by Holly Jacobs
“You forgot a definition. The most important one.” He paused a moment and uttered for the first time, “I am the father of your child.”
“Yes, there is that.” Kennedy sank back into the other chair. “You are biologically responsible for half of my child’s DNA.”
“Our child,” he maintained. The way she referred to the baby as hers rather than theirs grated on him and he wasn’t sure why.
“Malcolm, no one in town knows this is your baby. Not even Pap, though I’m sure he suspects. You live in Pittsburgh and I live in Cupid Falls. The baby will live in Cupid Falls. There’s no reason for anyone to know you’re his or her father.”
Malcolm needed to say something. He knew he had legal rights to this child.
His child.
He was going to be a father.
The idea of being a father couldn’t seem to find a foothold in his head. He could think the words, but he couldn’t get a firm handle on the concept.
Father.
He wasn’t sure what to do.
Mal had always prided himself on doing what was right. And he knew that starting to spout legalities to the mother of your child wasn’t right.
He knew that fact better than most.
So instead he said the first thing that came to mind. “We can get married.”
Mal was proud of his ability to read people. But Kennedy Anderson had always been an enigma. She was generally smiling and pleasant. The few times he’d seen evidence of a temper, it had been like today, there for a flash, then gone. Those flashes made him think that Kennedy had hidden depths, but it was tough to tell what she was actually thinking most of the time.
This was not one of those times.
Shock.
She was shocked at his offer of marriage.
Well, her shock had nothing on his own shock upon hearing he was going to be a father.
Malcolm liked to plan every word he uttered with great care. When he went into a courtroom, he had everything he wanted to say carefully crafted and well thought out. He was not prone to blurting without analyzing.
Yet that’s what he’d done.
But even if he hadn’t planned to propose, as he said the words he knew they were right.
Kennedy was going to have his child.
It might be old-fashioned, but in his opinion they needed to be married. Immediately.
His child should have his name.
He waited for her shock to fade and for her to agree that their marriage was the proper thing to do.
“Malcolm . . .” She paused.
He was sure she was trying to think of an appropriate way to thank him.
“. . . not if you were the last man on earth.”
That was not what Mal expected to hear. “Why?” he blurted again.
“I refuse to call my baby a mistake, but it wasn’t planned for. It wasn’t that we were in love and created this baby out of that love. You’d lost your mother and I’d lost her, too. Your mom and grandfather . . . well, after you went away to school and then went to work in Pittsburgh, we all got close. And I was reeling from losing her, too. That night . . .”
He remembered every moment of that night.
“We were two people in need of comfort. But I never deluded myself into thinking it was anything more than that. We were simply trying to find some sort of equilibrium after a profound loss, and for that one night we found some comfort with each other.”
“But—”
“And I’ll always appreciate the fact you asked. It was very . . .” She paused as if searching for a word. “Honorable. Yes. It was honorable of you. But Malcolm, I’m not some damsel who needs rescuing. No one’s stitched a scarlet letter to my chest. I didn’t plan on this baby, but I’ve had time to not only get used to the idea of being someone’s mother—I’m excited. I’m not rich by any stretch of the imagination, but I make a comfortable living. I’m financially and emotionally able to care for this child. I’m not asking for anything from you. I simply thought it was only right you knew.”
“But—”
“So you take some time and process the idea, and we’ll talk again before you leave to go home to Pittsburgh. But right now, I’ve got a couple orders to fill so they can be delivered, and I’ve got a lunch meeting today.”
“Kennedy.” Mal was at a complete and utter loss for words. He didn’t know what to say. How to react.
She reached up and patted his cheek as if he were a small child. “It’s okay, Malcolm. I’ve got everything under control. I don’t need or expect anything from you. We’ll talk later.”
She led him toward the door. “Oh, and Pap told me that he’s retiring from running The Community Center and he was leaving town as soon as you got here. Since the Center belongs to you and you live in Pittsburgh, you’ll probably be looking for someone to manage it. I’d like to talk to you about that when you have the time. I have a proposition for you.”
