by Haven Rose
“Because I was taught to tell the truth.” Ella claps her hands and squeals, then digs in her apron pocket and proudly produces her cell. She pushes a button, the dial tone on the other end coming through loud and clear. Kenna, seeming to know who she’s calling, tries to grab it from her, but Ella bats her hand away.
“Lorna, it’s me. You’ll never guess who’s here.” Ella falls silent, then tsks. “Just because I said you won’t doesn’t mean I don’t want you to try. Play along, woman.”
Kenna’s shoulders are shaking so much I’m worried she’s crying. I’m ready to pound on someone, hating the idea of her upset, but she saves everyone in the vicinity by letting me see that she’s actually laughing. “You’ve gone and done it now.”
“I’m off tomorrow,” Ella informs this Lorna.
“Who is she talking to?”
“My mom.” Ahhh. That explains Ella’s next announcement.
“Okay, I’ll see you at noon.” Silence. “You want me to bring lunch? Planning a wedding works up an appetite.”
“We aren’t getting married,” Kenna interjects, throwing a glare at me. It doesn’t work, though. My grin only grows bigger.
“Not yet,” I correct her. “By the time you’re ready to accept that, everything can already be set for us to do so. Less waiting that way.”
“Emmett, do you have any food allergies?” I shake my head no and she promises to bring our meals shortly.
“We didn’t even order,” I say unnecessarily to Kenna.
“You’ll enjoy whatever she brings you, trust me.” Less than fifteen minutes later, I discover she’s correct when what looks to be a homemade chicken pot pie is set in front of me with a side of mashed potatoes. I’ll need to add an extra two miles to my workout, but they’ll totally be worth it.
Once my meal is finished, I push my plate to the side before I’m tempted to lick it clean. “That was delicious,” I declare, patting my stomach. I notice Kenna’s eyes there and make a point to lift my shirt a smidge, wanting her to see my abs. They aren’t as defined as they used to be due to my exercise no longer being as strenuous since my retirement, but Kenna isn’t complaining. Not about that at least.
“Emmett, you really shouldn’t egg my mom or Ella on.”
I decide to pretend I’m innocent. “Not sure what you’re referring to.”
“Oh please. That doesn’t work on me. I teach fifth graders.” Well, now I know I can’t get away with crap where she’s concerned. “You let them think we’re getting married.”
“We are.” She informs me we aren’t even engaged. “I can fix that right now.” I start to stand, intent on getting on one knee and proposing, but she stops me.
“You can’t joke about stuff like that here,” she tells me.
“I was serious.” She sputters, something about hopes getting up and fairy tales not being real. “Let’s put a pin in that for now. We’ll circle back to it.” A nod, a fleeting glimpse of relief and disappointment at the same time. “Did you always want to be a teacher?”
Her face lights up. “For as long as I can remember. My mom’s favorite story to share is from when she was helping me with the ABCs, counting to ten, etc.”
“As parents do,” I say, recalling my own doing the same with me.
Her eyes fill with humor as she continues, “Afterward, she’d find me in my room, stuffed animals lined up, as I “taught” them.” And now I’m picturing our own little girl doing it, too.
“That’s adorable.”
“Glad you think so,” she mutters.
“Please say there’s more.”
“I dressed up as a teacher for Halloween five years in a row.”
“When was the last time?” She’s not looking at me, instead staring intently at the wall behind me.
“A year ago? Two? Three?” She holds up a couple fingers and damned if my dick isn’t twitching as I picture her in this outfit and wondering how stern she’d be with me.
“I beg of you; please tell me you still have it.”
“You’ll have to wait and see.”
Don’t push it. Don’t pu….. “You can bring it on our honeymoon.” I didn’t get to this point in my life by not taking risks, so the hell with it.
“There you go with that again.” She stares at me, and while I’m not sure what she’s searching for, she doesn’t run when she’s done, so that’s a plus.
“How about a proposition?”
“Go on,” she urges, her expression showing she’s intrigued.
“Your house needs work.” Kenna says that’s an understatement. “I didn’t get to see much of it when I saved your life,” she giggles, “though from what I can see, the foundation is solid.”
“Yeah. My dad offered to help, but I want to do this on my own.” Her shoulders sag, as if realizing it’s far beyond her capabilities. But not mine.
“We’ll do it together.”
“And what is it you do for a living?” Oops. We didn’t exactly cover that.
“Technically, I’m unemployed right now. I do have a background in construction. My family has their own company back home.”
“And you followed in their footsteps?”
I don’t want to lie, but I also love the knowledge she just sees me as a man. “Professionally, no. I needed to take my own path and they supported me completely. Yet there’s something about returning to it after all this time. It’s like going home after being away for too long. I began to realize I was no longer happy with the route I’d taken and I needed a change. Visiting them gave me the opportunity to reflect.”
“Which led you here?”
“To my future,” I confess, staring directly at her, needing her to know I’m referring to her. Sidestepping that, she tells me to fill in the rest of the details on this deal. “That’s easy. We both know your house needs work and no offense, it’s too much for you to take on yourself.”
