And then his son got kidnapped, and he stopped coming. And then Carlos sold the taco truck.
Kenzie knew about the kidnapping, of course. It was all over the news, and the police were all over the market. A cop came by the truck and asked everyone if they’d seen a little boy in a reindeer sweater anywhere in the vicinity. Carlos and Joey hadn’t seen anything; they did all the cooking and rarely interacted with customers. When the cop showed Kenzie the kid’s picture, she shook her head. She would have recognized Derek if she’d been shown his photo, but kids were largely invisible. She had never really looked at Derek’s son.
It wasn’t until she was home later that she saw the link for the news alert on Facebook, with the same picture she’d been shown earlier. Same kid, same sweater. Farther down the page was a photo of his parents, and that’s when she connected the dots.
“Ty, look.” She’d turned her laptop so her roommate could see the screen. He was sitting beside her on the sofa, head buried in his phone. “This is the kid they asked me about today. The one who got kidnapped at the market.”
Ty gave the screen a quick glance and murmured something that in tone, at least, sounded sympathetic. But he was immersed in his own little world, obsessing over a potential love interest who was ignoring his texts.
Derek and his wife had just given a statement on TV, begging for the public’s help in finding their son. The story was crazy, both horrible and exciting, the exact kind of thing that Netflix would make a documentary about one day. A couple of the clickbait headlines read “Son of PowerOrganix CEO Kidnapped in Broad Daylight,” and “Celebrity Hairstylist of J.Lo Pleads with Public to Find Her Missing Child.”
The reward for any information leading to finding their son was a million dollars. But they never found him.
When Derek first approached the counter at the Green Bean about nine months later, he looked fine. Normal. No different from the two dozen times she’d served him a taco at the market. But this time, up close, he seemed . . . hollow. He seemed to have aged a decade, not in appearance, but in demeanor.
Kenzie smiled at him brightly, wondering if he would recognize her from the taco truck and say something like, “Hey, you work here now?” but he wasn’t looking at her—he was looking above her head at the coffee menu. He ordered a dark roast drip, black. It came to $2.20, and he handed her a ten and told her to keep the change.
“This is way too much,” she said, handing it all back to him.
He smiled absently, his eyes meeting hers for only the briefest of seconds, and then he dumped it all into the tip jar.
He sat at one of the small tables by the window, opened his laptop, and was still working when she went on her break thirty minutes later. She removed a cookie from the case, placed it on a plate, and brought it over to him.
“Cookie of the Day,” she said. “Dark chocolate chip. It’s delicious, and totally worth the carbs. I wish I could say it’s on me, but it’s technically on you, since you tipped so big.”
He looked up, surprised. She’d forgotten how good-looking he was, his face clean-shaven and chiseled, dark eyes reflecting gold from the sunlight seeping in through the window beside him. Some men don’t age well; they get paunchy from too much fried food, or ruddy from too much alcohol. That wasn’t the case with Derek. He was going the Bradley Cooper route, no trace of Russell Crowe whatsoever.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he said.
“If you don’t eat it, I will, and I’ve already had two.”
He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Want to split it?”
“All yours.” She turned to leave, then paused. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
He tilted his head. “You do look a little familiar . . .”
Kenzie knew the difference between truth and politeness, and she grinned.
“Bullshit. You have no idea who I am. And that’s totally okay,” she added, when he opened his mouth to protest. “Nice to know I made an impression after seeing you practically every weekend for a year.” A slight exaggeration, but whatever.
“Did you just say bullshit to a customer?”
“You going to tell on me?” It was her turn to cock her head. “We have a suggestion box on the counter if you want to make a complaint about my language.”
“Really?”
“No,” she said with a smile. “Not really.”
He leaned back in his chair and looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. She found herself holding her breath. Some men enjoy the sass. Some are intimidated by it. Kenzie was betting he was in the first category. Guy in a suit like that, driving a car like that, he’s not used to people messing with him like this. Most people wouldn’t have the balls.
