ninety or a hundred to one, I believe.”

  At least one of them had done his research. Kenzie wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Or by the way the deep-throated sound of his voice made it difficult to concentrate.

  She didn’t mention that she and this building were old friends, allowed him to tour her through the familiar rooms and do most of the talking, explaining the merits of relocating, talking about the work that needed to be done.

  “If you require a really big classroom, we could leave this room as is. It’s already designed for the public with the separate restroom facilities. All we need to do is get some fixtures in this second bathroom. Plumbing is already there.”

  “Oh, sounds easy enough.” Once upon a time that bathroom could hold at least ten girls, all laughing and dodging practices. The other room had been a dressing area where the students could change out of their street clothes.

  “Can you use a classroom this size?” he asked.

  The man was getting more direct, probably wanted to gauge her interest and had realized he was doing
most of the talking.

  “I could.”

  “Good.” He met her gaze with a curious one of his own, and she wondered if he thought she was being purposely evasive.

  She wasn’t. She simply was taken aback. By this unexpected offer. By Will Russell. By the way she kept getting distracted by the sparkly color of his eyes and the throaty sound of his voice and his big hands that seemed to swallow the cup he held.

  “Come on. Let’s get a refill,” he finally said. “Don’t know about you but I could use more caffeine. We’ll go by way of the second floor so you can see upstairs. Then I can show you where we propose to divide the building.”

  Had she not already known something about this man’s character, she might have felt reassured and not as if he was trying to sell her. But Kenzie did know something. From what she’d heard, he was a ruthless charmer used to getting his way.

  And he wanted something from her. He had something at stake here. She could feel it as surely as she could feel her own unexpected awareness of him.

  “How did you hear about my agency, Will?” she asked as he allowed her to precede him up the staircase that opened to an area that had once held racks upon racks of costumes.

  “Divine intervention.” He chuckled, a rich sound that echoed in the confines of the empty room. “A judge with the family court apparently thinks highly of your work. She sits on a board with another affiliate of Family Foundations. Your agency came up as a possibility.”

  Judge Geraldine Parrish had likely been the one to toss Kenzie’s name into the hat. Geri wasn’t only a longtime supporter, but also an equally longtime family friend.

  “So are you a possibility, Kenzie? How do you like what you see so far?”

  No more subtle probing. She glanced around the room with two lovely canopied windows that opened over the alley. Since the shop next door was only one floor, the room got plenty of light over the pitched roof. Perfect for a mediation room, she decided, spacious and private enough to fit couples, attorneys, advocates if they had them.