by Abby Brooks
“I’d remind you that you don’t have to do this…”
“But you’ve figured out that fighting me on something only makes me want to do it more?”
“Nope. It has nothing to do with that at all.”
I didn’t want to remind her she didn’t have to help me because I wanted her to spend the day with me. If ever there was proof I was an asshole, it was how selfish I’d become with her time. I wanted it all and did everything I could to get more of it.
I dropped her a wink, which she was free to interpret anyway she wanted, and strolled through the oasis of a backyard to the guesthouse, where Kennedy had suggested we go through her grandfather’s things to make more space for me.
“Nan says we can donate everything,” she said as she paused in front of my door. “According to her, she hasn’t seen it in twenty years, so there’s no point in keeping any of it.”
“Did you see her reaction to the pictures on the bookshelf, though?” My heart still clenched at the thought of her finger caressing those photographs, her eyes softening, her breath deepening. If love had a look, it was Maxine Monroe reconnecting with her husband.
Kennedy nodded as I opened the door for her. She stepped into my space with hesitance, like she was afraid to be alone with me. Maybe I hadn’t been covering up my physical reaction to her as well as I thought.
I closed the door then leaned on the wall, arms crossed as I studied the tips of my boots.
See? my posture lied. I couldn’t be less interested in you.
“We could keep an eye out for gems like those pictures. Donate most of the stuff, but keep the things that look like good memories.” I shrugged. “Maybe come up with a good way to give them back to Maxine later.”
Kennedy’s lips pulled into a smile while I did my best not to obsess over how they’d look wrapped around my dick. “You have a kind heart for an asshole.”
“Aww, gee. You’re so good to me.”
We got to work, opening box after box and separating everything into piles we labeled Trash, Treasure, and Who the Fuck Knows. We sat cross-legged on the floor, sometimes chatting, sometimes quiet, but always, my body was aware of hers.
Time and again, her gaze wandered to the pictures of Collin and me on the wall. She studied them like she planned to dissect them, and I wondered if she’d figured out who my brother was. Finally, she put down a handful of her grandpa’s things and wandered over.
“I can’t tell if you guys look alike. His face is always covered.” She shook her head as she leaned close. “It’s almost like you did it on purpose.”
Ding, ding, ding! Ten points for the perceptive lady with the sexy mouth!
“We don’t look alike. At all.”
She bobbed her head, her focus so trained on the images I got the feeling she wasn’t willing to take my word on the matter. “Do you have any pictures of him with his face visible?”
I did. Tons of them. Pics of him onstage that I took from the wings, the stage lights careening around him as he sang. Images I snapped at his wedding, when he smiled at Harlow the way Maxine smiled for George. A rare photo or two of us as kids, when neither of us could bear to smile at all.
“I do.” I heaved a nonchalant shrug. “But it’s more fun watching you unravel a mystery. Where would the fun be if I handed you the answer?”
“It’s almost like you know me or something.” She quirked her head. “Now when did that happen?”
I could tell her I paid attention to the things that mattered and that somewhere along the way, she started to fit that description. I could explain that once I cared about someone, I went out of my way to understand what made them tick. I could tell her those things, but that would spell disaster for both of us.
I returned my attention to the pile in front of me. “Who’s to say it did?”
We finished the day, side by side, sharing treasures as we discovered them. For Kennedy, it seemed like getting to know her grandfather all over again. For me, it was getting to know more about her. What she valued. How she looked when love lit her face. What mattered to her. The day was a primer in intimacy and my head spun with it all.
Being intimate wasn’t my cup of tea.
It led to vulnerability and that never ended well.
“Are you adopted?”
The question sent the air out of my lungs like a right hook to the face. Or a shoulder slamming the ground. Or Kennedy’s tongue darting out to lick her lips. “Why would you ask that?”
Her eyes searched mine. “Just had a bunch of things click into place. And I know this is super personal, but I spewed my story about my dad to you, so you owe me a story in return.”
