Chance Encounter (Fates Aligned Book 1)

by Christi Whitson

“Yeah. I’ll call you later this week. Night, Kenn.”

  “Night,” I called back, noting the droop in his shoulders as he walked away from me toward his own vehicle.

  My mind was in chaos as I drove home, torn between worry for my brother and residual anger at my mom. To say her reactions had shocked me would be an understatement. While it certainly wasn’t the first time my mother had put too high a value on the opinions of her friends, I hadn’t anticipated such an ugly response to the news of the surrogacy. It made me sick to my stomach to even contemplate her suggestion that I terminate the pregnancy. I was pro-choice, but the thought of ending the life of Gabe and Miranda’s baby horrified me. The fact that my mother could even think such a thing made me feel like I didn’t know her at all.

  My phone rang as I was unlocking my front door, and I paused to check the caller ID, bracing myself in fear that my mom might be calling to yell at me some more. Instead, it was Donovan’s name on the display, and I felt my mood lift considerably.

  “You sound tired,” he remarked after we’d exchanged greetings.

  “I am. It was a long night.”

  “I’m guessing it didn’t go well, then. Is everything okay?”

  “It will be eventually. I hope. The whole night certainly could’ve gone better.”

  “Was it as bad as you thought?”

  “Maybe a little worse,” I sighed, dropping my keys onto the foyer table and kicking my shoes off. “My dad and my brother were great about it, but my mom was furious. She actually…”

  “What?” he prompted when I didn’t continue.

  “Nevermind.” I couldn’t bring myself to say the words aloud. To admit that my mother would’ve preferred I abort the baby. “I’d rather not think about her right now. You sound tired too. Long day?” To my relief, he didn’t fight the change of subject.

  “Yeah, someone called in sick, so I ended up staying later than I expected. I’ve got the next two days off, though. I thought maybe we could get together tomorrow afternoon and go do something. Then I can cook dinner for us at my place?”

  I could hear the hope in his voice and smiled, feeling the lingering tension of the evening leave my body.

  “That sounds wonderful. What did you have in mind for the afternoon?”

  “Well, there’s a great little farmer’s market that sets up every other week down by the Riverwalk. We could walk around for a bit and pick up some groceries before dinner…” Donovan trailed off, his tone betraying a hint of uncertainty that I found adorable. “Sorry, is that lame? Walking and shopping?”

  “Not at all,” I assured him, hoping he could hear the smile in my voice. “It’ll give us more time to talk, and I’d really like that.”

  “Me too. I’ll pick you up around two?”

  “I can’t wait.”

  We ended the call a few minutes later, and I texted him my address before climbing into bed. As I lay in the darkness, I was surprised at how much lighter I felt after talking to Donovan for only a few minutes. It was as though the mere sound of his voice had centered me, and even the residual weight of the argument with my mother seemed easier to bear.

  I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had had such a profound effect on me, and I was both excited and afraid to contemplate what that might mean. I couldn’t shake the irrational fear that our relationship, or perhaps merely the promise of it, was so fragile that it might disintegrate like a bubble in the afternoon sun if I looked at it for too long. I couldn’t bear to contemplate the potential for heartbreak if things didn’t work out.

  I’d never felt such immense and precarious hope for a future with any man, and it terrified me as much as it excited me. We’d found each other in such an odd way. The romantic soul I only allowed to exist in my writing wanted so badly to believe that our chance meeting proved we were meant to be together. But my pragmatic side was quick to respond with a figurative smack of common sense.

  That sort of love story just didn’t happen in real life.

  Eight

  Donovan

  “You’re sure this isn’t too much walking? I don’t really know anything about pregnancy other than what foods you should avoid,” I admitted nervously.

  We were strolling hand-in-hand through Tampa’s Riverwalk area, which was a bit more crowded than I’d expected for a weekday afternoon in February. Although the sun was shining brightly, the breeze off the water added a distinct chill to the air.

