Liam frowns though and I wonder what I said.
“The tenth?”
I nod, unsure where he’s going with it.
Then he grins and shakes my girl side to side—gently, of course. I don’t know that this man has a rough setting when it comes to my girls.
“That’s my birthday, too, half pint.”
Sawyer’s face brightens, and she looks up at him by rubbing the back of her head down his chest, then holds up two fingers. “Two?”
“Ha, no,” Liam chuckles. “But it’s still my birthday.”
Sawyer is happy with that answer, or so it seems, because she settles right back in.
“What do you say? Come over for dinner?”
“I don’t know…” I look back to London and Guinness.
“Please?” He drops his chin to the top of Sawyer’s head and the sight is too damn cute.
“Fine.” The answer may be made with a frustrated tone—because he talked me into something so easily—but it’s paired with a smile. I can’t help it.
Conversation turns to what Liam and Guinness did that morning, and soon it’s time to go.
“You can come over right away,” Liam offers, as he walks the girls and I back to our car. “I mean, if you wanted to.”
“Sawyer still needs her afternoon nap.”
“Nu-uh!” she says—tiredly, I notice—from her perch against Liam’s side.
Still.
“Please, mama! Can I play with Guinness?” London tugs on my hand.
God, I’m torn.
This is a lot.
And I’m not afraid to tell him that. “You don’t know what you’re asking,” I say, trying to tease. “These girls will be all over your house. Maybe we could plan it for another time. London’s bound to get tired from playing; Sawyer’s sometimes crabby in the evening.” Even I know I’m making excuses.
He seems to let it go, but I’m aware the questions still linger. At my car, he helps buckle Sawyer in as I get London situated, Guinness sitting nicely next to him the entire time, even though he’s looking into the car.
Probably trying to figure out how he can get in and hang out with the girls a little longer.
I close London’s door at about the same time Liam closes Sawyers, and, like yesterday, he meets me at the back of my Escape.
“I know what I’m asking,” he says softly, and, also like yesterday, takes my hands.
I tip my head to the side, studying his face. He still hasn’t replaced his sunglasses, even though he’s facing the sun and it’s undoubtedly bright in his eyes. “You’re something else.”
He winks as he squeezes my hands, then gives me crossroads. “I’m the only white cottage looking place. Or.” He shrugs. “While Guinness and I normally walk—”
My eyes widen. “That’s like, five miles!”
“It’s his daily exercise,” Liam laughs but continues, as if I didn’t interrupt, “but we drove today. You can follow me, if you’d like.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to keep pushing.
It’s what I do.
Push back.
But I don’t actually want to.
“Where did you park?” I ask, looking past him and around the parking lot. “We’ll follow you.”
Chapter Ten
Liam
“You’re going to be on your best behavior,” I tell Guinness, as he sits beside me in the truck, his rump on the seat and his front paws on the floor board. Every time I get him in the truck, I try to convince him to sit in the back-passenger row, where he could lay down and ride in comfort, but he always finds himself up front, riding shotgun.
I slow as I turn the truck into the small neighborhood my rental is in, glancing behind me to see Kensley’s SUV slowing too. Before leaving the park, I reminded her of my number—I said it was in case she got lost, but it was one last out for her. An out I didn’t want her to take but felt responsibility in giving.
I’m surprisingly a little nervous to show her my place. With the rent I pay on it, I should consider a mortgage, but I really hate moving. I’ve been in this house since my buddies and me decided to make San Diego home, six or so years ago. Now, though, with them all married off and in their own homes, the four-bedroom place was way too big for just me and Guinness.
But, like I said. I hate moving, so I make do.
Even if it means being in a place three-times too big for me. As it is, I have a bedroom for Josh if he ever stayed over, and Mae could too.
Glancing in my rearview mirror, I check for the tenth time that Kensley’s still following behind.
She is.
When I pull into my car port, I see her park in the road. I quickly throw the truck into park and jump out, waving her up the drive. With one eye on her and the other on the truck, I make sure Guinness doesn’t jump out and in front of the SUV.
Just what I’d need—Kensley leaving because she nudged the dog.
Once she’s parked, I notice she doesn’t turn off the engine. I walk over, and she rolls down the window. “Sawyer fell asleep. I think maybe a rain check…?”
This woman and her excuses. They make me laugh.
“Bring her in. I have a bed she can nap on.”
Kensley tightens her lips as she watches me closely.
“Honestly, Kens. It’s okay.”
She sighs and turns off the SUV, and not for the first time, I’m made aware that anything, everything, “Kensley” is not going to be easy. But easy’s not fun. Not in the long run.
