Seven Books for Seven Lovers

by Molly Harper, Stephanie Haefner, Liora Blake, Gabra Zackman, Andrea Laurence, Colette Auclair

  Wiping under my eyes, I clear my throat and watch Shane light the candles. There’s . . . two, four, six . . . “Seven? You have only seven candles.”

  Honey-gold eyes flick to mine. He leans in close and says softly, “I only missed seven birthdays.”

  My stomach flutters. I was twenty-three when he left. Seven years ago. Seven birthdays. A lifetime between then and now. But like the song says, it’s like time has stood still.

  “Happy birthday, Kensington. Make a wish.”

  My gaze drops from his to the cake because I remember the line. The scene.

  The kiss.

  I’m glowing from within. Little nervous butterflies are attracted to the inner light. They may be too close. They could get singed.

  Gazing up through my lashes, I bite my lip and debate if I should say the line, knowing what follows. Knowing I’m not quite ready. Not knowing what he expects.

  But he doesn’t give me the chance.

  Placing a hand in front of him for support, he leans over and delivers it. “Mine already came true.” It comes out low, in a breath, his lips a whisper away.

  After a beat, he places a slow, lingering kiss on my cheek that causes a frenzy of flutters. Anything more would have been too much. Anything less wouldn’t have completed the scene.

  There are no more lines.

  The credits simply roll over the still frame of Samantha and Jake, frozen in a kiss. The song’s hypnotic melody drones on in the movie, just as it is now. The viewer knows everything will be all right. That Samantha is fine. Someone finally sees her.

  Sees me.

  Shane always has.

  “FAVORITE COLOR?” IT USED TO be blue. I want to know everything, if only to distract myself from my phone. My thoughts. My nerves.

  We’re situated in rockers on the upstairs balcony of the main house. It’s peaceful with the temperate breeze and backyard view. I remember sitting here with his grandparents years ago having iced tea.

  “Um, I will say blue,” Shane says, finally.

  “Still blue? Just blue? Not sky blue or ocean blue?” I push off the deck with my toes to get my chair rocking steadily again. “There are actually fifty-nine shades of blue, and that’s only if you don’t count the made-up ones like toilet water blue.”

  “Toilet water blue? Yes, perfect for a paint swatch.” He smiles. “I’m sticking to plain blue.”

  “Okay, fine, blue.” I wrinkle my nose. “Moving on. Favorite number?”

  “Mm, I’d say number two. And five, yes, I’m quite fond of number five.”

  I knit my brows together as his meaning registers. “Number five was Dirty Dancing and two was Pretty Woman. You liked shopping?”

  “I liked watching you.”

  I smile. “I think you enjoyed the Marys fawning all over you.”

  He shrugs. “I liked seeing you happy, Kensington.”

  I can feel the burn creep across my cheeks as I turn and look at him. There’s a beat, a pause, an understanding. Maybe the tiniest glint of happy.

  “I needed this,” I half whisper. “Thank you, Shane.”

  “You are very welcome.” He tips his head back and closes his eyes. His lips are curled in a contented smile.

  Trees rustle like paper in the light breeze while sparrows squabble over a feeder that hangs from a low branch. I shift my weight to set the rocker in motion again.

  This is nice.

  “I think your grandfather would have liked the Carriage House plans. What you’re doing, I’m sure he’d have been proud.” Shane hasn’t mentioned much about his passing. Only that he left him everything and that included looking after Gram.

  His rocker stops, and he looks to me. “Have you considered leaving Safia for real? Finally having your own studio?”

  I look back at the horizon. The shades of yellow are now a deep grainy tan with dusk. “Oh, I don’t know.”

  “You could do it.” Shane’s sitting up, leaning over the chair’s arm. “I’d hire you. You wouldn’t need to go back to Safia.”

  “What?” My brows pull down. “You mean, work for you?”

  He laughs. “No, you’d work for yourself, and we would be your first client, or your only client, and then you could . . . I don’t know, paint.”

  My heart is beating loudly in my ears. That’s what I’d always wanted to do. Life somehow pushed forward and I never got around to it. I’m lost in thoughts of what is, what isn’t, and what I’ve left behind. I want the same things I wanted yesterday. I want to be married. I want a baby. And today, right now, I’m further away from both.

