by Holly Jacobs
Two years later, the divorce was final.
He’d been in second grade.
He’d seen his father on rare weekends and sometimes a week or two in the summer.
He watched Kennedy gently holding the little girl, and he knew that he didn’t want that kind of relationship with his child. He didn’t want to be an occasional weekend dad.
When the meeting was over and the crowd started to dissipate, the one stranger at the meeting walked over to Kennedy’s table and spoke to her. She smiled at the guy, who patted her shoulder before he left. Then that Gideon guy came over and talked to her for a while, too.
She smiled at something he said, and Mal, before he knew what he was doing, got out of his seat and he walked over to the table. “Who’s your friend?”
Kennedy looked up and seemed less than enthused to see him.
“Malcolm Carter, Gideon Byler. He’s the best carpenter in the area. He’s going to do some work for me at the flower shop.”
“Mal,” he said, correcting Kennedy’s introduction. She was the only one in town who insisted on calling him by his full name. He extended his hand to the guy and they shook.
“Nice to meet you,” Gideon said. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work.”
“Nice meeting you, too,” Mal said. There was a trace of a lilt in Gideon’s voice that Mal recognized from the local Amish community. He knew they spoke Pennsylvania Dutch at home, and the cadence seemed to carry through to their English as well.
Before he could ask Kennedy about the man who Jenny said used to be Amish, the little girl who’d sat quietly through the introduction tapped on his thigh. “I’m Ivy. I’m five and I’m helping Miss Mayor today. I’m her . . .” She looked to Kennedy.
“Assistant,” Kennedy filled in.
“Yeah, that’s right. I’m the assistant. Who are you?” Ivy asked.
“I’m Mal.”
“Oh.” Obviously that was all the information that Ivy required. She turned back to her picture.
“Kennedy, Pap left town this afternoon. I was wondering if you could come over to the Center later and show me the computer system and forms?”
Her eyes seemed a dark grey and her expression said she’d rather have a tooth pulled, but she nodded. “My assistant and I have a few deliveries to make, then we’re picking up her brothers at school. Jenny’s off work at four, so how about I meet you about four thirty and we can chat for a bit?”
“That would be fine.” He wanted to say more. He wanted to talk to her about the baby, about what they were going to do, but before he could formulate what to say, Jenny walked by.
“Hey, here’s for my coffee.” He handed her a ten-dollar bill.
“I’ll get your change,” she said.
He smiled and shook his head. “I tied up your table forever. It’s your tip. Sorry I was short earlier.”
“That was nothing. May Williams was in earlier. Now that woman has given short a whole new meaning. She wouldn’t know a happy emotion if it bit her on the butt.”
He managed a small smile, and as Jenny went to attend to her other tables, he turned back to Kennedy. “I guess I’ll see you in a while then.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” she said.
“It was nice meeting you, Ivy,” he told Jenny’s daughter.
“I know. I’m a nice girl, except when I’m not. Mommy always thinks I’m nice, but my brothers don’t. ’Specially when I spy on them. Timmy and Lenny don’t like girls, but I’m tricky.”
“I’m sure you are,” he said and ruffled her hair as he walked past her and smiled. He felt sorry for her brothers. He suspected having Ivy for a little sister might be a bit of a trial.
He stopped on the restaurant’s porch and looked through the window, back into the restaurant. Kennedy was helping Ivy bundle back up. The little girl was talking a mile a minute, and Kennedy was giving her every word her full attention.
He couldn’t help but remember all the times his mother had come to his games. His mother was not a sports enthusiast. She was more at home with a book than on a bleacher. But she had been at every game. And after each one, she’d listened as he ran through the highlights.
She’d always given him her full focus and made him feel as if everything he said was the most important thing in the world to her.
That’s what he saw in Kennedy as she listened to Ivy.
She’d be a good mom.
And all Mal could do was hope he’d be a good father. A present father. Not simply an occasional weekend sort of dad.
He wanted to listen to his kid talk about . . . anything. About friends, about school, about games. He wanted to hear about their dreams.
He wanted to be there if they had a nightmare. He wanted to be there to pick them up and hold them.
Mal had never intended to be a father, but that ship had sailed. Intention or not, he was going to be.
And if that was the case, he was going to be the best father he could be.
Mal let himself back into the Center. He had some calls to make, because it looked as if he’d be taking off more time than he’d anticipated.
He thought about the Thompson case and sighed. There’d be other cases. He only had one chance to make things right with Kennedy, and he wasn’t going to blow it.
CHAPTER THREE
Kennedy was exhausted. The last few weeks, she’d gone home after work and crawled into bed for a long nap, emerging sometimes hours later. She’d make herself something for dinner and then collapse again.
She wished she were heading home tonight.
The last thing she wanted to do was see Malcolm.
She’d imagined—hoped, even—that he’d hear her news, visit with Pap, and then go back to Pittsburgh. Leave it to Malcolm to mess things up. He never seemed to do what she wanted.
When she was younger, she’d had the biggest crush on him. She wanted him to fall head over heels for her. He lived with Pap Watson, next door to Aunt Betty’s house. In nice weather, she’d arrange herself on the porch with a book or homework, hoping he’d notice her. She’d imagine that he’d come over and say hi.