  “I’m fine,” Kennedy chuckled. “Exercise is good. I probably don’t get enough of it, to be honest. I’ve been working a lot lately, and I tend to zone out when I write. It’s hard to remember to eat regularly, much less get up and move around.”

  “That doesn’t sound healthy.”

  “It’s not. I usually have to set timers to remind me to take breaks. Your niece or nephew has helped with that, though. There’s no ignoring the need for bathroom breaks anymore.” We both smiled, and I shook my head distractedly.

  “My niece or nephew… I still can’t believe it. Are they going to find out whether it’s a boy or a girl?” Having fled to my sister’s porch the night of the big reveal, I’d missed out on hearing the answers to questions like that.

  “If this little bug will cooperate,” she replied, resting a hand on her mostly-flat abdomen. “They won’t do another scan until around twenty weeks, though, so we’ll all be waiting a couple more months.”

  “If it’s anything like Miranda, I wouldn’t bet on any sort of cooperation.”

  “I thought the same thing,” Kennedy laughed.

  The wind picked up briefly, swirling her hair around her shoulders and pushing her closer to me. I disconnected our hands only to wrap my arm around her shoulders, and I couldn’t resist breathing in the sweet scent of her hair. She smelled like honeysuckle and vanilla. It was a unique combination I was sure must have come from her shampoo, and I barely stopped myself from asking for the brand name. Yeah, that would probably creep her out…

  “You seem better today,” I noted aloud, hoping to distract myself a little.

  “I am. Dinner was rough, but talking to you helped a lot.”

  The smile that stretched across my face made my cheeks hurt.

  “I’m glad. I’m sorry your mother gave you a hard time. If it makes you feel any better, my mother thinks you walk on water.”

  “That I can believe. I lost count of how many times she and Mrs. Cortés hugged me the other night,” Kennedy chuckled. “I’ve always liked your parents. They’re great people.”

  “Yes, they are. I’m still amazed that we met the way we did, even though you’ve known my family for years. I hope I get to meet yours someday.”

  I caught her gaze and was lost in the intensity of it for a long moment. It wasn’t the first time I’d implied a desire for a permanent place in her life, but my forwardness still brought the blood rushing to her cheeks. The effect was breathtaking, and resisting the urge to feel their warmth with my lips took more willpower than I knew I had.

  “I hope so too. And I hope they behave themselves,” she added with a smile.

  “You said it’s been years since you brought anyone home to meet them…?”

  “Yeah. I guess we talked about your relationships, so I owe you a discussion of mine.”

  “You don’t owe me anything,” I replied sincerely. “But I’m grateful for everything I get to learn about you.”

  She gestured silently to an empty bench that faced the water, and I tucked her under my arm again once we were seated. There was a distinct lack of awkwardness in our position, and I loved that we were already so comfortable with one another.

  “Well, lately there’s not really that much to tell. I’ve dated here and there, but no one important enough to introduce to my family. I had one serious boyfriend a long time ago. His name was Connor. We were really young. We started dating during our senior year of high school, so him meeting my family wasn’t something I could avoid.”

  “What happened?”
r />   “When they met him?”

  “Well, yes, but I mostly meant… What happened to the relationship.” I was torn between hoping she hadn’t been hurt too badly and being immensely grateful for her single status.

  “Meeting the family was mostly okay. My brother gave him a hard time, but that’s just Eli. My mom made a big, embarrassing show of what a picture-perfect family we were. She’d apparently forgotten that Connor had overheard her and my dad arguing more than once while we were on the phone. My dad didn’t really warm up to him until a few months later when Connor joined the Marines. Dad’s retired Coast Guard, but he spent a few years in the Navy before that. It gave them some common ground, I guess.”

  I raised my eyebrows in surprise, and she nodded.

  “Yeah. And that pretty much explains what happened to the relationship.”

  “You didn’t approve?”

  “It wasn’t that so much as… I don’t know. It’ll sound horrible.”

  “I doubt that. It was a big deal, and you were entitled to your feelings about it, whatever they were.”

