Kissing Mr. Right

by Michelle Major

  He was sincere and truly seemed like a good guy. Why couldn’t she fall in love with him instead?

  Instead.

  Her brain whirled. Was she in love with Ty?

  Her heart answered before her mind had time to deny it.

  Head over heels in love. The kind that would hurt like hell when she left. Because she was going to leave. She had to leave.

  She realized Owen was staring at her. “Sorry,” she said quickly. “I’m a little out of it until I have coffee.”

  He smiled that Richie Cunningham smile again. “Understandable. Your work hours are crazy, I guess.”

  The conversation veered from work to what they did for fun and a host of other benign topics. Then they walked back to the art museum. They spent an hour touring the contemporary art exhibit, during which Kendall struggled to keep track of the conversation as she absorbed the realization that she’d fallen in love with Ty Bishop. Love was not part of her plan right now.

  As they neared the exit, he asked, “Would you like to get together some time off camera?”

  Because the camera was still running and because she didn’t know what else to say, Kendall answered, “That would be great.”

  “Super-duper.” Owen grinned. “I’ll give you a call.”

  Kendall smiled so wide she thought her mouth might split open. “Great.”

  He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek then walked out of the museum. She turned to Steve and said with a smile, “Turn it off. Now.” He did and she ripped the microphone from her jacket.

  “What’s wrong?” the cameraman asked. “I thought things went well.”

  “Nothing’s wrong,” Kendall said, trying to keep her voice steady. “Everything is great. Just great. I’ll see you back at the station.”

  Without waiting for a reply, she turned and walked away. She didn’t stop until she was behind the wheel of her car. Then she reached into her purse and pulled out her emergency pack of M&Ms. She ripped open the bag and poured half of the colorful chocolates into her mouth. She chewed and swallowed the candy and leaned her head against the seat.

  She couldn’t be in love. She’d only known Ty for a few weeks. It was the sex. It had been so good it was messing with her mind. She felt lust, not love. She downed a few more M&Ms.

  Lust. That was it. Lust she could handle.

  She folded the pack of candy and put it back into her purse. How did anyone manage real problem solving without chocolate?

  She thumped her head against the steering wheel a few times. It hurt but didn’t clear her mind. Eyes on the prize, she reminded herself. She put the key in the ignition and eased into late morning traffic.

  Later that morning her head more than hurt, it was pounding like the thumping heavy metal music from Ray’s Body Shop. She’d finished the recap interview from her date with Owen, talking about what a nice guy he was, how much they’d had in common, and the fact that she was looking forward to seeing him again. Two of those things were true.

  Somehow she made it through the evening broadcast, and after excerpts from the date footage aired, her Twitter feed exploded with #itsrainingmen tweets. Both Chloe and Sam called and texted, but Kendall ignored the texts and sent the calls to voice mail. She wasn’t ready to analyze her non-relationship with Owen, even with her best friends.

  Not when she had another man on her mind.

  Rain drizzled against the back of Ty’s Gore-Tex jacket as he stood on Kendall’s front porch, where he’d been for at least five minutes without knocking. There was no question he wanted to see her. He’d been thinking of little else since she’d hopped out of his truck Monday morning.

  But the information in his hand was going to open a Pandora’s box of trouble he’d closed and locked six years ago. He wasn’t sure if it was worth it. If anything was worth that kind of trouble.

  A light flipped on behind the front door. It swung open and Kendall stood in front of him, her head tilted to one side. “My neighbor called. She thought you were a stalker.”

  “Sorry.”

  “How long have you been standing here?”

  “A few minutes.”

  “Would you like to come in?”

  “Yes.” Ty didn’t move.

  “Tonight?”

  He smiled and stepped forward. “It’s good to see you.” He leaned in to kiss her. She smelled sweet and felt soft and Ty knew he would do almost anything for this woman. He’d deal with the consequences later.

  Kendall pushed closed the door. “What’s this?” she asked, making a grab for the envelope. Ty lifted it out of reach. “Dessert.”

  “You don’t play fair.” She led the way into the living room. He still found it hard to believe that she’d lived here for more than a few weeks. There was nothing about the cold, neutral space that held any trace of the sparkle he saw in Kendall.

  “As instructed,” he said, lifting a bottle of wine out of the inside pocket of his jacket.

  “Wonderful. Bring it into the kitchen and we can open it.”

  He followed her toward the small galley kitchen situated past the empty dining room but stopped short when he reached the doorway. “What’s that smell?” he asked, trying to keep his lip from curling.

  She smiled. “It’s a new recipe. Well, not exactly new. I took a gourmet cooking class a few years ago. The chef gave the class a packet of recipes when we were through. I made one of them tonight.” She gestured to a pan sitting on the stove.

  Breathing through his mouth, Ty edged closer. There were several lumps of something thick and brown clinging to the bottom of the pan. Whatever it was looked like something a dog would heave up after rummaging through the garbage. “Is that beef?”

  Kendall frowned and scrunched up her brow. “Yes. At least it started out that way. It’s French. It’s called Boeuf de Pierrelatte.”