“None taken,” she lets me off the hook. “My skills lie elsewhere.”
“Some of mine are in this,” I tell her, doing my own avoidance.
“What do you get out of this?”
“Truthfully, aside from getting to see you,” she gives me this smile that has me falling the rest of the way in love with her, “I gain experience. I haven’t been in this field in years, so it’ll be a refresher course, so to speak, before I start looking for employment.”
“Not being nosey, but can you afford to wait?” That would crack Grady up if he were here. I was known for two things during my playing days. First, never looking at a woman. I would talk to the female fans, business staff, etc., but that’s it. Professional, not once personal, no signatures on bodies ever. This, with Kenna, is the exact opposite. Second, the money I made was spent wisely or not at all. I’m set for life, as are my children and grandchildren. Before the third generation arrives, I intend to cover them as well. Unwilling to share that just yet, I lay my hand, palm up, on the table and hold my breath until she sets hers inside it.
“I can. I’m not a big spender, preferring to save for a rainy day.”
“Okay, what happens when my house is done?”
“We get married.”
Chapter Three
Kenna
June 22nd…
I’m still shocked I’m doing this. Until I picture Emmett, that is. Then I realize he can probably get me to agree to anything. I was tempted to call his bluff, accept his proposal then and there, but honestly, I have a feeling he would’ve had us standing in front of a preacher before I could blink. There’s something so sexy about his confidence in there being an us that he has me starting to believe it, too.
I was tempted to phone my best friends and fellow teachers, Gracie and Lexie, last night, but I held off. Not because I won’t tell them. I will, eventually. First, though, I need to see where this is going. By keeping this to myself, we stay in a bubble that doesn’t let reality in. I’m finding that I don’t want to think logically where Emmett is concerned. I’ve always been able
to take an issue and somehow see the possible outcomes through the various options available. In that way, I guess you can say I’m a planner – though nowhere near to the extent Gracie is.
He, on the other hand, makes me want to be impulsive. Even more so as I see him standing on my porch, holding another bouquet, this one all sunflowers. Resisting him is going to be difficult.
Then again, who says I have to?
**Emmett**
I’m playing the odds here. Literally on borrowed time. Why the hell did I give us a deadline? Oh yeah, I’m not actually adhering to it. That makes me smile.
My parents and I video chatted last night and I told them all about Kenna. When I shared our wager, my mom laughed so hard. You’d think she’d scold me, but you’d be wrong. Her and dad looked at each other, silently communicating as they do, and began placing bets on the winner.
That’s not even the worst part.
Mom’s money is on Kenna. When I asked her about it, she merely shrugged – a trait I know I picked up from her – and said, “Us women gotta stick together.”
Dad appeared shocked, adding that he was on my side. I started to long distance high-five him until mom laughed, declaring only because she beat him in claiming Kenna. He did not disagree.
Apparently, once Kenna joins our family, I’ll have to fight my own parents to spend time with her. At least I’ll have the advantage as they aren’t even in the same state as us. Yet.
“You’re quite fetching in that toolbelt,” I state, giving Kenna an admiring glance when she greets me at the door.
“This old thing?” She asks, placing a hand on her hip and spinning, allowing me a full view of it. Kenna jokes, but I can tell the items hanging from it have actually been used. My girl isn’t one to sit back and let others do all the work. She prefers being in the thick of it. I groan at the realization that makes her the hands-on type because I’m picturing exactly where I want them to be. “You aren’t so bad yourself in one.”
I learned patience while honing my sport, knowing I needed time to be good enough to gain the attention of scouts. Once I had it, I had to continue using it while waiting for something to come to fruition. This followed throughout my career, a situation always coming up that required me to exist on someone else’s schedule. Now, however, I seem to have none. I want to throw Kenna over my shoulder and plead that she agree to marry me. Confess that I may not last two weeks without knowing she’ll be mine.
But I mentally push that urge down deep where it belongs and seal it shut. Kenna is worth this, as will be the result. Her. Me. Forever.
She takes the flowers, smelling them as she did the first time, before inviting me inside and heading toward the kitchen. Reaching into a cupboard, she removes what must be a vase, then turns to fill it with water.
Returning to the living room, she sets it on the coffee table, her gaze lingering on it for a minute. Shifting to me, she glides closer and drops a kiss on my cheek. Who would’ve thought something so innocent would cause the dirtiest thoughts?
As if sensing my mind has gone elsewhere, such as what she’ll look like wearing my ring and nothing else, she claps her hands to bring me back to the present. “Here’s my list.” Oh fuck me, she’s using her stern teacher voice. “This is what I know needs done, but I’m sure I missed something.”
Forcing myself to focus on the task at hand, working on her house and winning her heart, I read it over. I visually check each item and discover she’s done a good job catching the problems my eyes find as I search the residence.
Removing the pencil tucked behind my ear, I jot my own notes down. She sighs upon seeing how many I’ve added, but I reassure her, “It seems overwhelming as a whole, but breaking them down individually helps.”
Her expression clearly shows she’s not buying it, though she nods nonetheless and a little of the tension leaves her. A fierceness takes over her face and she asks, “Where should we start?”