It worked.
“Okay, I give up,” he said. “Where do I know you from?”
“Taquitos Hermanos.” His face stayed blank. “The taco truck at Pike Place? You always ordered the same thing. Carne asada, extra spicy, extra guac, with cheese.”
He still seemed clueless, and finally she laughed. “I mean, wow. Either you’re terrible with faces, or I’m that forgettable.”
“Wait. I remember.” His face darkened a little. “It’s just . . . it’s been a long time since I’ve been to the market. I do remember you. Your hair was different . . .”
“It was blue then,” she said, fingering her blond locks.
“It looks a lot better now,” he said, and when she raised an eyebrow, he flushed. “Sorry, that came out wrong—”
“Wrong meaning rude?”
“It . . . shit. I meant . . . blond, blue, it looks great either way.”
“Did you just say shit to a barista? And here I gave you a free cookie.”
“Now it’s free? I thought you paid for it with the huge tip I gave you.”
“Wow.”
“You know what, I’m just going to sit here and shut up.”
“That may be your best option.”
Their eyes met, and both of them burst out laughing.
“McKenzie,” she said, holding out her hand. “You can call me Kenzie. For today, anyway. I’m sure the minute you leave, I’ll cease to exist to you.”
“Derek.” He reached a hand out. She shook it, noticing he held hers a couple of seconds longer than was necessary. “And I don’t think that’s possible now.”
He released her hand, somewhat reluctantly, and she glanced down at his. He was wearing a wedding ring. He noticed her noticing and dropped his hand into his lap so it was no longer visible. He needn’t have worried.
It’s a myth that wedding rings prevent women from hitting on men. Some women are drawn to wedding rings like moths to a flame. For those women, the ring is exactly what they’re looking for.
After that first meeting, Derek started coming into the coffee shop every few days, and then every other day, and she couldn’t get over how different he seemed from the guy she remembered from the market. The guy at the market was so full of life and vigor. It radiated in the way he moved.
The new version of Derek was haunted. Lonely. And aching to talk to someone who wasn’t going to ask him anything about what was haunting him. At that point, she hadn’t let on that she knew about his son. She and Derek had never exchanged last names.
“Are you on a break?” he said a couple of weeks later, when Kenzie came out from behind the counter without her apron. “Have a seat. Take a load off.”
“Are you sure? I didn’t mean to interrupt.” He had his laptop open, and all she could see was a spreadsheet filled with numbers.
“Please. Interrupt.” To punctuate his point, he shut his laptop and moved it to the side, then pulled out the chair opposite him.
She took a seat, and they smiled at each other. She gazed at him openly.
“What?” he asked. “Something on my face? Did I cut myself shaving this morning and nobody told me?”
“You’ve been in here a lot lately,” she said. “My coworker thinks you have a crush on me.”
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“I . . .” He stopped, his face reddening. “I’m too old for you.”
“And too married.”
He looked down at his wedding ring, twisting it with his other hand. “Yeah. That too.” He looked back up at her with a rueful smile. “I like coming here. I used to live a few blocks from here back in college. It reminds me of . . . less complicated times. That was a million years ago, by the way.”
“Yeah? What programs did they offer back then? How to Make Fire? Mating Rituals of Woolly Mammoths?”
He laughed. “I double majored in business and math.”
“That sounds awful.” She looked through the window at his car and chuckled. “But I guess that’s why you drive the Batmobile and I take the bus.”
“What did you just say?”
“Batmobile.” She rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on, you’re a man of a certain age, Batman should be right up your—”
“My son used to call it that,” Derek said, looking out at the car. “The Batmobile. He was absolutely delighted when I drove it home the first day. Wife hated it immediately, said it was too flashy and that it made me look like a dick, but I’d had a great year, and I bought it in a moment of spontaneity. When she saw the look on Sebastian’s face, though, she relented. That’s why I can’t bring myself to get rid of it.”