  “Uh-huh.” Ty wondered if that was how you said roadkill in France.

  “My version didn’t turn out the same way the chef served it in class,” Kendall said, poking a wooden spoon at the mixture. “But I’m sure it will taste fine.”

  “Sure.”

  “It’s served with homemade noodles.”

  Ty’s interest piqued. “Homemade?”

  More frowning and brow scrunching. “They’re supposed to be homemade.” She pointed to the far end of the counter. It was covered with a dusting of white powder. In the middle of the flour lay a large mass of raw dough. “I couldn’t get the consistency right so the dough wouldn’t cut. I’m boiling water for spaghetti instead.”

  “I love spaghetti,” Ty said, trying to sound enthusiastic. He glanced at Kendall, who was glaring at him like he’d just tracked dog poop through the house. “I mean it. Spaghetti is great.”

  Without warning, she heaved the pan off the stove and dropped the whole mess, pan and all, into the stainless steel garbage can that sat next to the counter. A string of obscenities poured from her mouth as she slammed the lid shut.

  He remained stock-still, unsure of how to respond. Somehow, he guessed a lot was riding on his response. “I really do love spaghetti,” he repeated.

  “Out,” she commanded, pointing her finger toward the living room.

  “We could order a pizza.”

  “I can cook,” she yelled, shaking her finger in front of his nose. “I spent three hundred dollars on that stupid gourmet class. And I can cook.”

  “I believe you,” he said quickly.

  Her eyes narrowed to angry slits. “Go watch TV or something. I’m going to cook you dinner or die trying.”

  “How about Chinese?”

  “I mean it. Go on while I make dinner.” Her voice was low and menacing. He understood it was a tone he didn’t want to mess with.

  He nodded and backed out of the kitchen. “I like cereal, too,” he offered. The galley door swung shut
in his face, and he heard something bang against it. So much for cereal.

  He tried to make himself at home in her house, at least as at home as he could be in a museum. What Kendall lacked in decorative touches, she made up for in the quality of her electronic equipment. The television was large and state of the art. He picked up the remote from the coffee table, flipped on a sports channel, and settled onto the couch. He hadn’t had a chance to open the wine, but he wasn’t about to brave the kitchen. No sound came from that direction. He wondered if that was a good or bad thing.

  Forty-five minutes later the galley door opened. Ty turned to see Kendall, her face flushed, pushing damp strands of hair off her face. “Dinner’s ready. I hope you’re hungry.”

  He smiled as he walked toward her and was relieved when she returned his smile. He framed her face in his hands. “I wasn’t joking when I said I don’t care what we eat. Dinner was just an excuse to see you again.”

  “I appreciate that,” she said and planted a long kiss on his mouth.

  He pulled her closer. “Maybe we could wait on dinner.” Her finger jabbed into his chest. “Ouch. What was that for?”

  “We’re not waiting. I made my best dish for you.”

  “You mean European mystery meat wasn’t your best dish?”

  “No.” She walked toward the small table in the corner of the kitchen, currently set for two. “The most impressive sounding, but not the best. Would you pour the wine?”

  He followed, relieved when the smell that greeted him as he neared was good. Damn good. He peered over her shoulder at the casserole dish that sat in the middle of the table. “Is that—?”

  “Macaroni and cheese,” she said in a tone that dared him to comment. “We’re going vegetarian tonight. “Mac and cheese and salad. My mom made it almost once a week when I was a kid so there is no way I screwed up this recipe.”

  He bent closer to the table. “This smells too good to be from a box.”

  “Of course it’s not from a box. Well, the noodles are, but the rest is homemade.” She held up her hand. “I sliced my thumb grating the cheese.”

  He took her hand in his and lightly kissed the small scratch on the fleshy pad of her thumb. “Does that help?”

  “Actually, it does.” She laughed.

  She looked so perfect standing there with her kitchen destroyed in the background that Ty could have easily made a meal of her.

  Even though he’d bribed her into inviting him for dinner, he knew it meant something that she’d gone to so much trouble. He couldn’t have cared less how the food tasted. It made him feel ridiculously happy that she’d fussed over it.

  He was over the moon for this woman.

  “What are you smiling about?” she asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

  “I’m a fan of mac and cheese. That’s all.” He held out her chair. “Let’s eat before it gets cold.”

  Still watching him, she sat down. He reached for the bottle of wine and uncorked it, pouring each of them a glass before sitting down himself.

  “I guess red wine’s a little fancy for the meal,” Kendall said, raising her glass. “We should probably have juice boxes or milk.”

  “The wine is perfect. The meal is perfect.” He raised his own glass and clinked it against hers. “To finding perfection in the unlikeliest of places.”

  He thought he saw her blush but all she said was, “I’ll drink to that.” She served them both and watched as he took his first bite. “Well?”

  “Not that I ever doubted it, but you were right. You can cook.”

  This time she couldn’t hide the color that rose to her cheeks. “That’s not exactly the truth. I sort of know how to cook. But only the recipes from when I was a kid. Good old Midwestern staples—mac and cheese, potato salad, Jell-O done fifteen different ways. Nothing you’d want to serve to guests.”