  But maybe I’m somehow closer to me.

  “You like the cottage?” Shane asks with obvious excitement in his voice.

  “Of course. And you were right, the view’s beautiful.”

  “What if we change it around to be a studio? Your studio.”

  “Why would—”

  “It’s just something to think about. You could set up here, if you wanted. The whole town is crawling with tourists in the summer. You could use it to build your name.” He leans over and lowers his voice. “I know I’d like you around.”

  He wants me around.

  I sit back to juggle his words. Closing my eyes, I try and picture the cottage and me in it. I’m painting. The windows are open and an afternoon breeze blows through, clearing the fumes out. I could be messy. God knows I’m messy when I paint. It ends up everywhere.

  Shane likes my work. He wants me here. Why am I thinking of Pretty Woman again? Edward offered Vivian an apartment, a car, unlimited shopping, whatever she wanted. What she wanted was him. It’s all I’m capable of right now, he says.

  Shane’s offering me a place to live, my own studio, him? But right now, at this moment . . . It’s more than I’m capable of.

  Leaning back in the rocker, I turn toward him. “I think that sounds fast . . . I think having my own studio and really trying is exactly what I need to do, but . . .”

  Shane pushes out a breath. His smile is hesitant. “But, not here—”

  “Not yet.” Wetting my lips, I swallow and sit up. “I think I need to do it on my own first. Be on my own for a while. Does that make sense? I mean, up until yesterday I was engaged, and only last week I believed that was the right direction for my life, and then you showed up and . . .”

  Shane searches my eyes. “You are not the impulsive girl I once knew. Not as quick to jump, a bit more reserved.” His lips lift slightly at the corners. “She’s all grown up, isn’t she?”

  I smile with a sigh from somewhere deep. After seeing this place and what Shane’s accomplished, I can’t help but think maybe we both have.

  The sound of tires and kicked-up gravel from the front drive interrupts the country quiet. Gram must be here.

  Shane looks confused. “Be right back.” He’s up and off.

  I’m up, too. Smoothing my dress and fixing my hair. I’m nervous to see her after all this time. I shouldn’t be, though. She always liked me. Everything will be—

  Shane comes bounding back onto the balcony, he’s leaning in the doorway, jaw clenched.

  I feel my eyes go wide. “What? What is it?”

  “It’s Bradley.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Crazy Stupid Bradley

  SHANE SPRINTS TOWARD THE stairs. I run to the window and peer out. Shit, Bradley is here. His BMW’s parked next to Shane’s SUV. What the hell is he doing here? My heart beats in triple time. I race to the bedroom door but then stop, only to turn and run back to the window. I don’t see anyone.

  Voices from downstairs. It’s not a friendly exchange. Oh! Oh no, no, no no . . . without thinking, I fly through the hall. I’m halfway down the stairs when I see them. And Bradley sees me. Coming from upstairs. At Shane’s. I know how this looks. I’m sure he thinks . . . Bradley’s eyes are narrowed. Yeah, he does.

  Motionless, I stand on the bottom step, mute. I shouldn’t care. Or feel guilty for being here. But I do. I’m cloaked in it.

 
“Can we have a few minutes, Bennett?”

  Shane’s eyes are fixed on Bradley. “If Kensington wants me to go I will.” One wrong word, one quick move, and he’ll pounce. I can feel it.

  Shane and Bradley both look at me.

  My fingers tighten on the wooden stair handrail. “Whatever you need to say, Bradley, just say it.” My voice sounds strained.

  Bradley takes a step around him. “The baby’s not mine, Kenz. Truthfully, I’m not even sure she’s really pregnant.”

  Does it matter? I swallow hard. He still cheated. I still broke it off before.

  “I was not screwing around on you.” His voice is filled with emotion. “We had a thing before you and I even met, but it was never serious.” His head drops. “And then, okay . . . once. It just happened. We had that fight, remember? I had been drinking and I . . .” His hand runs over his jaw. “I screwed up. I know I screwed up.”

  My stomach’s on the floor. This is just like Tonya with Shane. Drinking. Didn’t mean anything. Hurricane Tonya is whipping around my insides with gale-force winds, tearing away any scrap of truth. I don’t feel well.

