One in a Million

by Susan Mallery

  “And then Drew surprised me on the way home from school with a request.” She took a deep breath. “It was more a request for you, really. He wanted to know if you could show him a couple of things about painting.”

  “You want me to teach your son to paint?”

  “I… It was Drew’s idea, but it fits in nicely with the teacher’s suggestion that he occasionally hang out with a guy.” For the next five weeks, anyway. “They don’t have to be formal, scheduled lessons. Unless that’s what you want! I could even pay you whatever the comparable rate—” She stopped abruptly when she realized she had no idea what private art lessons with an acclaimed painter might cost. Wasn’t she supposed to be saving up for all the miscellaneous expenses that came with a move?

  “I don’t want your money, Kenzie.” With the metallic glint of panic in his eyes, he didn’t look as if he wanted anything to do with her. Did he even realize he’d taken a step back?

  “Never mind. This wasn’t very well thought out,” she admitted. “It’s just that I promised Drew I’d ask, and now I have. So—”

  “I’ll do it.”

  “What?”

  He scraped a hand over his jaw, gazing at something unseen beyond her. “Not to bash your ex, but I know what it’s like to be hurt by your own dad. I can’t make that better for Drew. I don’t want to be a father or anyone’s substitute father figure, but maybe I can be a friend. At the very least, I can let him come over to my apartment and throw some paint at a canvas on a semi-regular basis.

  “Of course, if your son turns out to be some kind of prodigy, I want partial credit for having discovered him.”

  The joke he tacked on to lighten the moment barely penetrated her wonder that he’d agreed to help, when it clearly wouldn’t have been his first choice. Fierce gratitude crashed through her. Rising on tiptoes, she swayed toward him. He didn’t seem the huggy type, but perhaps he’d permit a quick peck of thanks on the cheek? He could easily evade her if he didn’t want her this close.

  It was hard to say which one of them redirected her intended gesture. Had she been deceiving herself in that split second when she’d told herself she was aiming for his cheek, or was it JT who’d had something else in mind when he bent his head down? Maybe it was both of them.

  Regardless of how or why, JT’s mouth, superficially cool from the icy soda, but burning hot beyond that, was pressed to hers.

  Her lips parted in a sigh, and he explored them gently, running his tongue over the seam, sucking her bottom lip—a slight but intimate tug that made her tremble. She felt an answering pull deep inside her, and opened her mouth even farther. Cupping the back of her head in one large hand, he accepted the silent invitation. At the first velvety stroke of his tongue against hers, sensation shot through her. She clasped his shirtfront, making an involuntary sound that was only a few decibels shy of an honest-to-goodness moan. The man could seriously kiss.

  Oh, dear. She was kissing JT! In full view of the other tenants, including the fifteen-year-old who sometimes babysat for Kenzie’s kids. Kids who could show up on this very roof at any second and catch their mom making out like Alicia’s boy-crazy, teenage sister. It was that thought that overrode every other physical impulse she was experiencing and allowed her to pull free of his embrace.

  “I j-just wanted to say thank-you,” she stammered, feeling like an idiot.

  Two small lines of confusion puckered his brow. “For the kiss?”

  “No, before. That’s what I was doing. Trying to thank you.”

  He looked startled for a moment, then threw his head back and laughed. “Remind me to do you lots of favors.”

  The suggestive pleasure in his tone kept her from feeling she was being mocked, and she smiled back. His uncharacteristic show of humor made her even more self-conscious, though, and she glanced around nervously to see if they had an audience. The Wilders from the first floor were sniping at each other as usual and seemed oblivious to everyone else. Alicia was standing at the food table, rolling her eyes at the way her older sister flirted with the building’s resident college student. Mrs. Sanchez and her oldest daughter were furtively whispering to each other, and Kenzie experienced a frisson of unease, hoping that their hushed conversation was family gossip.

  “Do you think anyone noticed?” she asked JT. “That was really irresponsible of me.”

  He brushed her hair away from her face. “It was just a kiss.”

  “Just?”