I glance back at the truck, slightly impressed to see that Guinness is still listening and is in the truck, when he knows his friend is in the driveway.
He’s a good boy.
When he wants to be.
“Who can I help with?” I ask when Kensley gets out.
“Sawyer’s known to wake up if she’s not taken out of her seat just so, so why don’t you grab London?” Kensley says as she shoulders her bag and closes the door softly.
I nod. “Can do.” After rounding the back of the SUV, I open London’s door and she smiles at me.
“Where’s Guinness?”
This girl…
“He’s in the truck. He’ll come out when we get up there.”
As I’m unbuckling her five-point-harness, she says, “Mama says I’m almost big enough for a big girl booster. I’m so excited.” I glance over the way to see Kensley slowly, carefully, folding Sawyer’s arms out of her harness.
I lift London out of the car then, and nod. “There’s a lot of responsibility with a big girl buckle, though.”
London nods up at me, reaching for my hand to hold. “Yep. Like, I can’t unbuckle, ever.”
“Have to stay safe.” I shut the door and walk with her to the other side, where Kensley is standing with a sleeping Sawyer. Kens still has the slightest look of unease on her face and I wonder how I can change that.
I feel the push-pull she’s doing.
I feel like she wants to be here, but she doubts it all the same.
“Ready?” I ask, rather than asking her how I can help her.
She nods, and I lead the girl—the three of them that I am inexplicably drawn to—toward the car port. “Guinness. Come.” He bounds out of the driver’s side door and before he can notice London, I issue another command. “In the back.” I can see him debating not listening, but he decides correctly and races for the gate just beyond the car port, as I close the truck door.
London is pulling on my hand; she wants to play with Guinness as badly as he wants to play with her.
When we reach the boxer, I issue another command for him to stay down as I reach around the top to open the gate. When it swings back, he races inside and, trusting my dog and hoping that Kensley’s okay with it, I release London’s hand. She races into the small back yard, right on Guinness’s stubby tail.
When Kensley gives me a smile, I feel like maybe I did okay. I close the gate behind her and head toward the back door, the one that leads to the mud room. The
only other door back here is a sliding glass door that’s attached to the kitchen. “I rarely use the front door,” I explain, suddenly feeling like maybe that’s a problem. “I have an alarm system though,” I rush on.
She just nods, and I can’t tell if I made it any better.
We get to the door and I unlock it with my keys, stepping inside to disarm the system. I prop it open then, with the weight I keep there. “So you can hear London,” I tell her, pointing to the weight. “At least, until we move to the patio. Here, you can bring Sawyer this way.”
I’m nervous now, as I take in this place I call home.
It’s not some man cave, thankfully. I have a decent sense of decoration, but Mae helped, too. Sure, when the guys and I first moved in, we were a bunch of twenty-year-olds and had neon signs and band posters, but now, the only sign of the young guys who lived here once upon a time was the eighty-inch television that was used for gaming.
Now, it lived in the bonus room upstairs, and was only turned on during a different kind of game day—the football, hockey, and baseball variety.
The craftsman was renovated before the guys and I moved in, and it was still in great shape. Open floorplan. Gray-wood floors. White and gray-washed cabinetry.
Why the landlord trusted a bunch of guys to the house, I didn’t know, but it’s still in great condition and the landlord still gave me a decent deal on the place.
“The bedrooms are this way.” We step out of the laundry mud room, and walk through the living and kitchen areas, toward the only hallway. Two bedrooms live on the left side and two on the right, with the only bathroom living at the very end of the hall.
“You can put her in here.” I push open a partially closed door. This is the room that Josh usually uses but other than a full-sized bed and an empty set of drawers, it’s bare.
Mae insisted that I keep the linens similar throughout my guest rooms, and she chose the patterns. I felt the need to point that out but keep my mouth shut.
When Kensley brushes past me, I need to stuff my hands in my pockets to keep from reaching out.
Gently, she puts Sawyer down then looks around the bed.
“Does she do okay in a regular bed?” I ask, once again kicking myself for not thinking the whole picture through.
“She’s pretty solid, doesn’t move much,” Kensley murmurs, reaching for a pillow to put along Sawyer’s side.
Noticing what she’s doing, I say, “I can grab more pillows.” I point over my shoulder but she’s not looking at me.
She takes another of the four bed pillows, and puts it on Sawyer’s other side, shaking her head. “No. This will be okay.”
When she straightens and looks around the room, once again I feel like I’m slacking because…
How will we know if she’s okay?
What if she wakes up?
