Pulling open the door, Kennedy stepped inside the art gallery and swallowed back the last of her doubt.
“Good morning, Ryder,” she greeted him.
“Kennedy.” His amused smile stayed firmly in place. “Giving yourself a little pep talk?”
She frowned. “Self-doubt seems to be setting in.”
Ryder’s amused smile slipped and his mouth tightened. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led her to the back showroom.
“Let me show you something,” he said.
“No, Ryder.” She ducked from under his arm. “I don’t want to see it yet.”
“You need to see it, Kennedy,” he told her, grabbing her hand and pulling her forward. “You need this.”
Kennedy squeezed her eyes shut as Ryder pulled her onto the showroom. He chuckled once they came to a stop and brushed his finger down her cheek.
“Open your eyes, Kennedy.”
She shook her head. “I told you I didn’t want to see it until it was all set up tonight.”
“It’s all done.” He tapped her chin softly. “Open your eyes, chére,” he said again.
Kennedy peeked through her lashes at him, and he laughed again.
“All the way.”
Letting out a huff of annoyance, Kennedy opened her eyes and stared into Ryder’s eyes.
“Don’t look at me,” he instructed, stepping aside to stand behind her. “Look at what you’ve done,” he whispered into her ear.
Kennedy held her breath as her eyes roamed the room. All her work was surrounding her. All the pieces she had put her heart and soul into were creatively placed around the room. Lights shone on a few, highlighting them in a way that made the colors jump out at her.
Her eyes fell on the sculpture in the middle of the room. She slowly walked over to it and carefully ran her fingers over the statue. It was a pair of hands—one a man’s, the other a woman’s—cradling a small baby. It was one of the first clay pieces she had done that really meant something to her.
Tears began to sting her eyes as she touched the sculpture, remembering the reason behind its creation.
“How did you get this?” she asked in a raspy voice. “This isn’t for sale.”
“I know, chére,” he said, walking to her side. “I hope you don’t mind that it’s here, though. I wanted to show something other than the paintings.”
“How did you get this?” she asked again.
“Memphis.” Kennedy looked at him, and he smiled at her. “I can tell it means a lot to you, Kennedy. If you want me to remove it, I will. But it’s a beautiful piece, and it shows that you can work with more than just paint.”
“Did he . . . ?” He voice cracked and she swallowed over the lump. “Did he tell you . . . ?” She looked up at him from beneath her lashes, unable to finish asking the question.
“No.” He shook his head. “He didn’t tell me anything about it.”
Kennedy nodded, keeping her head down.
“Why did you ask Memphis and not me?”
“I didn’t ask Memphis. He brought it to me.”
Kennedy’s head snapped up.
“Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know.” Ryder reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Hey, I’ll take it away. I can see how personal it is for you.”
“No.” She shook her head. “Leave it. I love it.” She wiped away the stray tear that rolled down her cheek. “But it’s not for sale.”
“I understand.” He gave her hand another squeeze and then turned her attention to another painting.
As Ryder explained his reasoning for placing certain pictures where he did, Kennedy looked back once more at the small statue in the middle of the room. Memphis had some explaining to do, and it was more important to her than ever that Brooks be there tonight.
~*~
Kennedy was putting her gold hoop earring on when she heard the apartment door open. She peeked out of the bedroom door and saw Memphis striding down the short hallway.
“Hey, beautiful.”
“Hey.” She forced a smile and turned away, pretending to fiddle with her earring some more.
Memphis stepped into the room and she met his gaze in the mirror.
“You thought I was Brooks,” he said, his lips set in a grim line. She shrugged. “Where is he?”
“Still at work, I guess.” She dropped her eyes to the dresser and picked through her jewelry box for a necklace. “He’ll meet me there.”
Memphis grunted and shoved his hands in his pants pockets. Kennedy raised her eyes again to his and glared.
“What?”
“You gave Ryder the baby sculpture.”
“Oh.”
“Oh?” Kennedy spun around and faced him. “You hand over something like that and all you can say is ‘oh’? That wasn’t yours to give to him, Memphis!” she yelled.
“It wasn’t like that,” he said, taking a step closer to her. “Remember when you asked me to bring those paintings out of storage?”
She nodded.
“When I went to pick them up, there was a box with them, and I assumed you wanted it to go with the paintings. I didn’t check the box to see what was inside, and when I got to the gallery Ryder opened it and found the sculpture.”
“So you didn’t intentionally give it to him?”
“No, Kennedy. I thought the box was supposed to go with the paintings. If I had known what was in there, I wouldn’t have taken it.” He sighed and reached for her, rubbing his hands up and down her arms. “I was going to bring it back, but he liked it, and I figured if you didn’t want it to be shown you’d say something to him yourself.”
“He made it sound like you brought it to him on purpose,” she mumbled.
“I wouldn’t have done that.” He pulled her to his chest and wrapped his arms around her. “Did you let him keep it?”
Kennedy nodded, brushing her cheek against the soft material of his shirt.
“Yes. It’s only for show, though.”
