His persistence startled her. “Why are you pressing this? Given the way you practically slammed your door in my face when I brought your mail, I assumed you weren’t interested in getting to know us, either.”
Absently, he rubbed his knuckles over his stubbled jaw. “You’re refreshing to be around. And a hell of a lot better than my own company.”
What was she supposed to say to that? Refreshing? He made her sound like fruit juice.
“As you said,” he continued, “you won’t be here long. Why not take this short-lived opportunity to let an artist give Leslie a behind-the-scenes tour of a museum? It’ll make her happy. She misses home, you know.”
“Of course I know that!” In light of his valid point and obvious willingness to accompany them, it seemed churlish to continue refusing. “Fine.”
His eyes widened in mild surprise. “So it’s a date?”
“If by ‘date’ you mean a mutually agreed upon and strictly platonic social outing intended to cheer up my daughter, then yes.” Her tone was so proper that Ann would have applauded. Deep down, Kenzie knew she sounded uptight, but this man did not bring out the best in her.
He didn’t seem offended, though. In fact, his lips actually twitched, as if he might…
Yowza. In their few exchanges, she’d never seen him truly smile. Now a grin transformed his whole face, making his memorable gray eyes bright with humor. But the expression was fleeting, leaving the kitchen somehow a touch darker and dingier than it had been a moment ago. She had to fight the compulsion to cajole another smile from him.
“It’s a date,” he repeated, giving her one last unreadable look before walking past to tell the kids that he’d see them next weekend.
Kenzie, her legs feeling unsteady, listened to Leslie’s exultant whoop of delight and to the door closing as JT left. Mrs. Sanchez had said she wished she’d known JT “before.” Had Kenzie just received a glimpse at the man he’d once been? Because, despite what she’d said about not forming attachments at Peachy Acres, she suspected she could very much enjoy getting to know that man.
JT straightened, rolling his shoulders and blinking like a man waking from a dream—that’s how painting had often felt to him, a kind of altered state of reality. Though he wasn’t painting, at least he’d finally put something besides death threats against Sean on the pages of the damn sketch pad. Fidgeting with his pencil, he studied the image.
Not bad. He’d almost captured the play of emotions on the woman’s face. Artistically speaking, this was better than anything he’d managed in weeks. On a personal level, however, he was a little disturbed to find himself sketching Kenzie Green at two in the morning.
He doubted she would appreciate being his subject.
Amazing how someone could be so prickly and so soft at the same time. A study in contrasts. This afternoon, she’d tried to politely dissuade him from the museum visit. Despite a civil tone, there had been a chill in her gaze. Because he’d upset her daughter? Instead of being dissuaded, he’d stood there like a fool noticing that she smelled like vanilla, bringing to mind fresh-baked cookies warm from the oven.
Even hours later, he was still surprised that he’d pushed the museum invitation. After all, he’d only mentioned it to Leslie in the first place because he’d panicked at the sight of her tears…and had regretted the gesture nearly as quickly as he’d made it. He was not what Sean would call “a people person.” What if they went to the museum on Saturday and it was an awkward disaster for all of them? What if he said something stupid and somehow made Leslie cry again?
Then Kenzie will knock your block off. Perversely, he found himself grinning at the prospect. He could tell she was a protective mama bear trying to do what was best for her cubs. And she was protective of herself. She handled it differently than he did, but it was there, a certain distance, an unspoken warning of “Don’t get too close. I’ve been hurt.”
He could empathize—sometimes he wasn’t entirely comfortable being close to even Sean or Mrs. Sanchez. Unlike those two, Kenzie didn’t know enough about him to pity him. There was no softened edge of sympathy in her dealings with him, and he appreciated that. He hadn’t realized how much he needed that. Kenzie Green was too caught up in her small family and overcoming their obstacles to be worried about “poor JT.”
With a sigh, he glanced back at the sketch.
He missed being an artist, missed the certainty of knowing who he was. And he was damn tired of being poor JT.