He occasionally offered her a nonchalant wave, but that was it.
Yet in the fall she went to all his football games. In the winter she tried to be outside shoveling the walk when she thought he’d be coming home.
Weekends she’d help Aunt Betty out at the flower shop because she knew he frequently worked for Pap at the Center.
She did everything she could to put herself in his path.
And he’d never done more than nod or wave at her.
Yeah, Malcolm Carter IV had never once cooperated with what she wanted.
Even now, when she’d stopped wanting anything from him, he still wasn’t cooperating.
Kennedy walked across the sidewalk from the flower shop next door to the Center and she let herself in. “Malcolm?”
“In the office,” he called back.
She hung her coat on the coatrack, stomped off her boots, and grabbed her file. The sun had come out and sidewalks had almost cleared. What was left wasn’t so much snow as slush. That was almost worse. If it got cold tonight, the slush would freeze and she’d have an icy walk into work tomorrow.
Ice and pregnant women didn’t mix.
Kennedy balled her hand into a fist and shoved it in the small of her back, hoping to relieve the ever-present ache.
The Center was ideally designed. There were retractable walls that could divide the space into three smaller rooms if need be, but most of the time they were tucked into their pockets, leaving one gigantic room. At the back of the building there was a kitchen to the left and the office to the right.
She headed to the right and walked into the compact space. Malcolm seemed to fill it up in a way that Pap and Val never had. But then agai
n, Malcolm always seemed to fill up whatever space he was in.
Kennedy couldn’t help notice him today at the restaurant. He’d sat at the back table, tucked up in the corner as if he thought no one would notice him.
She was pretty sure that would never happen.
Right now, he was hunched over the keyboard staring at the computer monitor. “I can’t find the schedule.”
“Move over.”
He wheeled the chair back a bit, but to her, it didn’t feel like it was nearly far enough. She didn’t want to be that close to him. But she didn’t want him to know that, so she made herself move forward and opened up the schedule. “There you go.” She stepped back and pushed against her lower spine again.
Malcolm moved forward and looked at the screen. “It’s pretty full.”
“Yes. We’ve been doing some bigger events. I’ve worked with Gus and Tavi on a few of them. The Cupboard has done a lot of the catering lately.” She thrust the file at him. “Here. I’ve worked up some spreadsheets for you. You can see that the Center’s pulling in a nice profit every month. But it has so much untapped potential, it only needs some money invested into the infrastructure and some publicity. We could easily draw some people from Erie or other neighboring towns. Cupid Falls has so much ambiance. I don’t think Main Street has changed much since Pap was a kid, other than the names on the storefronts. Really, the Center is the perfect place for a wedding reception. We’ve got the large lawn behind us, and it’s a short walk down the trail to the falls. I can’t imagine a prettier place for photos. I—”
He interrupted her. “I don’t have time to invest in growing the Center’s potential. Pap said he’s not interested in running it. He also said you’ve been doing a lot of the management. Has he compensated you?”
She shrugged. “I helped out, that’s all. But I want to talk to you about Pap’s retirement. I know you’re busy in Pittsburgh and can’t put the time and effort that the Center needs into it. So I think you should sell it. If you look at the last page, there’s a breakdown on how much the updates will run and what the current market value of the property is.”
He glanced at the last page. “You had someone appraise the building?”
She could see him bristle at the thought, so she hastily assured him, “With Pap’s permission. You see, I’d like to buy the place. There are a lot of—”
Malcolm frowned. “You’ve got the flower shop.”
Kennedy wanted to snap thank you, Captain Obvious but bit her tongue and simply said, “I do have the flower shop. And I’ve expanded my inventory. We do gift baskets and fruit baskets now, too. But I want to be sure I have an adequate, steady income in place . . .” She let the sentence fade. She’d been about to say for the baby, but she didn’t want to remind Mal about the baby. She wanted him to agree to sell her the Center and then leave and go back to Pittsburgh. After all, he had big-city law to return to. And he’d barely visited his grandfather, so he wasn’t exactly what she’d call father material.
“I’ve spoken to the bank, and using the Cupid’s Bowquet as collateral, I won’t have any problem paying you a fair market price.”
She waited for his response. Malcolm sat there, staring at her for a long moment that stretched into an uncomfortable long moment. She felt a surge of disappointment. He was going to say no.
Well, she’d tried. “Never mind. I can imagine that it would be hard to let go of the place. You’re the third-generation owner. I imagine you have so many happy memories here.”
Malcolm was still silent, and that silence had now gone from uncomfortable to plain old rude.
She’d said her piece, and he obviously wasn’t impressed. If he’d argued or asked questions, she could have countered his concern, but she had nothing to throw at his silence, so she reverted to all business. “That file I opened is in your document section. There’s a file for the schedule, and there are files for the specific events. And the other document you really need to keep an eye on is the to-do list. I broke down each event and listed what Pap or I needed to do for it and when. I’ve included all vendors’ numbers and info. If you follow it step by step, you should be fine.”
