Instead, I was Kensley Cole, living in an overpriced two-bedroom apartment, needing to figure out how to make an income.
I’d been a stay-at-home mom since London was born; that wasn’t going to be an option anymore. My savings will run out quickly, and I’d rather not have my account at zero before I solidified plans.
I’ll have to find cheap childcare—the girls are with Sharon today, but I can’t very well rely on her daily—and a better than minimum-wage job.
How that was happening, I wasn’t too sure. I’d never finished college. London was born smack-dab in the middle of my four years; finishing wasn’t even a thought.
It should have been, I scolded myself, but what was done, was done.
Seriously though; who was going to hire a high school grad who was nearly six-months pregnant?
I have zero clue what I’m going to do, but I do know that I have to start making plans. Mark may be an unfit parent, but at least he has a job.
A steady income.
Sitting at the short counter top breakfast bar, I lift my laptop cover, fully intending to start the job search. Instead of opening Indeed.com though, I find myself opening the website for 100.8.
As it was the first time I looked up the station, the very first slider image is for the morning show, with Liam Hardt’s face plastered next to the words, Catch CAUGHT IN THE ACT, every morning at six and nine!
With my cheek resting against my fist, I study the picture of the handsome, slightly metro, guy.
He’s certainly pretty.
Fist still to my cheek, I move my pinky mindlessly over my lips before nervously nibbling on the skin beside my nail.
The next slide is a picture of Balboa Park, down near the fountain. Come meet Liam and support KCHT’s food drive! TODAY, Friday, March 16, at eleven am.
I think about his phone call. “I spend a lot of time down at Balboa Park.”
I move my finger over the mouse pad, selecting the previous image and again, stare at Liam’s face a little harder than when I first scooped out his image over a week ago.
He looks familiar…
Could he be…?
From last week…?
No.
No way. Not possible.
My eyes search over the station’s page, settling on an Instagram icon.
Now, I gently nibble the side of my nail as I cautiously click the square icon.
Why cautious, I’m not sure. It’s not like there’s going to be some trail showing the radio station who’s clicking what.
Well, there is. Cookies and IP addresses and all that jazz. But I should be safe from being found out. I can’t be the only one who stalked Liam Hardt.
Besides, I’m just curious…
Curious to figure out if the guy with the dog last Saturday was Liam; maybe that was why he seemed familiar.
His voice…
The Instagram feed loads and immediately, I select the first picture. It’s the same one from the site, the one of Balboa Park, advertising that they’ll be at the highly popular park today. My eyes drop to the lower right corner; it’s already ten-fifty-five.
In the description, Liam is tagged.
Sucking my lips in between my teeth, I hesitate before clicking on the hyperlink.
Once his profile loads, I hit ‘PgDn’ on my keyboard once, showing me two rows of images, then drop my arm to rest on top of the other and take in the currently visible pictures.
These pictures are all a much more laid-back Liam Hardt, not at all like the made up one that’s plastered on the radio station’s web page.
That Liam was sexy in a done up, Hollywood way. Untouchable.
This Liam is gorgeous in a laid back, scruffy way.
And this Liam is definitely the guy from the park.
I swallow hard, and refrain from scrolling through the page, taking in only the pictures that are immediately available.
Liam golfing.
Liam hiking.
A picture of just his boxer, sleeping on a very unmade bed.
The dog playing with a young boy.
The dog sitting beside a crate table as Liam sits on the other side, a trashed Monopoly board between them.
I smile at that picture.
This Liam is approachable.
The Liam from the park, if I hadn’t been so fearful for my daughter’s life, he was approachable.
The fancy one, with his slick hair and button up shirt? Not approachable.
Not my league.
But this one?
This one matched the uncertain tone from the phone call…
“…that was forward and out of line, I’m sorry.”
The same blustered tone from when he was apologizing for Guinness running off.
I stand quickly from my stool, nearly knocking it backward. I reach the seat, righting it, before lunging for my keys on the kitchen counter.
It’s decided.
I’m going to the park.
I head toward the door but quickly realize I should probably bring something.
I don’t want to be the girl who goes to a radio station event, only to flirt with the personality.
Is that what I’m going to do?
Am I going to go flirt with Liam?
I stop in my tracks.
This is a bad idea.
Not doing it.
Nope.
I walk back into the kitchen and drop my keys…
For all of five seconds.
Before I realize what I’m doing—okay, I very much know what I’m doing—I have two cans of soup and a five-pack of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese in one hand, and my keys in the other.
The drive is quick; uneventful, even. I hit zero lights, and traffic is minimal. It’s like the universe wants me to get to the park on time.
I have no idea when this food drive ends; just that it started at eleven. Maybe another host will take over at noon? Maybe Liam is only there for thirty minutes, or maybe he’ll be there until three? Who knew?
I certainly don’t.
Goodness, this is dumb.
So dumb.
Yet, not dumb enough to have my turning around.