  “Kenz, it was a mistake.” Bradley’s voice lowers. He’s at the base of the stairs now.

  I haven’t moved.

  He talks faster, inching closer. “I didn’t know what to do. I screwed up everything. Come on, Kenz, I love you. It was a mistake, and we just need to work through it.”

  My eyes move from Bradley to Shane. Bradley’s follow.

  “No, don’t even tell me this is about him.” Turning back to me, Bradley tilts his head. His blue eyes soften. “He’s using this to get to you. Hon, don’t . . . don’t throw everything away. Please. It can all be worked out.”

  He still slept with her . . . I still broke it off before I knew . . . Tonya may or may not be pregnant . . . My family’s upset. I slowly sink onto the step, now grabbing hold of the rail with both hands.

  Bradley starts to climb the first step toward me, but Shane steps up behind him, his voice low and sharp. “Tell her the truth. Now. Or I will.”

  Shock slams my chest. There’s more truth? I don’t think I can take any more truth today.

  Bradley spins and steps down to face him. “Fuck you.”

  Shane’s eyes narrow, his jaw sets. Every muscle is flexed. “Tell her where you were last—”

  “Careful, Bennett.” It’s said in a growl, his voice an octave deeper.

  Now the room is definitely turning. I lean into the rail. I may hurl.

  “Then get in your fucking car and go home.” Shane’s voice is strained, his temper barely contained. “She broke it off. I think she’s made that clear.”

  Bradley moves in front of Shane so they’re eye-to-eye. “She broke it off? Then why does she still have the ring? Asshole.”

  Oh, shit.

  They’re deadlocked in a stare. Then Shane turns to me. His head is cocked. “You still have his ring?”

  “Hell yea—”

  “Shut the fuck up.” Shane shoves Bradley hard with one hand.

  Bradley backs up with his hands up, palms open. A smirk.

  I sit up, trying to compose myself and process. “He wouldn’t . . . he wouldn’t take it.” My voice sounds small, lost. My heart is bleeding out. I can’t get enough air.

  “Because we decided to think on it, take some time,” Bradley says, arms now folded, still looking smug.

  Shane runs a hand through his unruly hair. He looks frustrated, angry. “Do you have his ring, Kensington?”

  This time I don’t like how my name sounds from his lips. “I . . . I called it off bef—”

  “Yes or no?” His voice is sharp.

  My heart jumps.

  I remember to blink.

  I nod.

  He looks to Bradley. “Tell your fiancée how I ran into you at the Canterbury Hotel with Tonya. Maybe you should have done your homework on where Clive sets his clients up. First at Champps, then I find them in my hotel lobby last week.”

  My stomach rolls, so I cover my mouth. I can’t breathe.

  Bradley whips his head back to me. “We met to discuss the possible preg—”

  “They weren’t talking.”

  Bradley lunges.

  He has Shane by the shirt, shoving him back. Bradley’s bigger. He’s all brawn and brute strength. He pushes Shane against the wall. Hard. Hanging picture frames jostle. One falls and shatters.

  Shane bucks under his grip, causing Bradley’s hold to loosen. Shane’s a boxer. He’s quick, and Bradley doesn’t know what hit him.

  The first, the second, or the third time.

  Bradley muscles another hold and gets a clean shot to Shane’s jaw. There’s blood, but I don’t know whose.

  This is crazy.

  My eyes are covered. I can’t watch.

  “Stop,” a small voice calls out. “Stop it, right now!” A tiny woman storms through the wide-open door.

  It’s Gram. She has the same steely, honey-brown eyes and no-nonsense tone I remember.

  “Stop it! What in the hell is the matter with you both? You, I don’t know you, but get over there. And you.” She gives Shane a stern look and finger wag. “Over there.”

  Shane steps back and wipes at his nose. There’s blood under it. Bradley looks at me and straightens. Gram follows his gaze.

  “Oh, well now, I didn’t even see . . .” She tilts her head and squints for focus. “Kensington? Kensington Shaw? Shane said we had a special guest for dinner, someone I’d remember . . .”

  I don’t think a hey-how-are-ya is going to fly at the moment, so I don’t say anything. Her eyes sweep me from head to toe. Between the tears and shocked expression, I’m sure I’m quite the sight.

