Home To You

by Robin Kaye

  “That’s easy for you to say now that we’re miles away from the closest shower.”

  He watched and waited. He’d learned a long time ago that the less you say, the more information you obtain. Dealing with a therapist was a challenge, but even Kendall wasn’t immune to the power of silence.

  “No, I don’t think I’m going to tell you. I’ll just keep it in my arsenal for possible later use. So, back to your little anger issue.”

  “I have no anger issue.”

  She ignored his response and continued without even sparing him a glance. “It’s not as if a person comes out of the womb, telling time and judging distance. It’s something people learn from the time they’re babies.”

  Silence was his only weapon, although he could think of much more pleasant ways to shut her up. Unfortunately, he didn’t think it was safe to kiss her while she was driving. The last thing he needed was another head injury.

  “I just thought if you were given the information, you’d see the difference between the five minutes it takes me to put makeup on and a forty-five minute drive.”

  “Why do I get the feeling this will be the longest forty-five minutes of my life?”

  “It’s a male-ego thing. Jack, you’re strong and smart and kissable. And this problem of yours isn’t permanent, so do yourself a favor and get over it already. Let me help.”

  “Do I have any choice?”

  “No.”

  “Fine.”

  Kendall blathered on about time and distance and he tuned out, well, as much as he could sitting next to her. He might not have listened closely, but she had his full attention in every other way. He watched the expressions cross her face and picked up on her little habits, like the way she bit her lower lip when she was trying to remember something, the way her face lit up when she talked about her friend Erin and some little kid named Janie, and the cloud that settled over her when she talked about losing her job.

  Jack went around the truck and helped Kendall out—as much as she’d allow. Still, she didn’t snatch her hand away when they walked to the restaurant. He’d been right: she was the perfect hand-holding partner—her hand slipped right into his without a lot of jostling for a comfortable position. It was as easy and as natural as their kiss had been. Maybe comfortable was the wrong word, because their kiss had been anything but comfortable. Still, even with all its heat, they had no problem coming together without any teeth gnashing or nose bending. In his experience, if a couple had to work on holding hands and kissing, the sex would suck. He had a frighteningly strong feeling that if or when he and Kendall finally made love, he’d be down for the count, if he wasn’t already.

  He might be mentally challenged, but he had enough of his faculties intact to know that Kendall Watkins was a rare gem. He might not be able to tell time, but he knew that a woman who could shower, dress, and be ready to hit the town in less time than it took him to get antsy was a keeper. And to be able to do that and look good enough to stop traffic, which she accomplished twice between the truck and the front door of the restaurant, was a real feat.

  By the time they made it to the table and ordered drinks, he was rethinking his brilliant idea about taking Kendall out in public. She might not notice all the male attention she garnered, but he sure as hell didn’t miss it, and, for the first time, he didn’t appreciate the knowledge that his date would be the object of several fantasies that weren’t his.

  “You’re still mad?”

  “I’m not mad.”

  “Then why are you making your mad face?” She held up her phone, pulled up an app that turned the damn thing into a mirror, and turned it at him. “See? That’s your mad face.”

  He pushed her hand down until the phone lay flat on the table, but he didn’t move his hand off hers. Fine, so he was mad—just not at her.

  She didn’t pull her hand away; she only smiled at him like she would a recalcitrant child. “Low blood sugar? I didn’t fix you breakfast this morning.”

  “Kendall, you don’t have to fix me breakfast, but I’d appreciate it if you’d order lunch.”

  The server was the one multitasking now. He stared at Kendall’s cleavage, pen poised, waiting for her order.

  “Oh, right.” She shot the guy an indulgent smile. “I’ll have the lobster BLT with a salad and the house dressing on the side.”

  Jax cleared his throat to get the server’s attention. “I’ll take the Hangover Burger, medium rare, with fries.” He stared at the guy until he backed away.

  “Yup, that’s definitely a mad face.”