  “Poor word choice. In all honesty, I’m not sure what words to use.” He took a sip of his drink, glancing away before he spoke again. She appreciated the chance to regain her composure. “I plan to be up here for a while, if Drew wants to talk to me about coming over to paint.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Though I’m partial to the way you said it last time.”

  Unconsciously, she rubbed the pad of her thumb over her bottom lip. “So am I, but I didn’t mean for it to be a spectator event.” She’d all but sworn to her son that she wouldn’t date JT. How betrayed would the kid feel if he’d seen her unguarded moment of lust? As habitually angry as he already was, she couldn’t imagine what it would do to him if he felt he couldn’t count on her.

  “Next time,” JT said softly, “we’ll have to make sure it’s just the two of us.”

  Her pulse raced. Did she want there to be a next time? Ludicrous question. Of course she wanted it. She ached with wanting. But did that mean kissing him again, letting him kiss her, was wise?

  Noting her silence, he amended, “If there’s a next time.”

  “Right.”

  If. A small, seemingly insignificant word for such a dizzying wealth of possibilities.

  Chapter 11

  Kenzie tossed and turned in bed, trying not to notice how large the mattress seemed tonight. There was way more space than one woman needed all by herself—even a woman as restless as her. She sat, irritably kicking at the sheets tangled among her calves. The apartment was unbearably hot. I’ll call Mr. C. in the morning, get him to double-check that the air conditioner’s working properly.

  Her sigh echoed in the dark stillness of the room. Was she really deluded enough to convince herself that the problem was the AC and not that kiss she and JT had shared this afternoon? Maybe the reason she couldn’t sleep was because she knew he was right across the hall. Was he painting during these late hours? Snoozing peacefully in his own bed? Or was he, like her, reliving the heady taste of their kiss, the contrast between the heat of their bodies pressed together and the slight, merciful breeze that had rippled over them for a moment?

  She closed her eyes, remembering that moment, the sensations that had melted through her at the first touch of his mouth. Bad idea. Images like that were not going to soothe her into a more restful state.

  Kicking her feet over the side of the bed, she thought of all the times she’d heard people recommend a glass of milk to fight insomnia. What about a giant bowl of ice cream? There should be plenty of milk in that, right?

  Barefoot, she padded down the hallway, slowing when she heard a voice. At first she thought it might be Leslie talking in her sleep, but then realized it was Ann in the living room. She must be up with Abigail. Kenzie crept forward in a silent tiptoe, so as not to disturb the baby if Ann almost had her asleep.

  “You know I do,” her sister was saying softly, “but that’s just the point…I don’t want to come home so everything can be just like it was. If I’d been happy with everything as is, I wouldn’t have left.”

  Kenzie froze. Her sister wasn’t talking to the baby; she was on the phone with Forrest.

  Suddenly there came the sound of a sultry, un-Ann-like chuckle. “Okay, that can stay the same. Wait—Kenzie’s got another call, so… How should I know who’s calling her at this hour? Of course I�
��m not inventing a reason to get out of our conversation, you lunatic.” Despite her words, her voice was tender.

  Someone was calling this late? Kenzie coughed delicately, alerting Ann to her presence as she rounded the corner.

  “Hello?” Ann was pulling herself into a sitting position on the sofa, her eyes wide in the dim lamplight. “Yes, actually, here she is now.”

  “Who is it?” Kenzie asked, her mind irrationally leaping to JT. Not much of a leap, really, since her thoughts had been on him all evening. In addition to being a devastating kisser, he’d been remarkably friendly and patient with her son when Drew had finally shown up to scarf down three platefuls of food.

  Ann cupped her hand over the cordless receiver. “It’s Mick. Were you expecting his call?”

  “Mick?” Shock paralyzed her as she reached for the phone. “The Mick I married?”

  Ann nodded, making no attempt to hide her curiosity. “You think everything’s all right?” she whispered.

  “Only one way to find out.” Kenzie took a deep breath. As she held the phone to her ear, she heard throbbing bass and background chatter. He was probably calling from a club somewhere. “Hello?”