  Ty scooped another forkful of macaroni. “I don’t know. This stuff might be award-winning. There’s nothing wrong with the basics.”

  “You shouldn’t be so understanding.” Kendall picked up her wine glass. “I’ll end up taking advantage of you. I don’t want to do that.”

  “I’ll take my chances.” He smiled at her. “While we’re on the subject of understanding, tell me about Owen Dalton.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  He’d been dying to ask the question since he’d arrived. Unfortunately, Kendall had just taken a drink of wine, which she promptly spit across the table.

  “Didn’t see that one coming, I guess,” he said as he wiped the front of his shirt with a napkin.

  She coughed then wiped at her mouth. “Not exactly. Sorry about the wine. If you take off your shirt, I’ll soak it.”

  “I like that idea. First, let’s talk about Owen. Things getting serious with the two of you?”

  “You know how the promotion went. The viewers decided he would be the one I went out with a second time.”

  “I watched the show last night. You agreed to a third, off-camera date.”

  She stood and began clearing the table. Dishes clattered as she hurriedly stacked them. So he’d struck a nerve.

  “He caught me off guard, too,” she said after a moment.

  Ty leaned back in his chair and tried to make his voice sound casual. “He’s your type, rich and respectable. Probably some kind of pillar of the community. Not much in the looks department unless you like the pocket-protector set. That might actually appeal to you.”

  He could tell by her rigid back that she was getting pissed. But so was he. Their relationship was new, but after Sunday night, Kendall was his.

  For now, anyway.

  He didn’t want to share her with some geeky executive. It drove him crazy to think about any other man putting his hands on Kendall.

  “Are you jealous?”

  Her voice was so close. She’d left the dishes at the sink and was standing directly in front of him.

  “Hell, yeah, I’m jealous.” He put his hands on her waist and pulled her to him. “I almost kicked in the TV when he kissed you on the cheek.”

  Her fingers tickled the back of his neck. “The fact that your jealousy makes me ridiculously happy is sick and wrong. Despite being a great guy, Owen does nothing for me.”

  “My turn for ridiculous happiness.”

  Her voice was soft. “Don’t get too attached. I’m going to New York tomorrow for an interview.”

  He struggled to match her tone. “That sucks.” He still couldn’t wrap his mind around the reality of her leaving, especially when she was in his arms.

  “You knew my plans when this started.” She tried to pull away but he held on tight.

  “Right. The running shoes.”

  “It’s not just that, Ty. A shot at New York is my dream. I refuse to feel guilty for trying to make it come true.”

  “Who’s talking about guilt?” He stood and kissed the corner of her mouth. Either the light was especially good in her kitchen or she was wearing less makeup because he could clearly see the dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose. He didn’t think it was the light. He was getting to her. “I want your dreams to come true. I think I can help with at least one of them.”

  “Really?” The look she gave him was so priceless he laughed out loud. He stepped around her and retrieved the envelope he’d placed on the wire baker’s rack, safe from the devastation of the kitchen.

  “Despite my better judgment, here is the untold story of ERB Holdings and GoldStar.” He held the envelope out to her.

  She bit down on her lower lip as she stared at the envelope. If she looked at him with that sort of longing, he’d be the happiest guy on earth. But she didn’t grab for the information. “Don’t pretend you’re not dying to have this.”

  “I do want it.” She pushed her hair behind her ears. “But even if you don’t share what you know about GoldS
tar,” she said, her voice unsure, “I’ll still like you. I just want you to understand that.”

  He stepped forward and pressed the envelope against her palm until her fingers closed around it. “I’m glad you told me, but I’m doing this as much for me as you. Now take your dessert and say thank you.”

  She flashed a smile. “Thank you.”

  “That’s better. You have a look. I’ll make coffee.”

  He found filters and a bag of ground coffee after opening several of her meticulously organized cabinets. Based on the order in the kitchen, tonight’s dinner was a real departure for her. Again, the fact that the change was for him gave him a spike of pleasure that quickly turned into something sharp as he thought about her trip to New York. He purposely didn’t turn around until the coffee machine began to percolate.

  He glanced over to find her staring at him, her brows furrowed in confusion. “They’re nice pictures but I don’t understand the significance.”

  He put two mugs on the counter. He could see the photographs spread in a line across the table. He’d taken those shots six years ago. This afternoon had been the first time he’d looked at them since then.

  “I should start at the beginning,” he told her, leaning against the counter. “When I finished my doctorate, it was expected I would come to work for GoldStar. Use my expertise and connections within the environmental community to pave the way for bigger and better land deals. I had an idea of how my father was running the business, and I wanted no part of it.

  “I went to work for the state, reviewing proposals for development sites. The first case I was assigned was a proposal to build on twenty-five acres of prime real estate in the foothills northwest of Boulder. GoldStar was slated to get the contract.”

  “How did your dad feel about having you involved?”

  “To say he went through the roof is putting it mildly. I think he would have disowned me if my mom had let him. She wouldn’t stand for the scandal.” Ty poured the coffee into two mugs and carried them to the table. He sat across from Kendall and picked up one of the photos.