  “I’m all for service to one’s country, and I have a lot of respect for anyone brave enough to devote their lives to that, but… He didn’t even talk to me about it before he did it. One minute, we were talking about going to college and getting an apartment together, and the next, he was telling me he’d enlisted. It felt like…”

  “Like your opinion didn’t matter,” I surmised.

  “Yes,” she nodded, gazing out over the water. “It’s not like I expected him to ask me for permission or anything, but it was like he didn’t even consider how much his plans affected mine. Or didn’t care.”

  “So, you broke it off?”

  “Not right away. I decided to save money by staying local for school, and we stayed together for about six months after he left. Eventually, though, we just grew further apart. We ended it on decent terms, but we didn’t bother trying to stay friends or anything. Regardless, it would’ve ended eventually. He was killed in action about a year later.”

  Well, damn.

  “Wow. I’m sorry.” The words seemed inadequate, but I couldn’t come up with a better response.

  “Thanks, but it’s okay,” she reassured me with a sad smile. “It was a terrible loss for his family, but my heart had healed by that point.”

  “But you haven’t had a serious relationship since then?” That seemed impossible. She was stunning, and not just on the outside.

  “Not really. Like you said the other night, there just wasn’t anyone who interested me enough. Until recently,” she added, her eyes caught by the satisfied smile on my face.

  “Is that so?”

  I leaned toward her as though drawn by a magnet, brushing my lips softly over hers. She closed her eyes with a low whimper, and the world around us seemed to fade. There was nothing but the sun warming our heads, her hand resting on my chest, and her mouth.

  Dear God, her mouth.

  When it came to kissing, I was fairly confident in my own skills. But I knew as well as anyone that what made someone a good kisser was compatibility. And Kennedy’s skill complemented mine better than that of anyone I’d ever kissed. Ours was the kind of connection that made you forget how it felt to kiss anyone else. Our tongues played sensuously against one another, and I groaned into her mouth as the taste of her intoxicated me further. I’d been longing for this kiss from the moment our last one ended. I’d craved it.

  It was only when her slender fingers found the bare skin of my neck that my awareness began to return. Her fingers were cold. I broke the kiss reluctantly, capturing her hand to bring it to my mouth and kissing her fingertips to warm them.

  “As much as I’m enjoying this, we should go get our shopping done and get out of the wind. It’s colder than I thought it would be.” The tone of disappointment in my voice was mirrored in her eyes, and I smiled at the confirmation that her feelings matched my own.

  “Are you sure you don’t mind cooking tonight?” she asked as we rose from the bench and made our way to the farmer’s market. “I mean, it’s your night off.”

  “I’m sure.” I entwined our hands again. “I love to cook. I know some people think turning a hobby into a job can take the enjoyment out of it, but that’s not the case for me. I can’t imagine not cooking. It’s almost…”

  “Therapeutic?”

  “Exactly.”

  “That’s how I feel about writing. If I go a few days without writing something, it’s almost like I’m off-kilter emotionally. It’s more than a hobby or a job. It keeps me sane.”

  I knew precisely what she meant. We shared a kindred smile, and I couldn’t resist the urge to lean down for another kiss. It didn’t matter that we’d stopped in the middle of a busy walkway or that dozens of people were looking at us. No number of cleared throats or gawking strangers could reach us. She brought her hand to my face and grinned against my lips, pulling back slightly. Her fingers touched the short but soft growth at my jaw.

  “I don’t think I told you the other night, but… I like this. You didn’t have it that day in the cafe.”

  “I’d shaved for a meeting at work,” I explained, smoothing my beard self-consciously. I kept it neatly trimmed, but I’d always preferred it to the clean-shaven look. “I’m glad you like it. You’d be surprised how many women hate beards.”

  “Well, yours is obviously very well-maintained. And it’s soft,” she added, running her fingers over it again. I closed my eyes briefly as I savored her touch. “It suits you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I wouldn’t mind seeing that suit again sometime, though,” she winked, reclaiming my hand as we continued along the sidewalk. I laughed.

  “I could say the same for that little gray dress you were wearing.”