  “Mackenzie.” He greeted her with gruff affection. “It’s good to hear your voice.”

  Several sarcastic retorts came to mind about how he could hear it more often, but she bit her tongue as she carried the phone to her bedroom. Mick was who he was. Though she could harangue an apology out of him, that wouldn’t make him less likely to lose track of time if he was jamming with the band, or more likely to pay his cellular service bill.

  “I got your message that you were moving to Atlanta.”

  “That was weeks ago,” she pointed out gently. “Thank goodness I wasn’t trying to get ahold of you because of an emergency.”

  He gave a self-deprecating chuckle. “Hell, what right-thinking person would call me in an emergency? We both know I stink in a crisis. The kids are lucky to have you as a mother, Mac. You’re better at everything than I am. Except maybe an inverted guitar chord.”

  “It’s true the kids won’t inherit any musical ability from me.”

  There was a pause, followed by rustling and the fading of ambient noise. He’d either gone outside or walked somewhere more private. When he spoke again, it was easy to hear the waver of emotion in his voice. “How are they?”

  “If you’d called a couple of hours ago, you could have asked them that yourself.” With a sigh, she got back in bed. “They miss you.”

  “I miss them, too. Which is part of the reason I’ve quit.”

  “Quit what?”

  “Performing. I’ve left the band.”

  She couldn’t have been more astounded if he said he was giving up breathing. “You’re kidding.”

  “You know I don’t kid about music.”

  That was true. “Are you looking for another band? Or attempting a solo career?”

  “No, I’m serious. I’ve quit. You reach an age when you can’t keep lying to yourself. If it was gonna happen for me… ’Course, the industry’s in my blood now. I’ve met dozens of musicians in the past few years, many of them really talented. Maybe I can help.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I’m going to represent other musicians! I’ve made connections,” he said proudly. “Just because I wasn’t able to make them work for me the way I’d hoped doesn’t mean those connections won’t come through for the right band, the right singer with that ‘it’ factor.”

  “Um…” She wanted to be supportive, but she’d always seen him as more adept at making music than having business sense. Even if he were successful in this new venture, would he be happy watching someone else reap the accolades he’d dreamed of for more than a decade?

  “In fact, I’m out tonight with new clients! I’m going to focus on their set and help them figure out how to improve it before next Tuesday. They’ve got a gig in Nashville that could be their big break!”

  God. She prayed for patience as she battled back the unwanted déjà vu. If she had a dollar for every “gig” that was supposed to have built a career, she could single-handedly buy one of the houses in Ann’s neighborhood.

  “I’ve saved the best news for last!” Mick told her excitedly.

  Her body tensed in nervous anticipation of what other bombshells were in store.

  “Atlanta’s developing quite the recording scene. If all goes well, I’ll be in the city on a semi-regular basis. The kids and I can reconnect.”

  “That would be… Mick, you’re free to come see them anytime. You don’t have to wait for a professional reason to come to the city.” It would have been great if he’d make plans surrounding, for instance, the kids’ birthday. Or the upcoming winter holidays. Thanksgiving would be here before she knew it, Christmas close on its heels.

  “Don’t worry, it’ll be soon! But I should get back inside before the boys get started. The opening number is really important for winning over the audience, setting the right mood. Hey, don’t tell the kids yet about my coming to see them? It would be a cool surprise.”

  She wasn’t sure. Drew in particular might need some time to sort out how he felt about seeing his dad, but she agreed not to tell them just yet. After all, Mick’s definition of “soon” wasn’t necessarily the same one the rest of the English-speaking world used. The less she told the twins now, the less disappointed they might be when his plans unraveled later.

  When JT awoke midmorning on Tuesday, he realized he needed more supplies—and not, for a change, because he’d let paint dry out or because he’d thrown a stylus against his studio wall. No, he was actually using the pigments and beeswax that had sat untouched for so long. Until recently, he’d considered the tubes and jars silently mocking, belligerent in their disuse. Now they seemed sad, neglected. JT felt repentant and eager to make up for lost time.