Memphis kissed the top of her head and pushed her away from him. “Good. People need to see all of your beautiful art. Finish getting ready and let’s go.”
Twenty minutes later they were parking Kennedy’s car in the private lot behind the gallery. Memphis cut the engine and looked over at her.
“You’re going to be great, you. You know that, right?”
Kennedy gave him an unsure smile and nodded. She glanced around the parking lot, trying to find Brooks’s car, but it wasn’t there yet. Her heart sank knowing she would go in there and he wouldn’t be waiting for her.
“Hey.” Memphis reached for her hand and locked their fingers together. “What’s wrong? You look like you’re about to burst into tears.”
“Just nervous, I guess.” She brought their linked fingers to her lips and kissed the back of his hand. “Thank you for coming tonight.”
“As if I would miss this.” He grinned at her and leaned over the center console to place a kiss on her cheek. “I mean it. This is going to be a huge success. You’re going to be a huge success.”
Memphis squeezed her hand before jumping out of the SUV and hurrying to her side to open the door. Carefully, Kennedy hiked up the black, floor-length dress and untangled herself from the front seat. She held the dress up so it wouldn’t touch the ground as they made their way to the gallery’s front entrance. Memphis placed his hand on the exposed part of her back where the dress dipped low and open, making her shiver from the warmth of his touch.
“Are you cold?” he asked, eyeing her when he felt her body shudder.
She should be, she realized. She’d forgotten to grab her wrap, and the air was chilly enough to make goose bumps rise on her arms, but she was, in fact, very warm.
“No. Definitely not.” She looked down, avoiding his eyes, and cleared her throat to change the subject. “Save me from my parents?”
Memphis laughed as he opened the door.
“Always.”
Kennedy loo
ked up and met his eyes and took a deep breath.
“Here goes nothing,” she muttered.
“Here goes everything,” he corrected.
Kennedy stepped into the gallery with Memphis close behind her, his hand still on the small of her back. She spotted Ryder talking to a small group of people near the front desk, and as soon as he saw her, he waved her over.
“Ladies, gentlemen,” Ryder said, smiling at the group and then at Kennedy. “Our guest of honor has arrived.”
Kennedy extended her hand to everyone as introductions were made. She peeked at Memphis and noticed he had backed up to give her room, but was still close, watching her with a smile on his face.
When Ryder announced it was time to start the show, Kennedy looked around the room, scanning the faces in the crowd in search of Brooks.
“I haven’t seen your parents yet. Have you?” Memphis asked as he took her hand and led her to the back showroom.
“No.”
“Or Brooks,” he pointed out.
“Or Brooks.” She looked over her shoulder once more to the gallery’s entrance.
Ryder stood in front of the closed doors and turned to the crowd.
“My friends, I give to you the K.M. Collection.”
“This is it. You did it,” Memphis whispered in her ear as people brushed past them and into the room.
She saw many were instantly drawn to the sculpture, and as she watched people surround it, whispering to one another, her chest tightened and tears stung her eyes that Brooks wasn’t there.
“Kennedy?” Memphis asked, turning her to face him. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She ducked her head so he wouldn’t see her tears. “It’s just—”
A tap on her shoulder made her turn to find her parents standing behind her. Her mother gave her a small smile, while her father just nodded his greeting.
“Hello, dear.” Hope Monroe greeted her daughter with a peck on her cheek. “I have to admit I’m surprised and impressed with what you’ve done, Kennedy.”
“Thanks, I think.” She looked back at Memphis. “Mom, Dad, you remember Memphis, right?”
“Of course.” Her mother gave him the same restrained smile. “Memphis, how have you been?”
“Fine, thank you, Mrs. Monroe.”
“Where’s that boyfriend of yours, Kennedy?” David asked, eyeing Memphis warily. “The doctor.”
“Oh, he’s . . .” Kennedy felt Memphis’s hand on her back in reassurance. “He’s supposed to be here.”
Hope raised an eyebrow and looked from Kennedy to Memphis.
“Supposed to be here?”
“The man is busy, Hope,” her father said gruffly. “I’m sure he had something more important to take care of.”
Kennedy flinched.
“Something more important to take care of?” Memphis questioned before Kennedy could. “So, you’re saying Kennedy’s show isn’t important?”
“Memphis, forget it,” Kennedy whispered.
“No, I won’t forget it, Kennedy,” he said, pulling his arm out of her grasp when she tried to pull him away from her parents. He stared down at the man in front of him. “I don’t think your father realizes just how hard you work, how much time and effort goes into what you do. This is important, Mr. Monroe.”
“As important as saving lives?” David snorted. “I think not.”
“David,” Hope hissed, glaring at her husband. “You promised you’d be supportive.”
Her father turned without another word and left them in favor of the bar that had been set up.
“I’m sorry,” her mother apologized. “You know how he is.”
“That’s no excuse,” Memphis said.
“Memphis, please.” Kennedy tried to calm him down.
He looked at her and shook his head, his eyes following her father.
“I think I’ll get a drink,” he said. “Do you want anything?”
“Wine. Red, please,” Kennedy answered.