I park in the lot near Pepper Grove and grab my donations. I should have grabbed a bag for them, but I didn’t, so I’m walking through the park and to the center of Balboa cradling a plastic wrapped group of blue boxes in one arm, and two cans of soup in my other hand.
I walk with purpose through the park, cross Space Center Way, coming to the Science Center. If I slow down, I know I’ll change my mind.
Eyes straight ahead.
One quick step in front of the other.
Just beyond the walls of the Science center, I can see where the radio station is set up near the giant fountain; there’s a small line, from what I can make out. Bicyclists and runners pass by, but I focus on my task, and march my way down the pathway.
The closer I get, the more my heart pounds.
I can’t believe I’m doing this…
Maybe he’ll be gone before I reach the line.
Maybe he’ll be gone before my place in line makes it to the front…
At the front of the Science Center now, I see that the line stretches down El Prado some ways. I have to pass by the set up—a large pick-up truck with 100.8 KCHT painted on the side—to get to the end of the line, but on quick glance, I see that Liam is busy talking to a person.
Female, I notice.
Unfortunately, or fortunately maybe, once I make it to the end of the line, it moves quicker than I expected it would. There are about twenty or so people in front of me, but I can see Liam and another guy, both standing outside the open tailgate of the truck. At the feet of the other guy is an open classic-blue Rubbermaid container, where the food items are being placed. It looks as if once the bin is filled, it gets a lid and placed into the truck, and that they’ve already filled a number of these bins.
Some people, mostly of the female variety, pose for pictures with Liam, like he’s some sort o
f local celebrity.
I suppose he is, kind of.
I would never think to take a picture with a radio host, but I find myself wishing these people would all ask for their picture to be taken with him.
It would buy me a little more time.
I rushed out here, not letting myself think it through, and now that I’m here, only feet away from him…
I’m having second thoughts.
Again.
It’s for the food pantry, I tell myself.
Yes. For the food pantry.
I can do anything for the food pantry.
I’m now one person away from dropping my items and meeting—not running from, Kensley!—Liam Hardt.
My eyes dart between the person talking to Liam, to Liam, to the person dropping food into the bin and talking to the other guy.
I swallow hard.
The people move.
I step in front of the other guy and awkwardly hold out my goods. “Here.”
Where Liam is wearing a waffle-knitted Henley, this guy is wearing a well-worn band shirt. He looks much easier to talk to, and the fact he wears a black wedding band makes him less threatening.
Even if he does have a full tattoo on his forearm, and a buzz-cut head.
I swallow and offer the guy a smile, but no words.
He may look easier to talk to, but my nerves are fried. I glance around quickly; there’s no rule that says I have to say hello to Liam. I came to drop off food for the drive.
That was all.
That was…
The person in front of me moves and I’m shuffled in front of Liam.
My face feels wide open—my eyes are round, and I can feel the air brushing into the sides of them; my forehead is tight from lifting my brows; my lips are tight, as if that will help me with my deep, calming breaths through my nose.
When I part my lips, I’m a little bit afraid I’ll do something embarrassing like pop a bubble.
God, that would really do it.
Instead, I take a deep breath and say, “Hi.”
Just ‘hi.’
The recognition in his blue eyes is immediate, but as he opens his mouth to say something—probably just an equally awkward ‘hello’—I break eye contact and focus on the four tiny brown buttons at the top of his shirt. “Bye…?” It’s breathless, and yes, it’s a question.
For what, I’m unsure, but it came out a question and I can’t very well own that.
So instead, I take a wide step to my left and hurry away.
Chapter Six
Liam
My jaw is hinged open, not a word comes out, as I watch my Kensley duck away. It takes five seconds, minimum, for me to get with the program.
Quickly, I backhand Johnson in the chest. “Dude, what time is it?”
He glares at me, as he’s in the middle of a conversation with the next person in line. “Sorry,” I tell the guy chatting with Johnson. “Thank you for coming and your donation,” I try saying, but my neck is craned around the truck to see if I can catch which direction Kensley is running off in.
“Almost noon,” Johnson says, looking at his Apple watch—the fanciest thing the man owns.
“You got this?” I ask, not really wanting an answer. I’m already stepping away.
“We have an hour!”
“Yeah, I’ll be back.” I take another step back. “Thanks, man.”
“What the hell?” I hear him mumble but I’m already slipping between his back and the tail of the truck, moving toward the science center.
I’m looking through the crowd—it’s awfully busy for a Friday afternoon. Why aren’t these people at work? Who needs a lunch break, anyway?
I cross the road and finally spot her.
Damn, she moves fast.
I can move faster.
I pick up my pace, opting for a run. “Kensley!” I suddenly feel like I did last weekend, when I was running after Guinness.
Running through the park, yelling a name.
No one, not even the one my yells are directed to, is paying me any attention.
“Kensley!” I try again.
She lifts her hand and runs it through her hair, tugging at the end.
Nervous habit?
Reaction to hearing her name but ignoring it?