Those were the last words she said to him before he found himself on the sidewalk in front of the flower store. Cupid’s Bowquet.
She’d changed the name. No more Betty’s Flowers.
Kennedy Anderson had taken the store and made it her own.
Kennedy Anderson had a business proposition for him.
Kennedy Anderson was going to have his child.
Kennedy Anderson had it all figured out.
She’d had months to figure it all out.
He’d had minutes.
But one thing Malcolm knew for sure—things weren’t going to go exactly the way Kennedy Anderson had planned.
CHAPTER TWO
After Malcolm left, Kennedy sat for a long time in the office. Her knees were literally too weak to support her.
Their meeting hadn’t gone the way she’d expected. Not that she was sure exactly what she’d expected, but a marriage proposal? That wasn’t anywhere on her list of possible scenarios.
She corrected herself—an obligatory marriage proposal.
Well, she was pretty sure she had let Malcolm Carter IV know how she felt about that.
He was flabbergasted by her response.
That went to show how conceited Cupid Falls’ golden boy was. He’d expected her to be grateful. To thank him for saving her. Well, she didn’t need saving. She’d meant what she said. She’d thought about the implications of having a baby on her own, and she knew she could handle it.
She also knew that if she ever married, it would be for love. Aunt Betty had taken her in out of a sense of obligation. She’d given Kennedy someplace to live, but she’d never given her love.
She wrapped her arms around her stomach. This child would know what it was like to have a home . . . to have a place where they belonged, where they were loved.
She took a deep breath and felt better. She went out front and flipped the sign on the door back to “Open,” then continued to work on Clarence’s frog planter.
There was something so soothing about putting her hand in the soft, rich potting soil. Some people settled their souls by watching a sunset or listening to music, but she’d always found a sense of solace in a garden, and later in her aunt’s shop with the plants and flowers.
She gently put a small spider plant into the planter. It looked perfect. She’d known the minute she’d seen the planter that it was meant for Joan.
Kennedy tucked a small yellow tea rose in the planter. It wouldn’t live as long as the plant, but yellow roses meant forgive and forget in the language of flowers. That seemed appropriate.
She took out a box and was about to wrap the planter when she heard the front door open.
Kennedy resisted a sigh. She didn’t want to see anyone else today because so far everyone who’d walked through her front door had either barked at her, complained to her, or offered her a compulsory marriage proposal.
Most days she loved when people came to her with their problems. It made her feel like she was needed. But today she could handle being a little less needed. She didn’t want to think about what problem the next person would bring.
Knowing she couldn’t hide in the back all day, she looked out into the front room and immediately changed her mind about not wanting to see anyone else. Jenny Murray had come in with her youngest, Ivy. Ivy looked like a mini-Jenny. Both had caramel-colored skin, straight brown hair that bordered on black, and vivid blue eyes.
Ivy flew in as if someone had launched her from a catapult. “Hi, Ms. Mayor. Whatcha doin’? Did ya know Pap’s leaving town? He’s got his suitcase packed and everything. He said he’ll come tell you good-bye, but he’s going. But I ain’t going nowhere. I’m here to see you.”
Kennedy was charmed, and for the first time that day she simply felt happy to see someone. “I’m glad you did.”
Ivy grinned. “Yeah, I know. I’m a bright light on a dark day. That’s what Pap says.” Something caught Ivy’s eye and she launched herself toward the back of the store.
“Ivy Murray, don’t you run in the mayor’s shop,” Jenny called out, but it was too late.
Ivy bumped against a stand, sending the half dozen bud vases on it falling to the floor. Thankfully, they were empty, but there was glass everywhere.
“I’m sorry,” Ivy cried out, then sank to the floor and started to cry in earnest.
“Oh, Kennedy, I’m so sorry—” Jenny started.