Kenzie didn’t know what to say at first. It didn’t feel right to pretend she didn’t know about Sebastian, but his pain was so palpable, she was worried she might say something and make it worse.
“He’s the Robin to your Batman,” she said after a moment. “I believe he’ll ride in it again one day.”
His head snapped back toward her. “You know about my son?”
She nodded slowly. “It was all over the news. I . . . I was actually at the market the day it happened. The cops showed us his picture, but none of us . . . none of us saw anything.” She bit her lip. “I’m so sorry, Derek. I didn’t know how to mention it. Or even if I should mention it. The first time you walked in here, I remembered you right away.” She almost added and I remembered your son, but that would be too much. That would be a lie.
He held her gaze. “Thank you for telling me.”
“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” Kenzie turned and looked at the Maserati again. “But I’m with you all the way. The Batmobile absolutely must stay.”
That brought a smile to Derek’s lips. “So, what are you studying?”
“I’m in art school. Doing an MFA in furniture design, but my first love is painting.”
“There’s no master’s degree for painting?”
“Sure there is,” she said, “but the best way to be a better painter is to keep painting. Art is subjective. It resonates or it doesn’t, and I don’t need more training. I need more practice.”
“Explains why you always look at me the way you do,” Derek said. “You’re observant. A true artist.”
“How would you know? You haven’t seen my stuff . . . yet.” She paused, smiling, holding his gaze. “And that isn’t why I look at you the way I do.”
His breath caught in his throat.
“Anyway, I’m done for the day,” she said. “Thought I’d grab some lunch. Have you eaten?”
He shook his head.
“I don’t know if you’re into Cuban food, but there’s an amazing little hole-in-the-wall place a few blocks away. The lines at lunchtime are insane, but they do incredible—”
“Are you talking about Fénix?”
Kenzie smiled, surprised. “You know the place? I swear their pulled pork Caribbean sandwich is life.”
“Know it? I invested in it. Let’s go.”
“Are you joking?”
“I’m a twenty-five percent equity partner.”
“Oh my god.” She stood as he packed up his computer. “Does that include all the free sandwiches you want?”
“No, I pay for those. But I never have to wait in line.” He winked, then pulled out his phone to call the restaurant as they headed for the door. “Hey, Jeremy, it’s Derek . . . I’m good, man, you? . . . Great. Let me have two Caribbeans, extra peppers, and a side of yuca fries. If there’s a free table outside, save it for me . . . just a small one, only two of us. We’ll be there in five minutes.”
Her shoulder rubbed against his chest as she stepped through the door of the Green Bean. She had never stood that close to him before, and she realized for the first time how much taller than her he was. And at five-ten, she’s not exactly short.
“Caribbean sandwiches and no waiting in line . . . I think I love you,” she said under her breath, but loud enough for him to hear, as he held the door open.
“Now wouldn’t that make me the luckiest guy in the world,” Derek said.
Spark.
That’s when Kenzie knew she had him.
Chapter 16
The apartment is quiet when Kenzie gets home from her shift at the Green Bean. Tyler’s door is shut. She presses her ear to the thin particle board and hears him snoring. She heard him come in at five this morning, right as she was getting up for work, but they didn’t speak. Getting in at that hour, she can only assume he hooked up with someone he met at the bar last night.
It’s obvious her roommate is mad at her, and she can’t blame him, not she after she bailed on their Hill House marathon. They share a 700-square-foot apartment, yet they almost never see each other anymore. She misses him. And she’s lonely.
She hasn’t heard from Derek in two days.
As much as she wants to, she cannot text him. He has to text her. There are rules with married men, and they get upset when you break them.
