One in a Million

by Susan Mallery

  JT averted his eyes quickly to give the couple more privacy, even though they were oblivious to his existence. Recalling Kenzie’s nervousness about an audience the other day, he couldn’t help wondering…what would have happened if they’d been alone when he kissed her? His blood heated at the thought, at the memory of her mouth.

  What he’d told Forrest seemed like a split truth. JT would always hate the tragedy of Holly’s death, that she’d sacrificed her life trying to give birth to the baby that hadn’t made it, either. There had been plenty of days when he would have sold his own soul to spend five more minutes with her. Yet she hadn’t haunted his dreams in the same way for months. While it would have felt disloyal to say it—even to himself—he knew he’d slowly been getting over her. This was more than simple healing, though. He was actively waking up with another woman’s face and laugh and kiss on his mind. Kenzie had become the woman he wanted to spend time with.

  She’d be gone soon, and part of him took comfort in that, a finite end rather than a shocking jolt.

  After the wrenching double loss he’d suffered, he doubted he would ever again be capable of long-term emotional commitments…or that the wary single mother would even welcome one. Kenzie’s moving would help them part ways naturally, without a lot of drama, and he welcomed the easy out. Still, he hoped to see her as much as possible before that happened.

  JT knew it was Kenzie by the sound of her knock—light and quick as if she were both eager and shy. Or possibly, despite the open windows, he was strung out on paint fumes and turpentine.

  “Just a sec,” he called, cleaning his brush with a rag as he walked to the door.

  As he’d expected, Kenzie, along with her son, who’d obviously changed out of his school clothes, waited on the other side. Drew wore denim cutoffs with ragged hems at the knee, a black T-shirt and a huge grin.

  JT arched an eyebrow at him. “You look excited to get started.”

  “Yeah, I’m psyched. Leslie is torqued. Kept whining about how she’s the one who—”

  “Andrew.” Kenzie squeezed his shoulder. “A little sensitivity, please. Remember your manners, or JT can punt you back to our apartment.”

  Frankly, JT was surprised the kid would rather be over here messing with art supplies instead of back home with his video games. Was it just the novelty of getting to do something that didn’t include his sister? JT knew the boy’s teachers thought he needed time around an adult male, but JT had a hard time seeing himself as a role model. Still, he was happy to help. Partly because he recalled the confused misery of his own adolescence…and, selfishly, because of the way Kenzie’s eyes lit with gratitude. A look like that made a guy feel as if he could leap tall buildings in a single bound.

  “Don’t be too late,” she added, and JT wasn’t sure if the instruction was for him or Drew. “You promise you’ve finished your homework?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” If Drew didn’t technically roll his eyes, it was implied in his tone.

  “All right. But you still need to eat din—” She broke off, her gaze jerking up to meet JT’s. “You should join us! I mean, if you want to. As a thank-you.”

  He couldn’t help thinking of how she’d thanked him on a previous occasion. By the rosy flush climbing her cheeks, he guessed she was remembering the same thing. His eyes held hers, and if it hadn’t been for Drew standing between them, JT would have leaned in to kiss her again. Her lips parted, and he forced himself to look away.

  JT cleared his throat. “What time’s dinner?”

  “How about an hour?” she offered.

  “Sure.” When JT was in the creative zone, he could lose whole hours at a time, but he suspected that Drew would get bored long before then. An hour sounded reasonable for an actual art lesson, not that he was planning anything too formal.

  He ushered Drew inside and began to give him a brief overview of paints. “As I told your sister, I do a lot of work with oils, but we probably won’t start with that for you today. Acrylics are a fast-drying option, and watercolors don’t involve much cleanup.”

  “Good,” Drew said. “I don’t like to clean.”

  “Artists have to take care of their equipment, though. There’s a lot of discipline and hard work and routine involved. It’s not just standing in front of an easel waiting for inspiration to strike and then breaking for a latte.”

