Also, everyone had ganged up on her. After the way Leslie had doted on JT the other day, Kenzie wasn’t surprised by her daughter’s behavior. She was more suspicious of Sean’s motivation, though, and Ann’s quick agreement. Surely her always responsible sister wasn’t planning to do anything stupid?
Since they were a bit ahead of the dinner crowd and it was the middle of the week, they were seated quickly in a section of the restaurant designated Magical Dining. Waitresses wore witches’ hats, and framed posters on the walls were from family-friendly movies ranging from Bedknobs and Broomsticks to The Wizard of Oz to more recent films. The spacious center of the building was devoted to the nine-hole golf course one had to pass to get a table; various dining rooms branched off like spokes from the main area. Drew forgot about his stomach long enough to scope out which holes looked the most challenging. Leslie was grinning as if she’d walked into one of her favorite books.
“So how’d you know about this place?” Kenzie asked.
“I’m an uncle.” Sean helped Ann get the high chair situated. “I’ve become something of a regular here. I can highly recommend the wizard’s filet.”
Everyone took a chair, and somehow Kenzie found herself seated beside JT, which she’d hoped to avoid. Still, an undisciplined part of her—the old impulsive Kenzie—thrilled at his nearness and the subtly male scent of his soap. His eyes met hers, and she felt as if they were in their own little bubble since the kids were busily pointing out decorations to each other and Sean and Ann were both admiring a cooing Abigail.
“Tell me about this new painting,” Kenzie invited.
“It’s not really a new work. Sean found a couple that had seen one of my bigger pieces and wanted to own a smaller re-creation.”
“That still takes talent.” She recalled his mural at the museum. “Which you definitely have.”
He ducked his head in modest acknowledgment, the gesture endearingly boyish. “Thank you. I did manage to update the piece slightly. I’m happy with how it turned out.”
“I can tell. You look…different. Good.”
“You, on the other hand, always look good.” He flashed a brief but charged smile of masculine appreciation.
Warmth blossomed inside her as if she’d just taken her first rich sip of hot cocoa and could feel the chocolate melting through her body. After a moment, she realized the table had grown quiet. No one else seemed to be conversing anymore. They were, she realized, watching her watch JT. Leslie seemed delighted enough to dance a jig, Drew was scowling and Ann actually winked at her.
Kenzie cleared her throat, glancing desperately toward Sean. “So, the wizard’s filet is good then?”
Leaning back in her chair, feeling pleasantly stuffed, Kenzie smiled at Sean. “I have to hand it to you, you’re great at picking out restaurants.”
“I’m great at everything,” he declared.
Over the past hour, Kenzie had grown accustomed to the man’s joyfully outrageous nature. Sean was a flirt, but not in a sensual or discriminating way. He was the kind of man who could charm any woman between two and two hundred. He was fun to be around, yet so unlike JT that it was difficult to imagine how the men had become friends. Was it a case of opposite personalities bonding because their differences complemented each other, or had JT once been more like his business partner?
When Sean took the kids to get golf supplies and Ann excused herself to check Abby’s diaper in the restroom, Kenzie found herself alone with JT and her curiosity. “Sean takes some getting used to,” she observed with a smile.
“Let me know how long it takes. I still haven’t managed it,” he teased.
“You’ve known him a long time?”
He nodded, staring into the remains of his iced tea. “More than a lifetime, it feels like. He does catch me off guard sometimes. Accepting the commission for the Owenbys’ painting, for instance. Personality-wise, we don’t have much in common, but he looks out for me.”
“Ann and I are kind of the reverse,” she said. “As kids, we had little in common and were perfectly happy to go our separate ways. But I’ve enjoyed reconnecting with her now that we’re older and have more life experience to help us relate. I don’t have much practice doing it, but I want to look out for her. Sean wouldn’t hit on a married woman, would he?”
JT laughed. “Is that why you think he went along with Leslie’s idea to eat together? Actually, I think it’s you he noticed.”
“What?”
“The first time he ever saw you, he walked into my apartment and called you ‘hot.’” JT frowned. “I didn’t much like that.”
“Hot?” she echoed in disbelief. “Are you sure he wasn’t talking about someone else?”
“Have you looked in the mirror lately? Those eyes alone. If I could paint…” He shifted in his chair. “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
She wasn’t discomfited. On the contrary, she was becoming aroused. She swallowed, idly wondering if he ever painted nudes. Wondering if, after waddling through pregnancy with twins and now approaching thirty, she’d be entirely at ease letting a man see her body. She wasn’t eighteen anymore, but the way JT was looking at her, he didn’t appear to be cataloging the faint laugh lines at the corners of her eyes or the few-but-stubborn gray hairs that had recently appeared near her part.
“So, are you two ready to go for it?” a voice asked.
Kenzie whipped her head around to see Sean’s smirk.
“Golf?” he reminded them, extending a pink-tipped club in her direction. “To the links!”
Ann declined play in favor of sitting on a bench while she gave Abigail the bottle she’d brought. “You five go ahead and have fun.”