Barely pausing in her phone conversation, Kenzie smiled and held up her index finger to signal that she’d be done in a moment. Ann nodded, choosing to stand while she waited. She fell into that unconscious sway that was habitual to many new mothers, keeping Abigail soothed inside her navy-and-white-checked baby sling. It was the first time she’d come inside Kenzie’s new place of business, and Kenzie could see the approval on her sister’s face. The marbleized floor spread from one end of the main lobby, where the tellers worked, to a row of judiciously spaced mahogany desks—one of which Kenzie now occupied—and beyond, to the offices reserved for those with seniority and supervisor positions.
When Kenzie was finished going over some interest rates with the customer, she bade the other woman a good day, slid off her headset and reached for the gold hoop earring she’d removed earlier. “I’m so glad you called,” she told her sister. “I’m starving!”
“Buying you lunch seemed like the least I could do to help celebrate the new job. How’d your first week go?”
It was Thursday now, with the weekend—and her ill-advised “date” with JT—right around the corner. Best not to think about that. “Everyone here’s great.”
It wasn’t Raindrop, where everyone knew her, but there was a certain relief in not being surrounded by colleagues who knew every detail of her life…such as what waitress Mick had spent the night with on his last visit to town. Her new coworkers seemed friendly, and her boss had three children of his own, which gave Kenzie hope that he’d understand when she had to leave early to pick up a sick kid or request a morning off for a school field trip.
Purse in hand, Kenzie rose. “So, what are we in the mood for?”
“Italian?” Ann asked hopefully. “We never eat it at home. Forrest says the acid in tomato sauce upsets his stomach, and Alfredo is too heavy.”
“Sounds good to me,” Kenzie said, wondering at the way her sister’s mouth turned down when she said her husband’s name. Ann could be opinionated, but she wasn’t petty. If she was upset with Forrest about something, Kenzie doubted it was a lack of lasagna. “Everything okay?”
Ann blinked, her smile falling in place as automatically as if someone had flipped a switch. “Of course. What could possibly be wrong?”
In Ann’s life? Good question. When Kenzie had been an impulsive teenager, she’d thought that her sister’s approach of “thinking everything to death” was tedious and unimaginative. Time and circumstances had changed Kenzie’s mind. If someone with Ann’s discipline and organizational skills came into the bank for a loan, Kenzie would approve it instantly.
“What?” Ann asked, her smile replaced by a slightly more defensive expression. “You’re looking at me funny. I told you, everything’s okay.”
“I believe you. I was just thinking that I’d like to be you when I grow up.”
“Oh.” Ann chuckled nervously, tucking a strand of hair behind her left ear. “Well, thank you.”
They rode in Ann’s car because it was outfitted with the baby’s car seat, and Ann wound through several one-way streets, taking an indirect route to a small Italian café. She parallel parked with an ease Kenzie envied—thank goodness we didn’t bring the van—and they climbed out onto the sidewalk. To the right of the front door was a patio enclosed with wrought-iron fencing and mostly shaded by a massive awning.
“You want to e
at outside?” Kenzie asked. “Or will that be too hot for you and Abigail?”
“No, this is actually nice weather for August,” Ann said. “You can almost tell fall is coming.”
Fall. Kenzie thought ahead a few months, to the image of her Perfect House. She and the kids would be moved in by Halloween, trick-or-treating in their new neighborhood, officially starting a new life.
A dark-haired hostess with a wad of gum crammed in her cheek showed them to an outdoor table, and Kenzie watched her sister situate Abigail’s carrier, raising the bonnet to offer further shade, and handing the baby a pre-prepared bottle. Looking back now, it was hard to believe Kenzie’s own children had ever been this young. She’d been too preoccupied that first year with merely surviving to realize how little Mick contributed. It wasn’t until much later that she’d started to come to her senses, and even then she’d been worried about whether she should have tried to make the marriage work for the children’s sakes.