  “Latte?” Drew wrinkled his nose. “That’s a kind of coffee, right? Why would I want one of those?”

  “Never mind. Let’s round up some supplies and go up to the roof.”

  “You don’t work in your apartment?”

  “Sometimes I do, but a change of perspective can be good, not to mention the fresh air and natural light.”

  Drew trailed him to his studio, hanging back in the doorway as JT gathered some basic tools. “Thank you for letting me come over. I think Mom was nervous about asking you. She likes you, you know.”

  JT straightened, having no idea what the appropriate response was. Every time he looked at Kenzie, his temperature soared ten degrees, but he could hardly tell Drew that. “I like her, too.” In fact, he liked the whole family a lot more than he would have thought possible in such a short time.

  A disquieting acknowledgment. How much more emotionally invested would he become before it was time to bid them goodbye?

  “Mom?” Leslie was supposed to be setting the table, but was instead leaning against the kitchen counter, getting under Kenzie’s feet as she tried to finish preparing dinner. “Are you okay? You look…kind of like I feel when I throw up.”

  Lovely. “I’m just busy, trying to get dinner ready.” Although, if she were feeling the tiniest bit apprehensive about cooking for JT, it might be because a certain daughter had once tried to make her sound like Julia Child and Betty Crocker all rolled into one.

  Kenzie was never going to be an award-winning chef, but she ought to be able to produce a decent-tasting, well-balanced meal. She had biscuits in the oven, chicken breasts in a pan with basil and white wine, and green beans boiling. What am I forgetting? Salad! She’d meant to put together a salad.

  “Can you grab me carrots and a cucumber from the fridge? I’ll chop, you wash lettuce leaves.”

  Leslie obliged. “You know,” she said as she took the lettuce to the sink, “I would understand if you were feeling nauseous. My new friend Angel feels that way when she sees the boy she likes.”

  Aside from a twinge of motherly panic that girls Les’s age were already noticing the opposite sex, Kenzie was relieved to hear Leslie casually mentioning friends—the kind that didn’t exist solely in fiction. At least one of the twins was settling into the new school. “Maybe you could invite Angel over sometime.”

  “Cool. I bet she’ll like the view from the roof. I like going up there to read and think,” Leslie said. “I’ll miss it when we move.”

  When they moved… Kenzie should take the kids for a drive by their future house this weekend. She could hardly recall what the place looked like. Oh, she had vague impressions, but the details were getting fuzzy. She needed the reminder that that was home, not Peachy Acres. Despite its cozy community feel and the neighbors she was getting to know, the complex was just a way station. Still, the apartment felt comfortably roomy with Ann and Abigail gone. Her sister had called Kenzie at the bank to say she and Forrest were going to work on resolving their problems—and that he was planning to cook an early dinner for her.

  When the front door opened, Kenzie’s heart thudded in anticipation. While she liked everyone she’d met in the building, there was no question that one neighbor in particular had become special to her.

  Drew rushed in first, talking a mile a minute. “You want to see what I did? I used paper today, but JT said I could use canvas next time. I thought he was supposed to tell me what to draw or arrange a bowl of fruit or some
thing, but he just gave me some colors and told me to go for it. He’s a really lousy teacher.”

  Yet Drew was grinning from ear to ear and JT, entering the room behind him, wore a similar smile.

  JT held his palms up in front of his body. “Hey, I never claimed to be a good instructor, kid. It’s not my fault if you chose unwisely.”

  Leslie was peering at the paper in her brother’s hand. “So, what is it?”

  “I don’t know yet. But remember some of those pictures we saw at the museum?” Drew adopted a pompous tone. “Untitled in Yellow, Big Fat Splotch on Wood Circle. JT said I can think about what the painting means to me, but that not all art has a… What was that word again?”

  “Literal? Literal meaning?”

  “Yeah! I’m gonna go wash my hands. When do we eat? I’m hungry.”