“It won’t be mere fun,” Sean said with mock gravity. “It will be a slaughter. I’m the Rory McIlroy of the miniature-golf circuit.”
“Oh, yeah?” Drew challenged. “I’ll bet I get a hole in one before you!”
Sean grinned. “We’ll see about that, youngster. I was swinging a nine iron before you were born.”
“That’s because you’re old,” Drew said, his expression one of faux sympathy.
Laughing out loud, Sean made a smart-aleck retort that Kenzie didn’t hear.
“He is good with kids,” she remarked to JT as Leslie set her ball on the tee.
JT’s face contorted for a second. “Yeah, he is.”
“What?” she asked. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen his expression darken at the mention of children, but now she found she couldn’t leave well enough alone. Despite herself, she wanted to understand, and soothe the shadows from his eyes.
He took a deep breath. “Holly and I were expecting. That was my wife’s name—Holly. We’d asked Sean to be the godfather.”
Oh, God. Kenzie couldn’t begin to comprehend the depth of his loss. As with the other day, it was on the tip of her tongue to say she was sorry, but the words were so painfully inadequate. Instead, unthinkingly, she reached out and squeezed his hand.
He glanced up, astonishment on his face, then down at their joined fingers. He returned her grip, his strong and warm. Awareness pulsed between them. If such simple, platonic contact could send sensation thrumming through her, what would it be like if he really touched her?
In recent memory, people had reached out to her as a mother, sister or daughter. The kids weren’t so old that they were above cuddling when there was a storm raging outside, or one of them was sick. Ann hugged her, their mother stroked her hair whenever Kenzie managed to come home.
It had been forever since she’d been touched as a woman.
“I…” JT’s voice was thick, a husky caress. “I think it’s your turn.”
Glancing at the putting green, Kenzie found the others were indeed waiting. “Right. My turn.” She set down the sky
-blue ball and hit it with more oomph than strictly necessary. It struck a woman at the third tee in the back of the calf.
Ouch. “Sorry!” Kenzie called, cringing.
Her children snickered, and Sean halfheartedly chided them while trying to stifle his own laugh. Even JT had sparks of amusement illuminating his eyes.
“I’m a little out of practice at this,” she told him breathlessly.
He caught her chin between his fingers for a fraction of a moment before letting go. “That’s okay. So am I.”
Ann tactfully waited until the twins had gone to bed before broaching the subject of the evening’s activities. “They certainly seemed to have fun tonight.”
“Yeah. It was a good place to take them.”
“And did you enjoy yourself?”
“Uh-huh. Are you all done in the bathroom? I was planning to hop in the shower.”
Her sister leaned against the arm of the couch. “Would that be a cold shower?”
“I hope not. If the hot water heater’s on the fritz, we should let Mr. C. know,” Kenzie babbled. “He’s really quite handy. You hear horror stories about apartment supers in the city, but—”
“Mackenzie.”
“Don’t ask about JT.”
“If you tell me, I won’t have to ask.”
Kenzie groaned, torn between the need to discuss him with someone and the fear that vocalizing her budding feelings would make them even more real. She was here only six more weeks, then she was moving to her Perfect House and he, hopefully, would continue rediscovering his former joy of painting. She did not need extra complications in her life, and it would be a lot easier to avoid temptation when she wasn’t bumping into Tall, Dark and Complicated every time she opened her apartment door.
“He’s attractive,” she allowed, feeling as foolish as if she’d just proclaimed the Sahara “a bit sandy.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“He lost a wife and unborn baby.”
Ann’s breath hitched. “That’s awful.”
“Yeah.” Kenzie stared into space. “The first few times I saw him, he never even smiled. Understandable, I’d say.”
“He was smiling plenty tonight. Whenever he looked at you, for instance.”
Kenzie tried to shrug off the observation. “I think he was just in a good mood. He’s expressed frustration over not being able to paint. I guess he was creatively blocked. But now he’s finished a piece he can be proud of. I noticed as soon as he stepped out of his apartment that he looked happy.”
“He looked happy to see you.”
“Ann, honestly, you might be overromanticizing the situation.”
Her sister snorted. “Have you ever known me to romanticize anything? At all?”
“For all I know, he’s still in love with his wife. Besides, he’s all wrong for me.”
“Which part of attractive, successful men who are good-natured about spending time with your kids turns you off?”
“You don’t know him well enough to call him successful.”
“Didn’t you say he was specially invited to paint a mural for one of the city’s museums?”
“And just because he was good-natured at dinner… Artistic types are notoriously moody. He was happy tonight, but what about the next time he gets stuck? The twins have already had one man in their lives whose emotional temperament was unreliable, who followed his muse at the expense of his family. I wasn’t kidding when I talked about JT not smiling the first few times I saw him. I know he’s capable of darker spells and, given his loss, I certainly empathize. But I won’t put the kids through that again.”
The teasing light had gone out of Ann’s eyes. “The kids or you? I remember when you worshipped Mick, dreamed of all the places you’d see together and the family you’d build.”
“Which was stupid. What did I think we were going to do, backpack two babies on tour?”