  Time to change the subject. “Kendall?”

  She smiled sweetly. “Yes?”

  “In the truck you said that you worked as a social worker at the Boston Children’s Hospital.”

  “I did. I’m surprised you remember. You were so distant, I thought you might be having an out-of-body experience.”

  He ignored the gibe. “But you’re a licensed marriage and family therapist, correct? Doesn’t that make you overqualified for a hospital social-worker position?”

  “I don’t know if overqualified is the right word. I have my master’s in social work, and I’m a licensed marriage and family therapist. One of the reasons I took the position at the hospital was because it gave me the opportunity to clock my clinical hours and have the supervision necessary to be licensed. After I had my hours, I took the exam, but I didn’t want to start a practice in Boston, only to have to leave it in a year or two. I’d planned to go out on my own when I moved to Harmony.”

  “What were you waiting for?”

  “David. You see, he had a list of things we needed to accomplish before we could set a wedding date and move home.”

  She tried to pull her hand away, but he held on and leaned forward. “So, those were the rules you threw in my face this morning?”

  She stared at their joined hands and shrugged. “Maybe.” It took a while before she finally looked at him, but her defeatist expression took away any sense of victory he thought he’d feel after winning the waiting game. “Six years ago David asked me to marry him, and I said yes. When we started talking about a wedding date, he said he wanted us to finish college first. That sounded reasonable, so I agreed, but then in our senior year, David thought we should wait until after grad school.”

  “And what did you want?”

  “I wanted to get married, but, again, waiting until we finished our education didn’t sound unreasonable, so I didn’t argue. Then, after grad school, he wanted to wait until we saved enough money for a down payment on a house. When I told him I didn’t want to wait, he said he was only thinking of me, that he wanted to be a good provider, blah, blah, blah. Personally, I didn’t care if we lived in a shoe box.”

  “But he did.”

  “That’s what he said, and I believed him at the time, but now I know better.” She made a face he couldn’t catalog. All he knew was it wasn’t good. “The only reason I agreed to move in with David was because we were engaged. I couldn’t afford to live alone in Boston on my salary. Besides, living together was the only way we’d be able to save money. It would have been impossible if we had to pay rent for two places on top of my student loans. I had two choices: move in with David or move home. As you can imagine, my parents were less than thrilled with my decision to live in sin.” She shrugged as if it were no big deal, but he knew her parents; he knew what it felt like to let Grace and Teddy down. “It didn’t seem as if I had much of a choice, so I took the job at the hospital, where I could get my clinical hours and supervision for my license.”

  “Which is a huge accomplishment.”

  She shrugged it off as if it were nothing. “Now I see all David’s rules and conditions for what they were. He was stringing me along for six years, and I don’t understand why I didn’t see it then. Six years is a long time.”

  “Do you miss him?”

  She looked at their joined hands and shook her head. “No, not in the way I thought I would. I guess I miss the idea
of him. Now I see that what David thought was best for us translated to what was best for him. Lesson learned. I’ll never make that mistake again.”

  “Right. You’re finished abdicating your decision making. Your life, your sexuality, and your future are in no one’s hands but your own.” He squeezed her hand. “I remember.”

  “Sorry.” She bit her bottom lip so hard, he was worried she’d draw blood. “I guess I was painting you with the same brush, and that wasn’t fair, but . . .”

  “But nothing. You need to decide what you want. I’m not making the rules, Kendall. I learned a long time ago that the only things I can control are myself and my actions. Contrary to popular belief, I have no great urge to control anyone’s life but my own. Now, that’s not to say, hypothetically at least, that I have no interest in being part of someone else’s life. But being part of someone’s life is more about sharing than control, isn’t it?”

  “In theory, yes. In practice? I’m not so sure.”

  “You wouldn’t use only one test subject if you were doing a study, would you?”

  “No.”

  “Yet that’s essentially what you’re doing, isn’t it?”