Both mother and daughter wore the same distraught expression, which only made them look even more alike.
“Jenny, Ivy, stop. Accidents happen.” Kennedy knelt with difficulty and looked at Ivy. “Do you know what my aunt used to say about accidents?”
Ivy shook her head.
“ ‘Say you’re sorry and help clean it up.’ ” Aunt Betty had been a straightforward sort of woman. Kennedy couldn’t help but wonder what she’d have said about the baby. Probably the same thing. And basically, that’s what Kennedy had done. She’d told Malcolm she was sorry and she was handling it.
“Pap always says you can’t cry over spilled milk,” Jenny added to her daughter.
“I didn’t spill no milk,” Ivy informed her mother. “I broke Ms. Mayor’s stuff.”
“Well, you said you were sorry, so all that’s left is helping me clean it up,” Kennedy told the little girl with a smile.
“I’m real sorry, Miss Mayor. Mama says, ‘Ivy, don’t you run inside, that’s for outside,’ but sometimes I forget. I can pick up the pieces.”
If Ivy and a table were trouble, Kennedy couldn’t even imagine what Ivy and glass shards would be, so she shook her head. “It’s glass, so that’s a grown-up job. I’ll do that part. But,” she hastily added when Ivy looked as if she were going to complain, “you can go in the back and get the broom and dustpan for me. Then you can hold the dustpan while I sweep.”
The little girl brightened immediately. “I can do that.” She ran into the back room.
“Walk.” Jenny sank onto a stool. “Thanks, Mayor. I’ll pay for the damage.”
“It’s nothing. I had Georgie Miller working here last summer, and next to all his accidents? Really, this is nothing. Now, what can I do for you today?”
“Missy’s sick today. I wondered if you could send her a little something? I don’t have much money, but if you could do something inexpensive but nice, I’d appreciate it.”
She knew that Missy babysat for Jenny’s kids when she worked. “I can do that. I’ll take it over.”
“Great.”
Ivy came back with the dustpan in one hand and dragging the broom in the other. “I’m gonna spend the afternoon with Mama ’cause Miss Missy is sick,” Ivy said. “Mama says we’ll have ta eat macaroni and cheese all week ’cause she’s losin’ a day at work, but that’s okay, ’cause I like smacks and cheese.”
Kennedy knew that times were tight for Jenny. Her good-for-nothing ex had left her with three kids and a mortgage. The young mother worked at The Cupboard, the local restaurant. She worked days, which meant she didn’t get premium tips like she would at night, but it was better for her kids’ schedules, she said.
“You know, Jenny, I take back what I said earlier. When someone does damage to someone else’s property, they should have to pay for it.” Jenny started to look nervous, so Kennedy smiled and hastily added, “And since the person who broke my vases is here, why doesn’t she stay this afternoon and help me at the shop in order to work off her debt? I have a lunch meeting at The Cupboard, so she can come in and visit at lunch, then come back with me and help me put together Missy’s arrangement.”
Jenny shook her head. “Kennedy, you don’t have to—”
Kennedy interrupted. “I don’t have to do anything, but I’d like to, if you’ll let me.”
For a moment, she thought Jenny was still going to decline, but finally the frazzled young mother nodded and said, “It would help me out so much. I hate to impose.”
“It’s not an imposition. Frankly, I could use some training. I’ll be in your position soon enough. And us single moms need to stick together, right?” Kennedy patted her baby bump—which recently felt more like a baby boulder. It made her remember that Malcolm was back in town. Hopefully he was packing up now and heading back to Pittsburgh.
“You’re right,” Jenny said. “We do need to stick together. So I’ll say yes, if you promise to let me help out when the baby comes.”
“Yeah,” Ivy agreed, “and I’ll help, Miss Mayor. I know all kinds of things about babies.”
“You do?” Kennedy asked the little girl.
Ivy gave her a look that basically said duh. “Sure I do. I used to be one.”