“You were eighteen and thought that anything was possible with love.” Ann shrugged. “That’s not a crime. I can’t imagine how disillusioned you must have been to divorce him. That took courage, to do what was right for you and the kids.”
In some ways, Ann was right. It did take a bitter kind of courage to admit you’d been so wrong about someone for so long.
“I just hope,” she continued softly, “that you also have the guts to try again when the time comes.”
Panic over how potent her feelings for JT were becoming made Kenzie defensive. “I don’t think you can lecture me about courage. Why aren’t you at home, bravely trying to work things out with your husband instead of being here, once again giving me advice on how I should live my life?”
Ann’s face went slack.
“Oh. Oh, Ann, forget I said that. That was just plain bitchy.”
“No argument there,” she said with a feeble smile. “But there was some truth in it.”
“A teeny, tiny kernel. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that. I’m a horrible sister. I even called Forrest,” she blurted in a fit of self-recrimination.
“What? When?”
“A couple of nights ago. I thought he needed a kick in the pants, figuratively speaking.”
“His pants must be very well padded. Don’t you think if he cared about me at all he would have done, I don’t know, something?”
This was a tricky area. “You know him better than I do. As you pointed out, even though he’s older, you took the lead in the relationship. Maybe he wants to make things better but isn’t sure exactly how. Maybe he thinks that, since you left, time and space are what you want and he’s trying to give you that.”
Ann said nothing.
“Please forget I made that comment,” Kenzie pleaded. “You know you’re welcome here as long as you like.”
Ann nodded, but seemed subdued. By morning, however, she was smiling and joking with the kids about their putt-putt efforts the previous night. The school year was under way, and her family seemed comparatively happy. Kenzie went to work ensconced in a false sense of security. Then came Friday afternoon and the phone call at work she’d been subconsciously dreading.
“Kenzie Green speaking.”
“Hi, this is Teena Arnold, the vice principal over at Carter. I’m calling about your son, Drew.” The woman’s tone was pleasant enough, but that didn’t stop Kenzie from gripping the receiver tighter.
It’s only the third day! What’s he done? “Is there a problem, Ms. Arnold?”
“Not exactly, but we were wondering if it would be possible for you to come in this afternoon. Maybe you, myself, Drew and his teacher could have a little chat.”
“About? I mean, of course I’ll be there. I was just wondering…”
“Oh, I don’t think it’s a major worry, but Mrs. Frazer has some concerns about Drew’s attitude, and some observations she’d like to share with you.”
That sounded innocuous enough. Kenzie exhaled in relief that he hadn’t started a fight by being overly competitive in P.E., hadn’t stopped up all the toilets in the boys’ bathroom, or done other destructive things she didn’t even want to imagine.
Just some “observations.” How bad could that be?
It was school policy that siblings not be in the same class, and Kenzie had met both the kids’ teachers before the first day. When she walked into the vice principal’s office Friday afternoon, she couldn’t help again thinking that Mrs. Frazer, taller with stern, patrician features, was like Abbott to Mrs. Kane’s Costello. Leslie’s teacher was short, round, jolly, with a higher pitched voice that squeaked slightly when she spoke on a topic that excited her.
Drew was slouched in a chair, looking miserable, and Mrs. Frazer stood behind him. The vice principal, a silver-haired woman in pearls, leaned across her desk to shake
Kenzie’s hand.
“I’m so glad you were able to make time for us, Mrs. Green,” the older woman said warmly.
“My kids are my priority.” Kenzie tried to catch Drew’s eye, wanting him to know she was on his side. “Honey, do you want to tell me what’s going on?”
He shrugged. “Some stupid paper. I did the assignment. I didn’t do anything wrong!”
Mrs. Frazer clucked her tongue. “Calling it a ‘stupid’ paper isn’t productive dialogue, Andrew.”
Kenzie resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Productive dialogue? Lofty expectations, indeed, especially since boys his age often considered armpit farts a valid form of communication. “What was the assignment, Drew?”
“Supposed to write about family,” he mumbled.
She groaned inwardly. Was this about his dad? Both Mrs. Kane and Mrs. Frazer knew the kids came from a divorced home, but Kenzie hadn’t expected it to be an issue so soon. After the twins had survived Father’s Day with no word from their actual father, she’d hoped the next big hurdle wouldn’t be until Christmas. Would it be wrong to buy gifts and say they were from Mick?
“Drew, you’re not in any trouble,” the vice principal interjected. “We just all care about you very much—”
He scoffed. “You don’t even know me.”
Kenzie squeezed his shoulder warningly, but the grandmotherly woman seemed unperturbed.
“We wanted to talk a little about your feelings and make your mother aware of them. Would you like to read her your essay?”
“Not really.”
Mrs. Frazer had produced a pair of reading glasses and a piece of lined notebook paper. “If I may, Mrs. Green, here’s a section of what your son wrote. ‘My friend Jimmy back home has a cool family. He plays football every Saturday with his dad and brothers in the yard. I don’t have brothers or a dad or a yard. I live in a small apartment with my mom, sister, crazy aunt and her stinky baby.’”
One in a Million Page 30