  She didn’t disagree, but she didn’t agree either. She just tucked into the meal the server set in front of her. She took one bite of her sandwich and let out an appreciative groan—the same sound she’d made the second she’d straddled him earlier.

  He shifted in his seat and stared at his burger, but the only thing he wanted to bite into was sitting on the opposite side of the table.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Kendall let Jack help her back into the truck, not because she needed help, but because he’d taken her hand as they exited the restaurant and she was loath to let it go. His hands were now firmly on her waist, and she leaned back against him, craning her neck to see his face. “You’re not going to answer my question, are you?”

  At the restaurant, when Jack had handed her a stack of cash with which to pay the bill, she’d found four slips of paper stuffed into the billfold, each containing women’s names and phone numbers. Before he ripped them from her grasp, she’d read the offer of a sponge bath—aloud. It was clear that he’d taken them and stuffed them in his wallet. It was clear that he’d known exactly what they were. And it was also clear that he hadn’t had enough interest to even look at them. His face had turned so red, it was laughable as well as charming.

  “Look, when I left the hospital, all the nurses knew I wasn’t allowed to drive until after my next MRI, so a few of them offered me a ride to the hospital.”

  “From what I saw, that wasn’t the only kind of ride Rita was offering.”

  He lifted her right off her feet and sat her in the truck like he would a child and closed the door.

  Kendall was still laughing when he climbed in beside her. “Where to, Romeo?”

  “Home Depot.” He didn’t look happy.

  Jack obviously wasn’t one who appreciated being teased—at least not about women’s telephone numbers, which only made teasing him all the more fun. He huffed and grumbled like a bear while she started the ignition and turned toward the strip mall.

  Kendall followed a still-grumbling Jack into the Home Depot. He grabbed an orange cart and looked like a man relieved to be back in his element. He whistled his way through the store, collecting materials. Sheets of drywall stood on end between the cart’s upright bars, which were obviously designed to hold the stuff. A tub of mud sat on the other side, along with a pile of tools. He set a box of drywall tape on the cart and turned to her. “Why don’t you go get the paint while I finish up here? We’ll need a gallon of primer and a gallon of paint.”

  She tilted her head. “How do you know how much we need?” She didn’t even know that.

  “Jaime told me. I’ll meet you there once I finish up here.”

  “Okay,” she turned and walked toward the front of the store, feeling the heat of his eyes on her the whole way down the long aisle. “Paint?” She didn’t know where the damn paint aisle was. She stopped, looking for signs.

  “Can I help you?” The man who had helped Jack load the drywall smiled down at her. “If you’re looking for your husband, you might try the lumber aisle.” He pointed behind her. “He said there was damage to the lathe, so he’s going to have to rip it down and add furring strips to the ceiling joists, since they’re in bad shape.”

  She must have had a quizzical look on her face.

  “They give you something to screw or nail the drywall to.”

  “No, I know what furring strips are—it’s not that. It’s just that Jack’s not . . . never mind.” She didn’t need to tell the man Jack was not her husband. “Thanks, but, actually, I was looking for the paint aisle.”

  “Oh, you’re one of those divide-and-conquer couples. Right this way.” He headed in the opposite direction, so she followed. “The couples who can shop separately are my favorites. I bet you even get your hands dirty.”

  She smiled at that. “How did you know?”

  “No rings, and your manicure looks like it’s taken a real beating.”

  It had. “I was pulling down plaster first thing this morning.”

  “You know, they say a couple who can go through a remodel together can get through anything.”

  “I hadn’t heard that. But I suppose it makes sense.”

  “It sure does. It takes teamwork and good communication—especially when you’re trying to drywall a ceiling. You two will do fine.”

  He stopped in front of the paint desk. “I’ll just go on back and make sure your husband has everything he needs. He said you came all the way from Harmony. I’d hate for you to forget something and have to make a trip back.”