I could leave well enough alone…
But she came to me.
She knew.
She recognized.
And I wasn’t about to let the curiosity lose out.
“Kensley! Wait up!” Only twenty or so feet separate us now and I can see her steps falter.
“Kens!” I try again, and thankfully, that time she stops, but then hangs her head.
Defeated?
I reach her and slow to a stop in front of her. “You are a tough girl to catch,” I say, trying to break the ice.
Her smile is hesitant. Then quick.
“Maybe I didn’t want to be caught.”
“You wouldn’t have slowed down.” I’m embarrassed to be slightly out of breath after the brief sprint, but I think there’s more at play in the cardio region than just the run.
“I’m carrying what’s likely to be another ten-pound baby. Slowing down is inevitable.” I feel like she’s pointing out her pregnancy as a defense mechanism.
She forgets that I knew she was pregnant.
I didn’t forget.
Nor did I forget she has two daughters.
I knew when I let my curiosity win out with her, that courting her wasn’t going to be like it was with any other woman.
This one…
She was a package deal.
I’m also well aware that she’s likely to hold scars because of her douche ex.
These are all the things that have filtered through my thoughts over the last week. But they not one of them scares me.
If anything, they intrigued me.
Just like her voice got to me, held on to me by the balls…what little else I know about Kensley Cole has me gripped too.
“You want to go grab lunch?” I blurt out, and Kensley’s brows lift into her hair line. The long blonde tresses are fighting to sweep down over her eyes, the wind blowing just enough from behind her to cause a stir.
“You’re the king of forward, aren’t you?” she asks, but rather than put off, she looks…
Cautiously optimistic.
Like I am, right now.
“I’m afraid you’ll leave. Two run-ins, one an accident, the other not—”
“I didn’t come on purpose. I mean, I didn’t come to see you.”
I can’t help but grin down at her. “Sure. If that’s how you want to play it.”
“It’s true.”
“You don’t really sound convinced.”
“Well…” She pauses and looks around, reaching up to sweep her hair over a shoulder as the wind picks up again. “I have to pick up my daughters from their grandmother’s.”
“Okay. Let’s do something kid friendly.”
Her smile is now amused. “That’s not how this works.”
I cross my arms over my chest, finally feeling completely at ease. “Then tell me how it does work, Kensley.”
“One, you’re a stranger.”
Not missing a beat, I stick out my hand. “Liam Ryan Hardt. Radio personality. Twenty-six.” Kensley doesn’t play games; she may be slow on the talking to me part, but she takes my hand and shakes it firmly.
None of that dainty bullshit.
She’s strong.
Capable.
“You like long walks on the beach?” she asks, her smile slowly widening.
I shrug with a smirk. “They’re not bad.”
When she slowly drops her hand from mine, I go back to crossing my arms. “Your turn.”
“My turn?”
“You know. Name, age, location. That thing.”
“You didn’t give me a location.”
“I don’t need a pretty lady stalking me to my house,” I tease.
“Yet you think I n
eed a big guy following me to mine?” Her face is completely, emotionally, open right now and again, I’m struck with how beautiful she is.
“You’re stalling.”
“Kensley Ann Cole. Twenty-four.”
When she doesn’t continue, I lift my brows. “Anything else?”
She shakes her head, but still looks amused.
“’kay. See. Not strangers. Can I take you and your daughters to lunch?”
She looks to the side. “I don’t think…”
“Please?”
Slowly, her blue eyes make way to mine. “Fine. In-n-Out. It’s easy.”
“No. Station Tavern. It’s fun.”
“I’m going to have my girls—” she tries to argue, but I cut her off.
“I know. My nephew loves this place. He’s a little older than your oldest, I think.”
“I don’t know…”
“Hey, you agreed to lunch.”
She sighs and looks away, and I can’t help but smile again. “Save the heavy sighs, Kensley. It’s just lunch.”
“Fine. I’ll meet you there in thirty minutes, if that’s okay. The girls may have already eaten with Sharon, but they’ll have fun on the train.”
The train was the selling point for kids, and if she knew it was there… “So, you’ve been there,” I say, grin still in place.
She looks guilty.
“And I bet your girls like it.”
“Maybe a little.” Her smile is slow, but there it is.
Beautiful.
I start to walk backward, giving her the space she seems to want. “Okay. I’ll see you in thirty, Kensley Ann Cole.”
She shakes her head, but I can see I’ve got her. “Looking forward to it, Liam Ryan Hardt.”
* * *
I stop back at the truck to apologize to Johnson for leaving him.
…and to give him the heads up that he’s got the last thirty on his own.
The line has died down some as the fine people of San Diego are probably all eating lunch. Johnson is talking to a lone straggler, a new bin at his feet.
“Sorry, man,” I tell him after the guy leaves.
Johnson shakes his head, not amused. “You know these people come out to see you.”
“I know but…dude…that was Kensley.”
Caught in the Act Page 5