  “There’s a surprise,” Leslie muttered, obviously still put out that no one had invited her to come paint. Kenzie made a mental note to plan a fun mother-daughter activity the next time Drew went across the hall. Maybe if she and Les were giving each other pedicures and enjoying some boy-free quality time, her daughter would be less resentful.

  “Something smells good in here,” JT said. “Anything I can do to help?”

  Kenzie smiled up at him. “No, that’s—”

  “You could set the table,” Leslie said. “I was going to earlier, but then I came in here to calm Mom down.”

  “Calm her down?” He repeated the words to Leslie, but angled his questioning look at Kenzie.

  Kenzie sliced a few more pieces of carrot, thinking with fond nostalgia of the days before the twins could speak. “Leslie, why don’t you go set out the dishes, instead of trying to foist your chores off on our guest?”

  “Okay.” Lowering her voice to nowhere near a whisper as she passed, Leslie instructed her mother, “If you do feel nervous, you’re supposed to take deep breaths. They’re, like, soothing or something.”

  With a sardonic glance over her shoulder at the skillet, Kenzie reflected that perhaps the white wine would have been put to better use in a glass rather than in the chicken recipe.

  JT came to stand next to her, leaning against the counter and clearly enjoying himself. “Anything I can do to help with your jittery nerves?”

  Yes, go stand in the next room. But then she wouldn’t be able to bask in his nearness, enjoy the unique smell of him that was noticeable beneath the astringent perfume of paint and whatever soap he used to scrub with after.

  “My nerves are fine, thanks. My daughter, as you may have noticed, has an overactive imagination.” Given the things Leslie had no compunction saying right in front of Kenzie, she shuddered to think what an unsupervised Drew might have said in the past hour. “So, how did it go?”

  “Seemed okay. We sat on the roof, working on separate pieces. Every once in a while he’d ask my opinion or share something random from school. At first, he was tense whenever he thought he’d messed up. I explained that no stroke is wasted—sometimes the work goes in a different direction than you’d planned, but the very unexpectedness can be inspiring. It’s always a learning experience, an exploration of sorts.”

  “I could listen to you talk about art all day. You have a way of making it sound interesting and personal.”

  “I could talk to you all day,” he rejoined. “You make me feel more interesting than I am. What are you doing Friday night?”

  “Uh, Friday?” she echoed, caught utterly off guard. “This Friday?”

  “Yeah.” He grinned, but a shadow of uncertainty passed in his gaze like the outline of a shark swimming just below the surface of the water. “Sean and I have been asked to a private gallery showing, with the invitation to bring guests, of course. I thought maybe you’d like to come with me and we could…talk about art some more.”

  Or kiss some more, thought the impulsive, undisciplined Kenzie. “Yes. Oh. No. I mean, it’s kind of you to ask—”

  “But you’d like to think about it?”

  “Well, there are the kids to consider.” Donning protective mitts, she sidestepped him to retrieve the biscuits from the oven. “I don’t know if I can find a sitter in the next few days. Alicia comes by some afternoons, but she mentioned she’s looking forward to the high school’s first away game this weekend. Maybe Ann.”

  “She’s gone, isn’t she?” JT’s tone was surprisingly satisfied. “Did she go back to her husband?”

  “Apparently he came by today and swept her off her feet. Or at least convinced her that he saw her as more than a glorified administrative assistant. They should be fine.”

  “Good. It’s nice to see people get happy endings,” he said softly, almost to himself.

  As they all sat at the table, Kenzie kept replaying his words in her head.

  Was it naive for people like her and JT, a divorcée and a widower, to believe in happy endings? That took a kind of pure-hearted faith she was afraid she’d outgrown. Still… She watched JT pass Drew the green beans and laugh at Leslie’s imitation of Mrs. Kane. Vowing to call Ann first thing in the morning to ask about babysitting, Kenzie finally wrenched her gaze away from JT’s handsome face.