She watched him walk over to bar and stand next to her father. Kennedy cursed under her breath when she saw David’s shoulders tense. She didn’t have to hear the conversation to know what Memphis was about to say to him—his two cents, most likely.
“He’s quite protective of you, isn’t he?” Her mother’s serene voice calmed her some.
Kennedy glanced at her.
“We’ve been friends a long time.”
Hope looked at her daughter and gave her a knowing smile.
“Yes, you have. But to people who don’t know, it would seem as if there’s something more than just friendship.”
“That’s absurd,” Kennedy muttered.
“Really?” Hope’s smile turned to one of amusement. “He’s been by your side the entire night, holding you hand, offering you encouragement, getting you drinks. He’s very attentive. And right now . . .” Hope looked back at the two men. “. . . he’s telling your father off.”
“He’s—”
“I’m not judging you, Kennedy, or him,” Hope assured her. “In fact I’m glad that you have a man in your life like Memphis.”
“He’s just my friend, Mom.”
“Then where’s your boyfriend?”
Kennedy stared at her mother, unable to answer the question. Hope patted her arm and said, “I know,” before heading to the bar to rescue her husband.
Memphis returned with her drink shortly after that, and she downed it in three swallows, handing the empty glass back to him.
“Wow. I don’t think I’ve seen you slam back a drink that fast since your graduation party,” he said, clearly amused. “Would you like another?”
“Yes.”
Memphis fetched another glass, and this time she took her time sipping the tangy wine as they walked around the room.
Kennedy broke the silence. “What did you say to my father?”
“Do you really want to know?”
She looked up at him and saw his jaw clench.
“Yes.”
“More or less I told him he was an asshole for treating you like shit,” Memphis answered with a shrug.
“More or less?”
“There may have been more, definitely not less.” He flashed a smile, but she didn’t have the heart to return it. “Are you mad at me?”
“No,” she replied truthfully. “I just wish I had the balls to say all the things to him that you just did.”
Memphis wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her to his side as they walked. For the rest of the evening Kennedy kept one eye on her parents—to avoid her father—and the other eye on the door for any sign of Brooks. Memphis made sure to keep her glass full, and it was only after she started feeling tipsy that he suggested she switch to water.
“I’m not sure how it would look for the artist to get smashed at her own show,” he teased.
Kennedy giggled; the wine played with her head and made her thoughts fuzzy.
“I think I should take you home,” Memphis said.
“I think you should, too.” Kennedy looked up at him from beneath her lashes.
Memphis’s eyes darkened at the look she gave him. Kennedy licked her lips, and his eyes dropped to her mouth, watching her tongue trail along the plump flesh. He swallowed hard, shifting his eyes back up to hers.
“I mean to your place. I should drive you home,” he finally replied.
“If you’re sure that’s what you want,” she whispered.
“Kennedy, are you . . .” Memphis narrowed his eyes at her, and she suddenly felt very foolish for playing whatever game her alcohol-soaked brain was trying to play.
Kennedy closed her eyes and tried to get her thoughts straight. It was the wine talking. Only the wine.
She finally nodded and opened her eyes.
“I think you’re right. I need to go home.”
Memphis took the empty glass from her hand and placed it on a nearby table.
“I need to say good-bye to Ryder,” she muttered as Memphis took off his j
acket and draped it over her shoulders.
After promises to call Ryder in the morning, Memphis led her out to her vehicle and carefully got her into the front seat.
“Good thing we didn’t take your bike tonight. You would have had to strap me down to keep me from falling off,” she joked.
Memphis laughed as he started the engine.
“Tied to my bike. Now that’s a sight I wouldn’t mind seeing.”
Kennedy tried to ignore the way her heart leapt at his words, how the image of being tied up by Memphis turned her on. She swallowed, trying to coat her dry throat, and looked out the window, needing to keep her eyes off the man beside her.
She stared at her faint reflection in the window and thought of Brooks. He promised to be there for her tonight, and she actually believed he would show. He sounded so sincere, so sorry that night that she believed he would put her first for once. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that he was a no-show tonight; deep down Kennedy knew it would happen. But it still hurt like hell.
Memphis pulled into her building’s parking lot and eased her car into her space. He helped her out and into the building, making sure she got into her apartment without tripping over her heels and breaking her neck in her inebriated state.
“Home, sweet, home,” he declared as he unlocked her door and pushed it open.
Kennedy immediately kicked off her shoes and headed for the couch, dropping down on it in a thud.
Memphis went into her kitchen and came out with a glass of water and two Tylenol.
“Take these. Non-doctor’s orders.”
Kennedy looked at his outstretched hand and suddenly burst into tears.
“Hey.” He quickly set the water and pills down and sat beside her, pulling her into his arms. “What’s wrong, beautiful?”
“He didn’t come,” Kennedy cried, resting her head on his chest. “He promised he’d be there and he didn’t come.”
“I know,” Memphis said, stroking her hair.
“And the sculpture was there. He was supposed to be there to see it,” she rambled on. “I wanted him there to see it, so maybe he’d finally acknowledge what we lost wasn’t just a fetus, but a baby.”
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