She settles onto the sofa with a brownie she stole from the coffee shop (come on, they all steal food) and turns on the TV. Every afternoon at two p.m., if she’s home, she watches The Young and the Restless. She’s not really invested in the show’s storylines, but she used to watch it as a little girl with her grand-mére. Buford jumps up onto her lap, purring his delight at her return home, and she strokes his fur. While her cat isn’t nearly as comforting as her grandmother was, he’s pretty close.
“Why do you watch this?” she can remember asking Grand-mére when she was ten. She was confused by all the rich people, with their perfect makeup and perfect hair, who couldn’t seem to find happiness no matter what they did. “They’re always stabbing each other in the back. They’re nothing like us.”
“They’re very much like us, ma chère.” Her grandmother had motioned for her to get under the blanket, the same one she’d kept on her sofa since Kenzie was born. “The only difference is, they have money.”
“But he’s mean to her.” Kenzie pointed to the screen, where the richest man was saying something callous to the woman who was hoping to be his wife. For the second time. “He’s cruel.”
“Oh, ma petite ange.” Her grandmother pulled her in for a snuggle. “Poor men can be just as cruel. You can get your heart broken by a poor man just as easily as a rich one. We know what it’s like to be poor, oui? There’s no nobility in it. None whatsoever. When you grow up, you find yourself a rich man. You stand a better chance of survival when he leaves.”
Wherever J.R. is right now, he’s probably watching Y&R, too. Sometimes they text back and forth when it’s on. But they haven’t done that in a while. Since she met Derek, J.R. has largely pulled away. It hurts her, but she understands why.
It’s different with Derek. And for once, J.R. isn’t interfering. He used to refer to her other married boyfriends as “sad, bored sacks of money,” but with Derek, he’s largely withheld his opinion. She told J.R. about her new boyfriend a few months back, when they met for a beer in their hometown after she’d visited her mother.
“Who’s the sucker this time?” he’d asked.
When she told him Derek’s name, J.R. was shocked. “The guy who owns the company that makes those protein bars they sell at Safeway? The one whose kid went missing?”
“Same one.”
“Jesus
Christ, M.K.,” he said. Everybody in town called him J.R., but he was the only one in the world who called her M.K., and secretly, she’d always loved it. “It’s one thing to scam a dude like Paul—guy was a douchebag from the start, whatever, who gives a shit—but the guy with the missing kid? That’s . . .”
He didn’t finish the sentence, but he didn’t need to. He was right.
“I know,” she said. “Nothing’s going to happen. He’s too . . . I don’t know.” Broken was the word that came to mind, but she liked Derek as a person. It felt disloyal to say it out loud.
“He’s grieving,” J.R. said.
They’d sat in silence for a while. She watched as he stared into his beer thoughtfully, wondered if he’d want to have sex later. When he turned her down—gently, but still—she kicked herself for continuing to try with him when all J.R. did was remind her that she was never going to be the one.
Her grand-mére had been right. Might as well get your heart broken by a rich man.
Kenzie’s had her heart broken twice. The first time was the day her father walked out on her mother, when Kenzie was only twelve. He left them for a woman half his age. Her mother, who hadn’t worked since Kenzie was born, was forced to take a job she hated. In a small town, job prospects were scarce, and she ended up working as a night cleaner for several local businesses.
Kenzie’s father died of a heart attack two years ago. She found out through Facebook, when her estranged aunt shared the announcement her “stepmother” had posted, along with details of the memorial service. Kenzie did not attend. She’d said her goodbyes a long time ago.
The second heartbreak was J.R. He was never her boyfriend, but he was her first love, a guy from her hometown whose family knew her family. They hooked up the summer before she left for college. She lost her virginity to him on a blanket on the grass by the river, under the stars, and it was every bit as romantic as a country song.
“Am I going to see you again?” she’d asked him afterward, as she pulled her underwear and shorts back on. She felt sore, but in a good way, an adult way. There was a light breeze fluttering the leaves of the trees. The moon was a crescent, casting almost no light, but it made the stars shine brighter.
Little Secrets (ARC) Page 16
