Not all of it. Not even Kenzie understood why she had practically melted at the sight of the man. “Just want to make sure I don’t miss anything since I do have this information.”
“Smart girl. What did your father say?”
“He said I should go for it.”
“I think you should, too, as long as you don’t have any other hesitations except for Will’s potential character flaws. He’ll be out of your hair after the renovations. And who knows, maybe this is his way of contributing to society for past indiscretions. The private school that’ll be sharing the building was affiliated with a Catholic Church. Maybe the man’s having a conversion experience.”
Kenzie remembered what he’d said about covering every demographic. He’d been up front about that at least.
“Kenzie, if you’re still undecided after a good night’s sleep, stall for a few hours in the morning. We’ll be together all day tomorrow reviewing cases. We’ll make time to talk.” Geri chuckled. “We always make time to talk.”
“True, true.” Kenzie smiled. “You’re right. A good night’s sleep to process this abundance of information and I’ll be able to think more clearly in the morning. Thanks for all your help.”
“What else did I have to do with my weekend?” Geri asked. “Aside from catch up on everything I haven’t done because I spend every waking moment in the courtroom or my chambers.”
“You’re the best.”
“Ditto, kiddo. Whatever you decide will be the right thing to do. Remember that.”
Kenzie crossed her fingers.
* * *
A DECENT NIGHT’S sleep and Kenzie did indeed feel refreshed and more confident in her ability to brush aside impressions that shouldn’t factor into business decisions about her agency.
Will Russell’s personal life was none of her business.
Would she have been so troubled by the specifics of his custody battle had she not reacted so unexpectedly to the man? In the dawn of a new morning, Kenzie suspected not.
So, feeling more at peace than she had since coming face-to-face with the man representing Family Foundations, she headed into town at the crack of dawn. She was scheduled to be in Geri’s chambers when the courthouse opened, so this was her last chance to be alone with her choices before her time was up.
After parking at the courthouse, Kenzie walked down Main Street to the bakery, where she treated herself to a piping hot latte and croissant. Then she walked to the city park in the brisk morning air.
Hendersonville resided on a plateau in the Blue Ridge Mountains at an elevation that produced a frigid chill on this early morning. But she embraced every second of being outdoors, knowing what the day ahead held in store for her. Long hours in Geri’s chambers, where they would review cases and tailor the educational programs Positive Partings provided parents party to custody and visitation action.
Between case reviews they would chat. Geri had laughed about how much time they spent talking, but they simply didn’t get together often enough, which turned every meeting into those of the marathon variety. Kenzie normally packed enough food for lunch and dinner so they wouldn’t have to waste time leaving the courthouse for a restaurant.
The cold air and steaming latte cleared away the traces of fog in her brain. There were plenty of people in the park although many of the businesses hadn’t yet opened. Main Street with its parks, squares and flower-filled easements made for an environment where people would feel welcomed and comfortable visiting Positive Partings.
Sipping her latte, she watched a young mother in sweats jog while adeptly pushing a double stroller holding toddlers.
There was an elderly couple, dressed to meet the morning air with scarves wrapped around their necks, an example of longtime love as they strolled along hand in hand, looking so comfortable together. Kenzie knew that look well since her own parents had been married over fifty years.
A group of women who were likely tourists with wide-brimmed hats and cameras gathered in front of the focal point of this small park—a memorial statue of a long-dead city patron—to take photos. Whether old friends or friendships in the making, they chatted animatedly and appeared to be having fun.
Then Kenzie saw him.
Suddenly he was all she could see, as if the world vanished from her periphery when he materialized, a manifestation of all the weekend’s deliberation and effort and uncertainty.
He crossed the street at a steady clip, wearing a business suit similar to the one he’d worn while touring her through Madame Estelle’s. He carried a child’s ball under one arm, but it wasn’t until he emerged from around a parked car that she saw the young boy whose hand he held.
His son?
A few more steps and Kenzie realized the adorable little boy couldn’t have been anyone else. The same glossy black hair. The same dimples. He hurried along on sturdy legs, visibly excited, clearly sharing the same brisk energy of his dad.
The son who had been fought over by his parents. Will had won custody. Kenzie wondered why. There was a reason. That much she knew. A legitimate placement for this little boy’s well-being? Or simply the result of one parent outmaneuvering the other through an adversarial, and often-flawed, divorce process?
She set down the croissant, suddenly without appetite, and reminded herself—yet again—that Will Russell’s personal life wasn’t any of her business.
That didn’t seem to make a difference. Not when she couldn’t keep her eyes off him. He didn’t appear to notice her, though, clearly not suffering the same malady of heightened awareness and curiosity. He stopped in a clearing, deposited his son and took off with long-legged strides.