She was confident now that she’d made the right decision. Thinking of Drew’s increasingly defiant expressions, she wondered how to convince her kids of that.
“So are the kids looking forward to school?” Ann asked once they’d ordered.
“Leslie is.” School would be in session the week after next. “Drew’s looking forward to finding out more about soccer leagues.”
“Well, if they’re looking to get out of the apartment in the meantime, y’all could come over this weekend,” Ann offered. “We have that big community pool in the subdivision. Want to go swimming Saturday?”
Kenzie felt her cheeks warm and told herself it was the heat of the day. “Actually, the kids and I are going to an art museum on Saturday.”
“Really? Which one? It’s been a while since I’ve been to the High,” Ann mused. “Maybe I—”
“We’re going as the guests of someone else,” Kenzie blurted, afraid that her sister had been about to volunteer her company. Since she and Ann had never been very close growing up, it seemed odd that suddenly her sister was so omnipresent—babysitting the kids on Monday, so that Kenzie knew they were in good hands on her first day, then buying lunch today, and now wanting to get together Saturday. Did she want to make up for lost years? Was she simply doing her best to help them settle into a new city? Or…was Ann somehow lonely?
In theory, Kenzie wouldn’t mind having her sister join in on the museum to help defray some of the awkwardness—sexual tension—between her and JT, but it didn’t seem right to add members to their party without first asking him. Besides, Kenzie could just imagine how her sister and the eccentric artist would hit it off.
“Guests of someone else? You’re making friends fast,” Ann said with a smile. “Is this someone from the bank?”
Kenzie fidgeted in her seat, probably looking as guilty as Drew did when he was attempting a fib. “No. From Peachy Acres.”
“That Mrs. Sanchez you told me about? She sounds lovely.”
“She is. But no, not her.” Kenzie scanned the patio, hoping for some sign of the waitress approaching with lunch. Maybe food would distract her sister.
“So?” Ann asked.
“So what?”
“Who invited you to the museum? You’re acting awfully strange.”
“I’ve always been the weird sister, right?” Kenzie forced a laugh.
Ann drummed her fingernails on the table.
“There’s a guy in the building who was…is…an artist. He did some work for the museum, so he’s giving us kind of a behind the scenes tour.”
“Cool.”
“Cool?” Hardly the reaction Kenzie had expected. “You’re not going to grill me about who the guy is?”
“You just told me—he’s a neighbor of yours and an artist.” Ann studied her from beneath raised eyebrows. “Is there something else I need to know?”
When I see him, my heart beats faster. He’s inspiring bubble-bath fantasies about acts my body forgot how to perform years ago. There’s something about him that makes me want to share my feelings because I suspect he’d understand. “N-no. That’s all there is to tell.”
After her lunch with Ann, Kenzie managed to put her upcoming museum visit out of her head for the rest of the day. Friday passed quickly with high-volume business at the bank, and she was relieved to step into the lobby of Peachy Acres that evening. Mr. C. nodded to her on his way out, and she waited for the elevator, telling herself she should take the stairs for the exercise, but feeling too drained to motivate herself to do so. The doors parted with a ding and Sylvia Myer grinned at her over the top of her daughter’s head.
“Afternoon, Kenzie.”
“What number?” the little girl asked.
Sylvia shook her head. “I don’t know why we ever spend money on toys. She’d be perfectly content to stay in the elevator all day.”
They rode up to the third floor, and Kenzie could hear the muted thud of music as she approached her apartment. She’d worked out a nice deal with Alicia from downstairs, who came and “hung out” with the kids for the bulk of Kenzie’s workday. While Drew and Les would have chafed at the idea of a babysitter, they didn’t mind playing board games with a pretty high-school sophomore and listening to top-40 tunes while Kenzie navigated rush-hour traffic.
The thought of traffic made her grimace. Once they moved farther out to their Perfect House, her commute would lengthen considerably.
Behind her, JT’s door creaked open and she jumped about a foot, her breath catching in her throat.