“That’s not how it works. You can’t accidentally share a thing and then come to collect something in return. Imagine if banks worked that way. Here, have a dollar, now give me your retirement.”
She laughed, her cheeks pinking, her eyes flashing, her lips begging me to touch them. “I’m right, though. You’re adopted.” Her voice was soft. Gentle to the point of breaking me.
My jaw literally clenched to prevent words from escaping. I mentally pried it apart. “I was raised in foster care.”
“And it wasn’t a good experience?”
It was the worst experience. It was growing up on a battlefield where I questioned everything. While foster care was a miracle for lots of kids, the people raising me weren’t doing it because they loved me. They took me because they had a hole in their heart they thought I might fill. (Spoiler: I didn’t.) Or because they needed the money. (Spoiler: money can’t buy love.)
I shook my head as I tried to sum up my childhood. “I’m stronger for it.”
“Is that why you’re against me calling the Department of Children and Families about Shane?”
“I’m only against it while you don’t have the full story. I was safer in foster care than I was on my own. But only marginally.”
“Your brother….” She jerked her head toward the pictures.
“He’s not my biological brother. Not even my adoptive brother. We landed in the same foster family. We grew up together and our bond is forged through shared experience. I’ve protected him since we were kids. Spent most of my twenties protecting him. He’s safe now.”
I literally squeezed my eyes shut, my lips pressed together as I rubbed a hand over my mouth. I didn’t talk about my past. Those stories didn’t deserve more time in the world than they’d already been given. If I could, I’d rip them out of my head and swallow them whole so I could shit them out and be done with them once and for all.
Kennedy patted my hand. “It’s okay. You don’t have to talk to me.” She scooted closer, our shoulders kissing, then leaned her head against mine. “But I’m a good listener. If you ever decide you want to.”
The scent of lilacs surrounded me, heady, strong, her. Dizzy with it, I breathed even deeper, welcoming the rush of lust that burned through the ache in my heart. She stilled, as if she could sense me struggling, a rabbit frozen in fear as the wolf stalked into view. Embarrassed, I pulled away.
She straightened, her blue eyes locked on mine and damn it, I didn’t see fear.
I saw excitement.
She was no rabbit and I was no wolf. We were man and woman, and our combative chemistry would be the end of us.
Her hand came to my cheek. Her thumb grazed the stubble along my jaw. If our lips came together—and at that point, there was no doubt they would—I’d kiss her until she couldn’t breathe. I’d memorize her taste and the rhythm of her heart, my tongue dipping out to meet hers as my body throbbed with want.
“Knock, knock!” The front door cracked open.
Kennedy dropped her hand, lurched out of my reach, and leapt to her feet as Maxine came into view. “Hey, Nan!”
Her voice was too high. Bright spots stood out on her cheeks. Her eyes flashed and crackled with enough energy to burn the place down.
I lifted a hand, my pants too tight to stand. Maxine either didn’t notice, or play
ed it off with so much grace, my respect for her climbed even higher.
As the women chatted, I collected myself.
I almost kissed Penny Dreadful. Or, maybe, she almost kissed me. Or, more like it, we almost kissed each other. We were caught up in the moment and I was desperate to keep her from asking more questions about my childhood. What better way to shut her up than by occupying her mouth in other ways?
That made sense. I was sure of it.
Sense-making or not, it was bullshit. We’d almost kissed because we wanted to.
“You guys are making good progress in here.” Maxine’s feet were firmly planted outside the guesthouse, her eyes roaming the dwindling pile of boxes as she leaned against the doorframe.
“We’ve certainly been busy,” Kennedy responded in that squeaky voice of hers.
I added my smile to the mix. “You can say that again.”
If they awarded a world record for awkward, we’d just shattered it. Go, us.
Maxine regarded us in that world-wise way of hers that said she could read us easier than a children’s book. “Whatever you’re doing, keep it up.” Her eyes glimmered with a million things she saw but didn’t mention. “Looks like it’s working.”