  I’d dressed somewhat casually in dark jeans and a button-down shirt, but since our first two encounters had been under unique circumstances, it was the first time she’d seen me without a tie. I hoped she wasn’t feeling misled, since I usually opted for comfort. Kennedy was wearing jeans as well, and although I found myself missing the gorgeous sight of her long legs, I was glad she’d dressed appropriately for the weather. I hadn’t wasted the opportunity to covertly check out her ass either.

  We did our shopping quickly and headed to my apartment for the evening. She seemed pleasantly surprised by the lack of bachelor-pad ambience, and she remarked that Miranda had obviously helped me decorate. She was correct about that. The style was similar to that of my sister’s home in all areas but one.

  The kitchen was my domain. My love for the culinary arts was showcased in every part of the room. I’d done as much customization as my landlord had permitted, selecting appliances and utensils with a professional eye. It was probably clear to just about anyone that the kitchen was the most ‘lived-in’ area of my home.

  Kennedy perched herself on one of the counter stools, smiling appreciatively as she watched me work. Although I’d been observed while cooking countless times throughout my education and my career, having her eyes follow my every move was a bit unnerving. Her wondrous smile gave me a warm, buoyant feeling in the center of my chest.

  “It’s like going backstage at a magic show,” she commented, still smiling as she watched my hands. “You handle everything with so much precision and grace. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “You’re going to make me blush,” I grinned, feeling oddly shy.

  “Sorry. I just… I’d never given much consideration to your profession, but now it’s like I can’t look away. There was so much passion in your voice earlier when we were talking about our hobbies-turned-jobs, and now I feel like I understand it much better. It’s more than just a job for you. It’s your art.”

  “Anyone ever tell you that you have a way with words?” I teased, self-consciously shifting the focus to her. She laughed knowingly and gave a playful shrug.

  “Now and then.”

  We maintained a steady stream of conve
rsation as I cooked, trading opinions on our favorite foods, music, and books. We discussed religion and politics, confessed our guiltiest pleasures, and shared our biggest goals for the future. Nothing was off limits. When the conversation lulled, I noticed her eyes were glued to my arms, which were mostly bare in the t-shirt I’d put on before I’d begun cooking. She seemed to be having a hard time maintaining eye contact, but I certainly didn’t mind.

  “Okay, I am seriously humbled by your skills,” Kennedy reiterated, watching me multitask our dinner and dessert.

  “You haven’t even tasted it yet.”

  “Exactly. Quick, tell me something you absolutely suck at. My ego needs the boost.”

  I tilted my head back and laughed, feeling lighter than I had in months.

  “Let’s see. Something I suck at… Would it make you feel better if I said I suck at writing?” I teased.

  “No, because I’d know you’re lying. You speak properly and even use correct grammar in your texts. If that wasn’t enough to seal the deal…” She trailed off, as though suddenly embarrassed. I grinned deviously, and she held my gaze even as her cheeks pinkened.

  “Please continue, Ms. Brighton.”

  “Well… Let’s just say book nerds like me find proper grammar to be a major turn-on.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes, now tell me something real.”

  “Hmm… I can’t bowl to save my life,” I admitted, still smiling. “You’d think the hand-eye coordination I have with cooking would translate to other things, but that’s not always the case.”

  “So, bowling is out?” she chuckled.

  “Oh, we can still go sometime if you want. As long as you promise to let me use the bumpers. It’s the only way I can break a hundred.” I wish I were joking.

  Kennedy laughed delightedly, and I found myself spellbound by the sight and sound of it. I had to force my eyes back to our food to avoid burning it. My jeans had been uncomfortably snug since the moment she’d answered her door that afternoon, and I was relieved that she hadn’t seemed to notice.

  “All right, change of subject. Once I found out your real name,” I paused to throw her a look of mock irritation, “I looked you up online. I’ve read a lot of your articles, and I’m getting ready to start your first book. You obviously have a lot of talent as a writer. Are you happy with your career as it is right now, or do you want something different?”