  “That would be great. Thanks for all your help.” She shook her head, wondering what made the man think she and Jack were married. But, then, she’d never come to a home-improvement store with a friend before. Actually, she’d never come to a home-improvement store with anyone but her father. David couldn’t even manage to hang a picture. She’d always handled everything like that. She’d even painted the entire apartment—alone. He was supposed to help but remembered that he had to work that weekend. She’d always thought that had been a convenient excuse.

  “Can I help you find something?”

  She blinked and found the paint guy staring at her while she’d been woolgathering. “I need a gallon of paint and primer.”

  He motioned to the wall of color chips. “Color?”

  “White.”

  “Flat, satin, or gloss?”

  “Flat ceiling paint.” There, that was easy. She grabbed a couple of rollers, covers, brushes, and a paint tray while the guy shook the daylights out of the can. She thought about buying a tarp, but figured an old sheet would work just as well.

  “Ready to go?”

  Jack’s voice made her jump. He stood so close, his breath warmed her cheek.

  The damn man was always sneaking up on her. “Just about.” She reached for a roll of painter’s tape and tossed it on the pile.

  “Here, let me take that.” Jack took the tray and put it on the cart while the guy came around to add the paint to their pile. “I think we’re done, unless there’s something else you want to look at.”

  “You know, actually, there is. Go on ahead and check out. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  He gave her a quizzical look but nodded, and she headed toward the aisle where she’d seen the tile. Plain terra-cotta tile was cheap, so she didn’t think twice. She visualized the inside of the oven and kicked herself for not having the idea before she’d left; she would have measured the damn thing. But, then, she’d had other things on her mind, and the last thing she was thinking about was dinner. She grabbed the tiles she thought she needed and carried them back to the checkout line.

  Jack did a double take.

  “They’re for dinner. Let’s stop at the grocery store on the way home. I need to pick up a few things.” Actually, she needed to stock the pantry
with more food than she’d ever purchased at one time before. She’d thought the food Addie had sent would hold them over longer, but she’d never seen anyone eat as much as Jack. Then she’d heard about the nor’easter headed their way, and that always meant making sure she had a three or four days’ supply of food and water on hand—and with Jack, she’d have to double the usual amount. On the bright side, at least she’d have plenty of time to cook, because after their discussion over lunch, she needed to do some serious therapy.

  *

  Jax lied like a rug and sent Kendall into the grocery store alone, claiming he wanted to make sure nothing was stolen from the back of the truck. He hated lying, but the last thing he wanted to do was tell her he was going to the pharmacy next door to buy a box of condoms.

  He watched her disappear through the sliding doors, took the keys from the ignition, and then ran to the pharmacy.

  He didn’t want Kendall to know sex was even a remote possibility—because it wasn’t. Or at least it shouldn’t be. But he was only human and didn’t think he’d survive another of Kendall’s shower scenes or seeing her in one of her every-man’s-fantasy nightgowns. Or, God forbid, if she kissed him again. Jaime was right: he needed protection in more ways than one.

  He came to a screeching halt in front of the checkout counter, where two teenage clerks stood chatting. “Condoms?”

  The guy at the desk sporting a sorry excuse for a mustache shot him a you-lucky-dog grin. “Aisle nine.”

  Shit, more numbers. “Show me.”

  The girl came around the counter and walked a few aisles over. “They’re just down here, sir”—she pointed—“on your right.”

  Great. Now he had a teenage girl watching him buy condoms. He felt like a complete perv. “Thanks.” He waited until she’d turned back to look for his normal brand. His gaze landed on a bright blue box he’d never seen before and he did a double take. Vegan condoms? Damn, only in New Hampshire. He shook his head, grabbed a small box of large-size Trojans, and ran to the front, where he threw the box and his Amex card on the counter. He was back in the truck in no time and sat for what seemed like forever, waiting in the cold for Kendall, with the box of condoms burning a hole in his pocket.