“Sorry, did I startle you?” a good-looking blond man asked, his tone both apologetic and amused as he stepped out into the hall and closed the door.
Sean, she recalled. They’d met briefly before. A nice guy and unrepentant flirt, according to Mrs. Sanchez. His light eyes were full of humor and easygoing charm, the opposite of the shadows that seemed to haunt his friend’s gaze.
“I guess my mind was just somewhere else,” she said, feeling foolish. “I don’t know why I reacted like that.”
He nodded, but pursed his lips in a thoughtful way that made her wonder if he’d guessed she was unnerved by the prospect of seeing JT. “I hear you’re going to the children’s art museum tomorrow.”
Curiosity raced through her. What exactly had JT said about her and the twins? “Yeah, the kids are really looking forward to it.”
Sean stepped closer, lowering his voice to a confidential tone. “I think the big guy is, too. Amazingly enough.”
Although his words matched her initial surprise that JT hadn’t graciously bowed out of the offer, she frowned. “Is it so amazing that an artist would enjoy a trip to an art museum?”
“Some days it’s hard for him to enjoy much of anything.”
Her pulse fluttered with a mixture of dread and excitement, as if she had inched closer to a secret she wasn’t sure she wanted to discover. Would Sean fill in the blanks Mrs. Sanchez had left tantalizingly open? “He’s been through a lot, hasn’t he?”
He nodded. “Loss has a way of changing people. Be patient with him.”
The implication of his words, combined with the intensity of his expression, rattled her. “Oh, but I— It’s just a trip to the museum. For the kids. It’s not like we’re…”
“No?” Though Sean looked disappointed, he rallied quickly. “Sorry to have misread the situation.”
“N-not at all,” she stammered, more jittery than ever over tomorrow’s date. Get a grip. It hardly qualifies as a date when you’re chaperoned by two nine-year-olds.
Who was she kidding? Even if they were chaperoned by the entire student body of the kids’ new elementary school, going somewhere with JT was the closest thing she’d had to a social life in years.
Chapter 6
“You should wear shorts, Mom. It’s too hot out
for jeans.” Leslie sat on the edge of Kenzie’s bed, watching her brush her hair in the vanity mirror. She had a book in her hands, but ignored it in favor of dispensing fashion advice. “Plus, you still have nice legs.”
Kenzie smirked over her shoulder. “Be careful how you say still.”
“Or a skirt,” Leslie said with a snap of her fingers. “I’ll bet Mr. Trelauney would like you in a skirt.”
Alarm bells clanged in Kenzie’s head. “Honey, I’m not dressing to impress Mr. Trelauney. This isn’t a…romantic outing. I’m focusing on you and Drew and my new job for the foreseeable future. I don’t have any interest in dating anyone.”
Leslie flopped down dramatically on the mattress. “I’m never going to have a dad.”
“You have a dad.”
“Not really.”
At times like this, Kenzie could cheerfully strangle her ex-husband. “I know your father doesn’t get to see you as much as any of us would like, but he loves you and your brother.”
When Leslie wrinkled her nose, saying nothing, Kenzie moved to less dangerous territory and called out to her son. “Drew, we’re leaving soon. Get your shoes on, please. And you’d better have paused that video game long enough to brush your hair.”
He appeared in the doorway, scowling. “I can’t find my other sneaker.”
Before Kenzie could launch into an oft-repeated lecture about picking up after himself and staying organized, Leslie suggested, “Why not just wear your sandals? I saw them behind the couch.”
“Thanks, Les.” He turned to go.
“Tell Mom Mr. Trelauney would like her blue shirt,” Leslie implored. “It brings out her eyes.”
Looking back over his shoulder, Drew rolled his own eyes. “Mr. Trelauney’s a guy. We don’t notice that stuff.”
“JT isn’t a guy, he’s a man. Way more mature than you. Plus, he’s an artist, so of course he notices colors and composition.”
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