Chapter Eighteen
Kennedy
“Ten seconds to spare.” Emmanuel held up his stopwatch with an excited shimmy. When he was happy, he looked less like a prison guard and more like…well…a pediatric nurse.
I jabbed my fist into the air. “And I pretty much feel like I gave that family the attention they deserved. So, win-almost-win.”
The visit had been a yearly appointment for a healthy kid. No curveballs. No need to explain confusing options or medications. In any other situation, my ten spare seconds would have evaporated while I answered questions, but I’d take the wins—and Emmanuel’s smiles—where I could get them.
Ramsey strolled around the corner. “What’s this I hear? Celebrating?”
Emmanuel bobbed his head. “Our girl is getting better at this.”
Not only was I not sure when I’d become their girl, but I felt like I’d have to get worse at giving care in order to be better at their game. I let both slide. “That’s right. Ten seconds to spare on a well visit. Go me.”
Ramsey cocked his head. “Oh, ouch. This is only a well visit celebration? You still have a long way to go, grasshopper.” He leaned on the counter, consuming my field of vision. “I’m telling you. One night out with me and you’ll have a real reason to celebrate.”
The innuendo was so thick, even Emmanuel flinched—and I was certain he’d French kiss the man if the opportunity arose.
“I’m sorry, Ramsey. I’m not in a place where I’m interested in dating. I have too much on my plate.”
I couldn’t say what came over me. Maybe it was the confidence ten measly seconds gave me. Maybe it was the almost kiss with Joe that had been playing on repeat in my fantasies. Or maybe it was just me being sick and tired of having to swat away advances from a colleague at my place of business.
Whatever it was, I was thankful for it. Speaking up felt so much better than being quiet.
Ramsey’s jaw dropped. He huffed a laugh. “I’m not asking you on a date, Dr. Monroe.” He exchanged a look with Emmanuel that said, “can you believe this?” “When I’ve suggested drinks, it came from a purely professional place. I merely want to help.” He placed a hand on his heart and shook his head while Emmanuel looked as confused as I felt.
“Then what about the nose boops?” I asked while Emmanuel nodded his agreement that casually bouncing a finger off someone’s nose was highly suspect.
“An occupational hazard. I work with children.” He booped me as if to prove a point. “Habits are hard to break.”
I nodded slowly, oscillating between embarrassed and not buying his excuse. When it came to me, everything Ramsey did seemed like an advance.
Though, I’d been very wrong about Joe when we first met.
And when we second met.
And third met.
Maybe my people reading skills weren’t as strong as I wanted them to be.
“Now you basically have to go out with me so I can prove I wasn’t coming on to a colleague.” Ramsey turned to Emmanuel. “Am I right or am I right?”
Somehow, maybe out of guilt or just the powers of confusion at work, I left with plans to meet Ramsey for drinks later that week—on a purely professional basis, of course.
I dragged myself up Nan’s pristine white steps to the porch, my mind adding the squeak that had been missing on number three for weeks, and pushed through a silent front door. The rich aroma of something delicious sent my mouth into watering overdrive. It didn’t smell like takeout and Nan didn’t cook. Maybe Carl had hidden talents as a chef?
Desperate for a peek at the elusive man who’d captured my grandma’s attention, I poked my head into the kitchen. “Hey!”
My smile died, then relit with ferocity when Joe grinned over his shoulder. “Hey, yourself.” He stabbed a sizzling steak out of a pan and put it on a plate, then repeated the process with another. “I hope you brought your appetite.”
“Always. But, uh, not to be rude or anything, did we make plans I forgot?”
Joe sagged. His smile dissolved. His shoulders slumped. “I can’t believe you forgot…” His frown was so overblown I started laughing. “So that’s how this is gonna work.” He gazed at me with puppy eyes. “I get my hopes up and you laugh in my face?”
“Probably. But maybe you should tell me what this is. So I can be sure.”