  Maybe she lacked the childlike optimism to believe in happy endings, but she couldn’t help being seduced by the possibility of new beginnings.

  Chapter 12

  The surprise on Sean’s face would have been comical if JT wasn’t feeling so abashed. He was part owner of the gallery, yet how long had it been since he’d set foot here?

  “Well, this is a red-letter event,” his friend said, recovering. He took in JT’s white shirt and jeans—the only pair he owned without obvious paint smears. “You even look halfway civilized. Wait, do I know you? For a second, I mistook you for someone else.”

  “Practicing for that career as a comedian in case the gallery closes?”

  “Think I should put in a call to Punchline first, or the Funny Farm?”

  Looking around, JT ignored the hypothetical question about Atlanta’s comedy clubs. As far as he could tell, the two of them were the only people here. “Is the gallery in danger of closing?” He remembered how excited he, Sean and Holly had been when they first opened. JT shouldn’t have neglected everything. He felt like a man coming out of a coma.

  “No.” Sean blinked. “I didn’t mean to give you that impression. It’s true that we made more of a profit when you were…”

  “Painting?” His identity as an artist was supposed to have lent the gallery cachet.

  “More active in the art community, I was going to say. We still get customers. You just came at a slow time.”

  “Well, I come with good news.” JT shoved his hands in his pockets, wanting to share his joy but not wanting to make more of it than it was. After all, a few colorful blotches did not a career reinvention make. “I, uh, started a painting.”

  Sean’s eyes widened, but he kept his tone casual. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. I mean, it’s not entirely right. I may scrap it and take another stab, but…it felt good.”

  His friend let out an excited whoop. “This is fantastic! We’ll celebrate this weekend. You want me to call Whitney and see if she has a friend free on Friday? We could double.”

  “About that…” He hesitated. “I invited Kenzie to the showing.”

  Sean’s jaw dropped. “Wow. I knew you liked her, but I didn’t think you were ready to take the next step. I’m proud of you, man.”

  JT squirmed. “It’s not that big a deal. I like her company, so I asked her to join us.”

  “Not that big a deal? Isn’t she the reason you’re painting again? The reason you’re out and about in clothes that don’t look like they came out of a rag bin?”

  “No.” Maybe. “So I did some laundry. It was time.”

 
“Way past.” Sean rounded the short, curved counter to clap his friend on the shoulder. “Whatever spurred you, I’m glad to have you back, buddy. Tell Kenzie I look forward to seeing her Friday night.”

  “She hasn’t actually said yes yet. She needed to look for a sitter.”

  “Ah, right. Brave of you, getting involved with a mom. I love my nieces and nephews, but still…”

  JT rolled his eyes. “‘Involved’? It’s one night in a group setting. You have a more overactive imagination than Leslie.”

  “Le—?” Sean stopped short. “Did you just compare me to Kenzie’s kid?”

  The words had just popped out, but JT was still adjusting to having the Greens in his building, much less cropping up in his everyday conversation. “You should be flattered. Kenzie has great kids.”

  Sean started laughing then, barely managing to stop long enough to gasp, “Oh, yeah, you’re not involved at all.”

  JT gave him a one-finger salute and decided his time was better spent back at the apartment working on his painting, than dealing with the mockery of his so-called friend.

  At home, he turned on his music—a local rock band he liked—and changed into a T-shirt and jeans that were more paint than denim. Then he dived into work, losing all track of time until he was distracted by a knock at the door. Jarred out of his creative flow, he swore under his breath, then realized guiltily that his music was probably too loud. He hit Stop and answered the door. Instead of finding Mr. C. with a noise complaint, he found Kenzie, looking beautiful and shy.

  “H-hi.” Her smile was tentative. “Am I interrupting?”

  “Not at all.” He followed her gaze to the small splatters that had accumulated on his hands and clothes in the past few hours. “Okay, you caught me. I was definitely working—I’d hate for you to think I look like this all the time—but it’s no bother. What can I do for you?”