He glanced at the folder again but still said nothing.
Kennedy moved toward the door. “I should probably go.”
“Are you hungry?” he finally asked.
Kennedy turned. “Pardon?”
“Have you had dinner?” Malcolm asked slowly, as if he was afraid she hadn’t understood him.
She shook her head. “Not yet. I came here right after I closed up the shop and dropped off Jenny’s kids.”
“You must be starved.” He stood. “I noticed you didn’t eat much at lunch, between running your meeting and entertaining Ivy.”
“I—”
He didn’t let her finish her sentence. “I thought I’d pick up a pizza. We could go back to your place and you could lay out your proposal while we eat dinner.”
She wanted to tell him that she didn’t need someone watching over her. She was an adult. She ate when she was hungry. And she didn’t want him in her house. He was staying at Pap’s place, right next door, and that was close enough. “Really, I can tell you here.”
“Come on, Kennedy.” He shot her an award-winning smile that had probably swayed countless female jurors as easily as it had all the girls in high school. “I know you’ve done business over meals in the past. Just today, by the look of things. We have a lot to talk about and it would be a lot more comfortable at home.”
“Then let’s meet at Pap’s,” she tried. If they ate dinner at Malcolm’s, she could simply leave at any time.
“You don’t want me in your house?” he asked.
“That’s not it,” she said, though that was a lie.
She didn’t want him there. More specifically, she didn’t want any memories of him there. It was enough that she had to look at Pap’s every day, and visit it occasionally—there were memories galore there. And when she came to work, she still had memories right next door. So, no, she didn’t want them at her house. But she didn’t want to admit that to Malcolm. “No, of course, that’s not it.”
“Fine. Why don’t you go home, put your feet up, and I’ll call Tavi and order us a pizza. Anything special you want on it?”
She hadn’t said yes, but that obviously didn’t matter to Malcolm. Since she doubted she’d be able to eat any of it with him there, she shook her head. “Whatever you want is fine.”
“I’ll meet you at your place in about half an hour then,” he promised.
Drat. “Fine.”
“Kennedy, we do have a lot to discuss, but I’m not trying to make things difficult for you.”
If this was Malcolm trying not to make things difficult, she didn’t want to see what it would be like if he was. “Maybe you’re not, but that doesn’t mean you don’t manage it anyway.” She turned around and left as he picked up the phone to call in their order.
Kennedy walked the four blocks east on Collingwood Drive to Aunt Betty’s. It was a bungalow and used to be painted grey. Since Aunt Betty hadn’t wanted to put money into the home, it had been a peely mess when she passed away three years ago. One of the only changes Kennedy had made to the house was getting it repainted. She’d had them paint it a creamy light yellow. She’d felt guilty because she knew that Aunt Betty wouldn’t have approved, but she did think the house looked so much better.
Kennedy looked at the small porch that was on the side of her house closest to Malcolm’s. She’d replaced the cushions on the white wicker furniture with striped cream, yellow, and grey ones. They tied in the house color with the grey stone fireplace that was the focal point of the front. They were in the shed out back for the winter, but in the spring she’d pull them back out.
Next door, Pap’s house was more of a Cape Cod style. There was no front porch on it. The only thing that bro
ke the flat front were the two dormer windows that poked out of the roof on both the front of the house and the back. The one on the right, closest to Aunt Betty’s house, was Malcolm’s room. Kennedy couldn’t count how many times she’d sat on the porch when she was in high school, watching the light that cascaded from that window, knowing he was in there and didn’t have a clue she was alive.
She shook her head. She was glad she’d never mentioned her childhood crush to anyone, not even Malcolm.
Kennedy walked along the porch and let herself in the front door. The small coat closet was on the right. She opened it up and put her parka inside, then kicked her boots off and put them on the plastic mat. She’d left her slippers on the carpet runner but didn’t really want Malcolm to see her waddling around in her red-and-black-checked slip-ons, so she took her shoes out of her purse and slipped them back on, then hid her slippers in the closet.
She flipped on lights and sighed as she looked at the living room. It was Aunt Betty’s frilly, floral furniture and doily-covered tables, which she faithfully polished every Saturday.
She hadn’t changed a thing because it seemed . . . wrong. Wrong to change Aunt Betty’s house.
She turned off the lights and walked into the kitchen instead. This was as Aunt Betty had left it, too, but Kennedy wouldn’t change a thing in it. She loved the old floor-to-ceiling white cabinets. The soapstone counter was worn in a few areas and dipped severely enough that it made some plates wobble. There were dings and scratches all over it. It looked at home in this kitchen.
The table was a worktable, a place where occupants had prepared meals for decades. It was the equivalent of today’s islands. The butcher-block surface was scarred and discolored from years of cooking.
The only changes she’d made in here were adding the desk in one corner and a dark plaid chair with a small end table and lamp in the other.
That chair was her favorite place in the house. She had a view of the backyard. An ancient mulberry tree was outside the window, and every morning she faithfully filled the bird feeder that hung from it. She loved sitting in the chair with a cup of coffee, reading the paper, and watching the chickadees, sparrows, and finches flock to it for their breakfast.