Kennedy valiantly held back a smile as she nodded solemnly. “Well, that does make you an expert. So how about you and I put together a few orders? We can go to lunch, then deliver them, and you can tell me everything I need to know about having a baby.”
Ivy’s head bobbled up and down so hard and fast it was a wonder it stayed mounted on her neck.
“Oh, yeah, Miss Mayor, I’ll do that. It’ll take a long time to tell you everything, ’cause I know lots of stuff. Like did you know that a baby poops”—she dropped her voice to a stage whisper—“in his pants? And you can’t yell, ’cause they still do it. And it smells.”
“Why, no, I don’t think I did,” Kennedy assured the little girl, then she turned to Jenny. “Thank you so much for leaving Ivy with me. I obviously have a lot to learn.”
“Thank you,” Jenny said again. She leaned down and looked at Ivy. “Be good.”
“I can help Miss Mayor real good, Mom. You don’t need to worry about her.”
Kennedy knew that wasn’t exactly what Jenny had meant, but she couldn’t help but chuckle.
Jenny smiled at her daughter, then past her at Kennedy. “I know you can. You remember your manners, and if the mayor gets a customer, you be quiet while she waits on them.”
Ivy bobbled her head again. “Okay, I will.”
Jenny looked up from her daughter. “Kennedy, really, thank you.”
“Scoot,” Kennedy said. “Go home and get ready for work. I’m sure Gus and Tavi will be thrilled you’re coming in.”
“Yeah, Tavi wasn’t pleased when I called and said I couldn’t make it.”
Kennedy could almost imagine the feisty waitress’s response. “I’ve seen Tavi when she’s annoyed. I’m glad I saved you from that. We’ll see you at lunch.”
Jenny flew from the shop, and Kennedy looked at her new assistant. Her hand strayed to her stomach, and as if it knew she was thinking about it, the baby kicked. She looked down at Ivy and said, “Take your coat off and let’s get started.”
“And did you know that babies burp so hard that sometimes they puke? My friend Ronny puked at school and everyone said ew and
then the janitor came and . . .”
Mal looked at his grandfather, who was packing another suitcase. Frankly, he’d packed so much that Mal was starting to wonder if he was ever coming home.
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” he said for the umpteenth time.
“It wasn’t my place.” Pap was a big man, and though time had changed his hair color to grey, he still carried himself with the ease of a man much younger.
“But you knew the baby was mine,” Mal insisted.
“I didn’t know anything of the sort. I knew that I missed you. And I knew you needed to come home and take care of your responsibilities.” He zipped the suitcase.
“That’s what I mean. If you’d told me about Kennedy sooner I’d have—”
“I’m talking about the Center,” Pap insisted. “Like I told you in the messages I left, it’s not mine anymore. Your mother bought me out, and when she died, the ownership passed to you. I helped out as long as I could, but I’m an old man. I want to sit back and rest on my laurels. I want to enjoy my twilight years.”
Mal scoffed. “Twilight my a—”
“Watch your language, boyo.”
Something in Mal loosened at the childhood nickname that only his grandfather had ever used. “I’m not a boy anymore, Pap.”
“I know. I just wasn’t sure you did.” He hefted the suitcase with ease and set it on the floor. “The fact you’re an adult is the reason why you need to be here in Cupid Falls, taking care of your obligations. I’ve put off this trip for too long.”
“But Kennedy—”
“No. I’m not getting in the middle of anything. She was a great friend to your mom, and she’s been a good friend to me. I don’t know what I’d have done without her help these last few months. Your mom set up that new computer system and a new contract system. I don’t understand the first, and don’t want to be bothered with the second. I’ve sent everyone over to Kennedy since we lost your mother, and she’s taken care of all that stuff as well as the staff schedules. I’m sure she’ll show you how it all works. But you might want to talk to her sooner rather than later. You might save yourself some headaches.”