The other day, she’d had the impression of big, but seeing him now, both his muscular build and easy athleticism pegged him as a very physical man. Masculine, but with a strength that was visibly contained, gentled somehow, as he rolled the ball to his son, who caught it eagerly and rolled it back.
Back and forth. Back and forth.
Their game wore on for a surprising length of time, a steady, repetitive effort that seemed to please the boy. Maybe six, Kenzie guessed, somewhere around kindergarten age.
She distracted herself by breaking off pieces of croissant to feed the squirrels who ventured near, tails twitching as they looked for a handout. The attempt at distraction was a failure, but Kenzie persisted, thoughts trailing to her initial consultation with that little boy’s mother.
“We’ve been formally separated for over a year but haven’t lived together for closer to two,” the woman explained.
She was beautiful in that classic, porcelain-complexioned way that Kenzie, with her fuzzy red hair and freckles, had spent most of her life dreaming about. As if the woman had stepped off the cover of a magazine stylishly dressed with her long, slim skirt and silky blond hair. She smiled warmly, and Kenzie had no trouble seeing why this confident woman made a successful career in public relations.
“I want the divorce to happen as seamlessly as possible,” she said. “There’s no conflict. My husband and I both want what’s in the best interest of our son.”
Kenzie appreciated the sentiment and where this woman, and supposedly her husband, placed their emphasis. “Then you’ve come to the right place. Positive Partings specializes in the collaborative divorce process.”
“I did my homework. Your agency comes highly recommended.”
“I’m pleased to hear that. Today’s consultation will let
you know what the agency can do for you. Positive Partings has the resources and network to navigate you through a smooth divorce from start to finish.”
“Smooth sounds good.”
“I’ll send you home with information today, so you can begin to give some thought to parenting arrangements, division of marital property and the support you expect from your husband. If you decide to retain my services, we’ll meet again to review your information and prioritize. Basically we’ll determine your range, Mrs. Russell, the things you’re willing to negotiate and the things you’re not.”
“My son,” she said earnestly. “Not negotiable.”
Kenzie met her gaze, recognized the sudden glint in big blue eyes, the tension that made a porcelain expression seem brittle enough to crack.
“Of course,” she said softly. “Your son’s well-being is most important. You can familiarize me with the situation before scheduling our first conference with your husband. Sound good?”
The woman only nodded, still managing her reaction.
Kenzie stepped into the breach. “Generally we’ll meet for up to two hours during that initial discussion then table anything that doesn’t get worked out. We’ll keep meeting until we come up with an equitable arrangement. In between these conferences, you’ll meet with an attorney who practices collaborative family law to have your legal questions answered. Positive Partings provides access to the family court and divorcing parent classes and any other professionals who may be needed along the way.”
“My son,” Mrs. Russell said with effort. “He’s really the only thing I care about. A little boy needs his mom.”
The sound of laughter dragged Kenzie back to this moment, and with the memory of Mrs. Russell’s heartfelt admission still ringing in her ears, Kenzie glanced instinctively toward the sound to find Will laughing as the ball soared past his son.
To her surprise, Will was the one who went after it, running past his son and heading straight toward her.
He caught the ball in an athletic lunge just as she extended her legs to block it from rolling under the bench and toward the street.
“Sorry about that.” Laughter echoed in that deep, resonant voice, but he didn’t immediately realize who she was. Likely because he was looking at her legs. By the time his gaze made it to her face, recognition sparked in his clear eyes. “Kenzie.”
“Good morning, Will.” So much for stalling until the last possible second.
He glanced at his son, then he straightened with the ball clasped in his hands, so she had to tip her head to meet his gaze.
Her heart started to race.
“An unexpected pleasure.” His charm was turned on full force in one fast smile. “Hope I’ll be hearing some good news from you this morning.”
He didn’t put her on the spot exactly, only voiced his hopes in a simple, forthright way in that full-bodied voice that struck her in such an absurdly physical way.
But that observation came through the filter of Kenzie’s adult mind. Her inner child felt as if he were extending his hand in welcome, slipping those warm, strong fingers around hers and inviting her close.
Suddenly, three days of weighing pros and cons were forgotten. Her intention had been to push the decision to the last possible second, but when Kenzie opened her mouth, she said, “I believe you will.”
For one suspended moment, he stood motionless, so utterly still as if comprehending her words took effort. Then he flashed that high-beam smile again. “That is the best possible news. The absolute best. I’ll give you a call later this morning, and we can set up a time to go through the paperwork. How does that sound?”
She nodded mutely, afraid to open her mouth lest something else unexpected pop out.