He grabbed a bowl of salad out of the fridge and set it on the table, then plopped baked potatoes next to the steaks and set a plate on the table with a flourish. “You’ve been so burned out from work, I thought I’d surprise you.” He pulled my seat out with a bow. “My lady…”
The whole thing came scarily close to house husband territory.
Not that I’d been looking for a house husband. Or that I wanted anything like it from Joe, of all people. Either way, my mother would be pleased by the confusing turn of events.
I stared at the chair. Then the plate. Then at him. “This is so completely unnecessary.”
“That’s the thing about kindness. It works best when it comes as a surprise. Now, please. Sit and eat before I remember I’m an asshole.”
I did as requested and he scooted my chair back in. “It smells delicious.”
“I have adult beverage options, but I don’t know what you like. Occupational hazard of being nice to someone you don’t really know all that well.”
“I am, by and large, a froufrou drinker. You mix fruit juice with alcohol and sugar, and I’m good to go. Bonus points if you stick an umbrella in the glass with hunks of pineapple.”
Joe wrinkled his nose, then reached into the fridge. “One Wicked Ale it is, then. Though I’m sad to report I whiffed on the umbrellas and pineapple.” He cracked open the can, gathered his plate, and set the drink in front of me. “Maxine is out with Carl, by the way.”
“I see.” I plucked my fork off the napkin, but hesitated to dive in.
“And I cleared this whole idea with her, so you can ease back on the urge to pepper spray. I didn’t break into her kitchen to surprise you with dinner and drinks.” Joe took a seat, the scrape of the chair echoing in the silent house. “Also, feel free to say anything at any time, because I’m getting nervous and I’m making stupid jokes to hide how awkward I feel right now.”
I laughed. “This is very thoughtful of you. And completely unexpected.”
As we ate, I found myself unable to think around the hum of “oh my goodness his eyes are so freaking blue!” and “how could a jaw be so sexy?” and “I wonder if he’ll try to kiss me again” buzzing through my brain.
“You’re quiet tonight.” Joe offered a nervous smile. “Did me surprising you with dinner make it weird?”
“Not at all.” I tapped the side of my head. “My thoughts are loud.” And completely centered around him.
“Okay, fine. You didn’t make it weird. I’m making it weird.” I put down my fork and took a breath. It felt so good to speak up with Ramsey. Maybe it would feel just as good to be honest with Joe. “I find you very attractive and I don’t know what to do about that.”
He choked on his steak, then swallowed hard, sitting back in his chair and blinking rapidly.
I rushed on. “Up until now, I’ve been ignoring it because I didn’t think you liked me all that much. But, now that you’re being nice to me, I can’t exactly use that excuse, can I?”
“Are you always this blunt?”
“Like you said, I’m a terrible liar. I thought maybe honesty would work better.” My heart hopped around in my chest like a deranged bunny. “When we first met, I pegged you as a class-A asshole.”
“Maybe you should work on becoming a better liar.”
“And maybe you should let me finish my sentences before you jump down my throat. I was gonna say, I thought you were an asshole…but I was wrong.”
“You weren’t wrong. I’m definitely an asshole.”
“What kind of asshole would make a surprise dinner for someone?”
“The kind of asshole who finds that someone very beautiful. And smart. And funny.”
I lifted a hand to brush my hair out of my eyes and Joe flinched.
“And dangerous,” he added. “You have a hell of a right hook, Penny.”
My jaw dropped and a surprising amount of disappointment soured my stomach. While I thought something was growing between us, Joe thought I was someone else. “My name’s Kennedy.”
A red-hot blush raced up his neck and flared across his face. “I started calling you Penny Dreadful the day we met. Penny because of the color of your hair.”
“And Dreadful because I’ve been terrible to you.”
“Hey, it takes two to tango. I lived up to my reputation.” His knife dropped through the meat and he chomped it from the fork. “Bonus points if you know what penny dreadful actually means.”