“The bedroom.”
Chapter Four
Emmett
June 23rd…
“I had my doubts,” Kenna confesses, “when you wanted to start here of all places, but you were right.”
It took us a day to do what we needed to in her room, and while kicking off her renovation here may have sounded lecherous – and yes, staring at the bed where she lays her head at night without me was torture – I had reasons.
“This is your oasis,” I remind her. “Having this done first gives you space away from the reality of the repairs happening everywhere else.”
The way she stares at me makes me feel as if I can do anything. Forget all the years I spent to reach the highest level of the game, forget the accolades I received while playing, forget winning the World Series. This, this is what I was born for. Making her smile.
**Kenna**
We’d moved onto the next area to tackle, the bathroom. His approach is methodical, and while it may not be the way others would attack it, it shows that his plan is well-thought out. He takes into account the person that has to live within the repairs and tries to make them as comfortable as possible during the process.
By the end of the day, I’m wondering if it’s too early to concede defeat now, though I in no way would consider it losing. His patience, his willingness to teach me what I don’t know, to listen to my ideas and, if they won’t work, he tells me why and helps me figure out a different tactic, have stolen my heart piece by piece.
It’s refreshing. Through my dad, I know more than the average person does about construction, but there’s still a lot I don’t simply because I wasn’t as interested as I needed to be in order to explore it. Emmett, however, has changed that.
Perhaps it’s simply that I’m able to spend time with him, his body brushing against mine while he’s instructing me on the proper way to hold a hammer or nail gun.
He’s so sexy I’m surprised I haven’t stepped on my tongue, but what makes him hotter is the fact that he has no freaking idea how good-looking he is. There is no arrogance whatsoever about him. Honestly, he’s shy in some ways, outspoken in others.
For instance, his determination to win me over. He hasn’t once wavered from that, so sure I’m it for him.
Wanting to thank him, despite his assurance it is unnecessary, I offer to make him dinner. He seems pleased at the idea of a home-cooked meal, which means I quickly need to figure out how to make one.
Emmett returns next door with a promise to see me in a couple hours and I watch him cross our lawns, admiring how nicely his jeans hug his legs. Giggling when he shakes his tight ass a bit before he reaches his porch, so confident my eyes are glued on him. And he wasn’t wrong. Then I move to my kitchen and quickly whip out the cookbook mom got me last Christmas in the hopes I’d accomplish something other than making boiling water evaporate.
Skimming through the pages, I start to panic upon realizing everything is out of my skill set. My phone is in my hand to beg my mom for help, but I don’t.
He’s coming to see me, to eat food I made for him, and that’s what he’s getting. There’s no rule that dinner actually has to consist of meatloaf or steak, right?
Deciding if he’s serious about wanting to marry me, he needs to know the real me, I wing it. And if I throw out a fervent wish I don’t epically fail as I gather the ingredients I need, that’s between me and whoever is listening.
**Emmett**
I’m starving as Kenna lets me inside, though it’s not just for food. I give her the champagne I brought and wonder at the smirk she doesn’t bother hiding when she takes it. It isn’t mean, but more of an inside joke. Hopefully, she’ll fill me in. But as we head to the table and I see the meal waiting for us, I realize she doesn’t need to.
“Mimosas it is,” I joke, needing her to know I’m not upset nor disappointed. I ask where the glasses are, then reach above her, purposefully pressing my body fully against hers as I remove them. “Not sorry,” I whisper in her ear as I slowly step away from her. She turns, eyes bri
ghter than they were when she first opened the door, and smiles, seemingly lighting up the whole room from the joy contained within it.
Rising to her tiptoes, gaze staring directly into mine, she softly admits, “Me either.”
As we take our seats, I’m pleased that she set the table so we’re next to each other instead of across. I could look at her all day, but I couldn’t touch her with that distance between us. A travesty if I’ve ever heard one.
Dinner is quiet, yet comfortable. I appreciate the fact neither of us feels the need to fill the silence with chatter, merely content to just be with the other. Once we’re finished, I help her clean and load the dishwasher.
We don’t even make it to the living room before it makes a groaning noise. Turning to her, I’m surprised to see her mouth twitching. Unable to resist, I tease, “Add that to the list.” Laughter follows, tickling both of us more than it should, but we go with it. Humor is selective, and while this moment may not be as funny to others, it’s the fact we now have a shared joke that makes it a memory.
Still chuckling, we pivot and return to the kitchen where we empty the sputtering machine and knock out the dishes by hand, me washing while she dries. There aren’t that many and I tuck away the fact she must do them as she goes. It’s an adorable quirk that I bet very few people, if any, are aware of, and I’m honored she’s sharing it with me.
Not wanting the night to end so soon, I ask if she wants to stare at the stars with me. I snag a blanket from the couch when we walk by as she leads me toward the door off the dining room and to her backyard. I let her choose the spot, then spread the blanket on it and we sit, my hand holding hers for balance, Plus, I like the feel of her skin against mine. She must to as she doesn’t tug on it to be released.