  He hurried through brushing his teeth and threw on pants and a shirt that may or may not have technically matched. The sooner he got to the store and back, the sooner he could get to work.

  He was still shoving his left foot into a sneaker as he opened the door to his apartment. Preoccupied as he was with half-formed plans for a treated piece of wood, it took him a moment to realize he was staring at the back of some guy. Not necessarily a notable event, except that the guy was standing in front of Kenzie’s door, making no move to knock. He wore a pair of glasses, which he pushed up on his nose twice in less than a minute, muttering to himself the entire time. In his lightweight blazer and slacks, he looked like a well-dressed but slightly deranged encyclopedia salesman.

  “Can I help you?” JT’s voice came out more menacing than he’d intended, but he felt somewhat protective of Kenzie and her children.

  The man jumped about a foot, then turned to face JT. He was older, by around a decade, JT guessed, and pale—a nervous potential suitor? After all, he didn’t appear to have any encyclopedias, vacuums to demonstrate or literature inviting her to consider spiritual salvation. Then again, why court a woman in the middle of the workday? If he knew Kenzie, surely he realized she was at the bank now.

  “I’m Dr. Forrest Smith,” the man replied. He lifted his chin, a flinty gleam of determination showing behind the lenses of his wire-rim glasses. “And I’m here for my wife!”

  “Oh.” The guy was here for Ann, not Kenzie. Suddenly, JT liked him much better. “Well, good for you.”

  “Yes.” Dr. Smith’s shoulders slumped slightly. “She was. Maybe too good for me.”

  A mild and abstract kind of alarm pulsed through JT at the other man’s confiding tone. Visions of that wood panel and his unrealized hopes for it fluttered through his subconscious. Still, neither the art store nor the wood were going anywhere, so he shoved his hands in his pockets and waited.

  “Have y
ou met Ann?” Dr. Smith asked.

  “A couple of times. I don’t know her well.”

  The other man was nodding absently, talking almost more to himself than JT. “She’s younger than I am. I was surprised when she showed interest in me, but I got used to it. Used to her. She keeps everything so organized....”

  If JT had just awakened half an hour sooner this morning, perhaps he would already be at the store, sorting through the—

  “Are you good with women?” Dr. Smith asked suddenly.

  “Hmm? Oh, no. Not really.” What this guy needed was Sean, a natural-born charmer who never thought it was weird when total strangers asked him for opinions. JT wasn’t charming, he was…isolated, awkward.

  Although, holding Kenzie on the rooftop hadn’t felt awkward. It had been instinctive and effortless, finding her mouth with his, kissing her as if he already knew her shape and taste and just how she liked to be caressed. Holding her against him, he sure as hell hadn’t felt isolated.

  Ann’s husband was muttering again. “Damn, I should have brought flowers. I’m here to ask her to come home. Do you think I should have brought flowers with me? It would have been more romantic.”

  Truthfully, JT had no idea. He didn’t know if Ann craved romance or if she even intended to go home, though Kenzie seemed to think her sister’s separation was temporary. Since this nervous-looking husband had asked for advice, JT spoke from his gut.

  “I had a wife and child once. I’d give anything to spend another day with them. If you love your wife, tell her now. Stop dithering out in the hall, don’t waste time going for flowers. Just. Tell. Her.”

  The man considered this, shoving his glasses up on the bridge of his nose in a move that was clearly more habit than necessity—they’d barely moved since the last time he’d pushed them into place. “Right. Right, why am I wasting time?” Without waiting for an answer, he pivoted and rapped sharply on the door.

  JT hoped Ann and the baby weren’t out running errands, or the results of her husband’s resolve would be rather anticlimactic. JT breathed an inward sigh of relief when the door swung open. He was already turning to go when he heard a quizzical “Forrest?” from behind him. As he stepped inside the elevator, he glimpsed the embrace at the end of the hallway. From the way Ann was kissing her husband, he suspected she would indeed be going home soon.