  “Why don’t you take a minute, then meet me in the kitchen, Kensington?” Gram’s eyes stay on mine for a beat. It’s not really an invitation, and I know better than to argue or protest.

  I stand on wobbly legs, glance at stupid Bradley, then Shane. His lips are pulled in a grim line.

  With my last bit of reserve, I mutter, “You knew?”

  Shane’s expression falls.

  I don’t wait to hear his reasons. I don’t remember walking up the stairs or going into the bedroom. He knew about Bradley and Tonya and never said a word. Even when I found out, he didn’t say anything.

  Tonya may be pregnant. She may not. And none of it matters, right? Except that Shane knew. And it had to do with Tonya. Again.

  The question of trust has been answered loud and clear. Again.

  My world has catastrophically turned upside down.

  Again.

  UPSTAIRS ON THE BALCONY, I sit in the rocker, dazed, and wait. I find my phone and dial Ellie. Please answer. Please pick—

  “Hello? Kenzi?”

  Oh, thank God.

  “Hi. I, um—” But that’s all I get to say.

  She’s launched into a word fury. “. . . and I tried to call, but you never answered . . .”

  “. . . Bradley, shit, and then he said he was going up there . . .”

  “. . . I’m about thirty minutes out. Wouldn’t you say? Yeah, Ran—”

  I stand up, promptly revived. “Wait! Wait, Ellie? You’re coming here? Now?”

  “Yes! That’s what I’ve been saying. Rand drove to Indy with Shane, but Shane left with you at the paintball thing, so he was stranded . . . I thought you could come back with me, if you want. If you’d rather stay with Shane, that’s fine, I can get back—”

  “You’re the best, oh my God. Yes, I need to get out of here. Tell Rand I’m at the main house, okay?” I hear her repeat what I said. A heavy sigh escapes from my very soul.

  She begins to ask about what’s happening, but I just can’t. Not right now. Hanging up, I still don’t move. I can’t bring myself to go downstairs to face Gram, or either of them. I just want to go home.

  I look to the window. I’m sure there’s a trellis. You always see that in movies. I could wait by the road.

  Am I really consideri
ng this? Yes, this is how bad my life has gotten. And of course there’s a trellis. I lean out from the balcony’s side and shake the wooden makeshift ladder against the house. It feels secure. I try to rip it away from the house and it doesn’t budge.

  Taking a breath, I swing one leg over and secure my boot tip in the crossing of the lattice. Okay, another breath and the other leg. Holding on tight, I shift so all my weight is on it. It holds. I bounce a little to be sure. I shake around to be double sure. Good. I’ve got this.

  It’s surprisingly easier than it looks in the movies. With ease, I make my way down. I cannot believe I’m sneaking out. This qualifies as a new all-time low. One more step and . . . I land with a thump, but unharmed. I take a step and smooth out my skirt.

  “I thought you might want your purse.” It’s Gram.

  I stand corrected. This is my new all-time low.

  She’s standing on the back walk, purse in hand, with a nonplussed expression. Had she been there the whole time? I feel like someone is wringing my stomach like a towel, trying to squeeze out every last sour drop. I clear my throat, walk over, and take my purse from her hand, feeling ridiculous.

  “You never were one for doors, if I recall.” I’m quickly reminded of climbing into Shane’s dorm room more than once, and the time when she surprised him and stayed late for a visit. She wasn’t the only one surprised when I popped up in the window.

  Gram spins on her heels and heads back in. “Let’s go, I’ll put the tea on.”

  With lowered head, I follow in silence.

  “Well, coffee will have to do. Shane never has anything stocked here.” She’s opening a cupboard and pulling out mugs. “I stay over at the back cottage now. There are three units, all together.”

  There’s no sign of Bradley or Shane. I stand in the doorway, not really sure what to say. I should say something. Instead, I fiddle with my dress.

  “Well . . . sit down,” she says and sets a cup in front of me on the thick wooden table.

  I take a seat, lacing my fingers around the cup’s handle. “This isn’t how I imagined seeing you again.”

  “No, I wouldn’t think it is. Do you want sugar?” she asks as she fills the cup.