But her response seemed enough for him and everything about him seemed so earnest when he said, “Thank you, Kenzie.”
Then he took off, leaving her staring after him as he returned the ball to his son, and resumed his place, saying, “Five more times, Sam, then we go to the truck.”
Sam only rolled the ball toward his dad again, who returned it, holding up a hand with his fingers outstretched. He tucked his thumb until only four fingers remained.
A rush of adrenaline propelled Kenzie off the bench, her nerves suddenly wired and alive. She was aware of her every movement as if she could feel Will’s gaze on her. The measured pace of her strides. The way her skirt tangled with her legs. The way her hair brushed her shoulders with every step.
The way her heart still pounded too hard.
What was it about this brutally handsome man that made her aware of him on a cellular level?
Kenzie didn’t know, but she had a heads-up about his character and after the renovations, he’d be gone, leaving her with a new location as sparkly as his gray eyes and a chance to carry on Madame Estelle’s legacy by reaching for the stars.
And a place to start practicing what she preached.
Kenzie was in control here, not her inner child. She knew the difference between the L words and wouldn’t confuse the two.
CHAPTER FOUR
WHEN WILL HAD watched Kenzie sign the lease nearly three weeks ago, he could not have known that he’d only swapped one problem for another. Angel House might get a shot at the Ramsey Foundation grant—if Will lived long enough to get any work done on that side of the building.
Little Ms. Demanding had spent the better part of three weeks parading through her square footage, ordering him around in that soft-hush of a voice, commands always phrased as questions.
Is it possible...
Would you mind...
Not that she’d been overseeing the work. Thank God. But she’d shown up almost every night like clockwork to waltz through the rooms, checking out the day’s progress. Always observant. Always complimentary.
Always with a written list of tasks for him that she added to whenever something struck her fancy.
“Would it be much work to replace those fluorescent fixtures for something more conducive to learning?”
“Could we possibly relocate these mirrors to the ladies’ facilities? They’re out of place in the mediation rooms, but I hate to leave them gathering dust in the attic.”
Her nostalgia might be the end of him.
Tonight was the perfect example. He watched her check out the new drywall in what she’d already designated as her office. She complimented him on the work, thanked him for the effort, although the effort hadn’t been his. He’d been pulling crews from job sites wherever he could spare them. No one minded. One job was as good as another provided it came attached to a paycheck. Even better when it ran into overtime.
Suddenly she made a beeline straight across the room toward the window, and he could tell, even before she opened her mouth, that whatever was on her mind would mean more work for him. Or his crew, which was the same thing.
“What are your plans for these windows?”
“Replace the sills and trim,” he said. “They’re beat, but the windows themselves are solid. Looks like they were replaced not all that long ago.” For a building that had been around as long as this one, a few decades didn’t qualify as so long ago.
“Any chance of preserving them, Will?” Kenzie ran a hand along the wooden grooves. “They’re lovely, and I don’t imagine you can replicate this trim easily.”
He forced his gaze from the pouty mouth that had exhaled his name to the polished pink fing
ertips on the windowsill in question, a sweep of touch as light as her voice.
It took him a moment to comprehend the latest demand.
These windowsills were scored with dings and grooves and scratches. They’d been painted and repainted through the years until the paint was layered thick and uneven.
He could probably rip out all the wood on every one of Kenzie’s windows and replace it in less time than it would take to strip and hand sand the wood from a single one. But she was right about the replacements. He could substitute the ornate woodwork with a modern manufactured equivalent, pre-cut and plain. The craftsmanship of the original window trim—and the baseboards and crown molding for that matter—didn’t exist anymore, not without a custom price tag well beyond his budget.
“You’re talking about a lot of work.” An insane amount of work. “The wood has to be stripped and sanded—”
“You don’t think it’s practical?”
“Restoring those sills and that trim is the meticulous work more suited to a retiree with nothing better to do all day than coax scrolled woodwork back to life with a detail sander.”
Will was not retired. And his back was already against the wall to meet the deadline, and he got further behind schedule with every second they wasted considering window trim.
Kenzie only inclined her head, red-gold hair threading over her shoulders with the motion. Her expression didn’t change, but somehow she seemed to deflate.
Will wasn’t sure why he thought that. Her eyes, maybe? They were all hazel with gold specks. But now her gaze looked as if someone had blown out the spark.
Okay, now it was official—he was losing his mind from lack of sleep.
“Is there any way I could help?” she offered. “I’d be happy to do some of the work if you’ll show me what to do.”
Now he was deflating. Restoring all that scrolled trim meant something to her. And if she coerced him into doing the window trim, she might want to bring back the crown molding, too. And the baseboards. And the quarter-rounds.
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