What if…
My questions must be evident because for the first time since meeting her, it’s Kensley comforting me, and the smile on her face says she knows what I’m thinking. “We can leave the door open. Other than the getting out of the car bit, she’s a pretty heavy sleeper.”
Glad that she’s okay with the arrangement, I walk her back toward the end of the house, where we can either sit at the dining table with the sliding door open, or on the back porch, with the sliding door still open.
Either way, the sliding door will be open, I chide myself.
“Can I get you something to drink? Water?”
“I’m okay.” She seems to be waiting for my next move so when I open the door, I point to the patio. “Want to sit outside?”
Kensley nods and soon we’re sitting in the uncomfortable Adirondack chairs that my buddy Chris left when he moved out.
In the yard, London and Guinness are having a good time, and I look to Kensley to see if she sees it—sees that her daughter is enjoying herself.
I mean. Yeah. Sure. She sees it. Of course, she does; London’s her daughter.
But I wonder if she feels it.
“How long does Sawyer nap for?” I ask instead.
Kensley shrugs as she brings her feet up to her side. “This nap is usually her good one. Two hours, somedays. Thirty minutes, others. But usually longer. I should stop letting her nap in the morning and just take a really long afternoon one, but man, she’s a beast when tired.”
I laugh along with her, even though I can’t see it. Can’t see her being anything other than the sweet little girl that I know, and I tell Kensley this.
“Oh.” Kensley’s brows are up as she nods, looking out at London instead of me. “You wait.”
I catch the future reference. It hits me in the chest, even.
But I don’t call attention to it.
“We’ll see,” I say instead, still grinning. “What do your girls like to do for dinner? I probably don’t have anything…” I wrack my brain. “Well, I have taco stuff. Do they like tacos?”
“Sawyer does. London’s not a fan of spicy.”
“Ah. Yes. The fries yesterday.”
“If you have soft shells, I could make her a quesadilla. She loves those.”
“Or we can order Uber Eats or something.”
Kensley shakes her head, this time looking at me. “No. Tacos work.”
It’s quiet between us for a bit, but then Kensley asks me about the radio station and about my job there. We chat about that and then Kensley admits to having been searching for a job.
“Mark didn’t let me work, and now I kind of have to. But no one’s really looking to hire a woman who’s going to go out on maternity leave in less than three months.” She says it with a self-conscious laugh, then adds, “Run while you can, Liam.”
I reach across the space between our chairs and take her hand in mine. I like having her linked to me. “I’m good.”
She sighs again, and I know she’s gearing up for that push she seems to rely on. “You don’t know us. This is all fun and exciting right now, but no one signs up, willingly, for a relationship with a pregnant woman with two kids who are known to make messes and be loud. We can’t…” She’s avoiding me, but still letting her hand rest in mine, as she watches London. I can feel that this is the crux of her push—she got comfortable and now she’s scared and trying to push me away. “I think it’d be best for the girls if we call this it,” she says, confirming my thoughts. “They were excited to see you and Guinness, but this can’t continue.”
I don’t have it in me to get angry or upset, not when I want her to see what I see.
Feel what I feel.
“I think Mark did a number on you.”
“That’s the other thing!” she says, louder than her previous convictions. “This could be…a….a rebound relationship. What will people think of you?”
“When was the last time you went on a date with Mark?”
She clenches her jaw.
“When was the last time Mark spent even a few hours with you and his daughters?” Some of this is speculation on my part, but I read between lines pretty damn well, and Kensley has nothing to say, which only drives home what I think I know.
“I don’t know that it classifies as a rebound relationship when there really wasn’t a relationship.”
Finally, she speaks, her voice low and almost undiscernible with Guinness barking happily and London giggling. “If this baby is a boy, he’s going to be a problem. You don’t want to sign up for that, at least.”
I squeeze her hand, harder than before, and hold it until she looks over at me. “Why don’t you let me make that decision?”
“Because I have to think of the girls. I can’t think about me.”
I understand that, to a degree, but, “Are you happy?”
“In general?”
“With your situation.”
“Well, no.” Her eyes roam my face but land on mine again. “My life was completely upended hardly two weeks ago. Then there’s you and this whirlwind is honestly too much.”
She tugs on her hand, but I tighten my
hold a bit, until she relaxes once again.
“It’s a whirlwind, yes. I agree with you,” I say, running my thumb softly over the back of her hand. “But I also haven’t ever felt like this about someone. Your voice… Damn, Kensley. You called and I knew in my gut that I was supposed to talk to you. Everything just clicks when I’m with you and the girls.”
“The timing is terrible,” she tries to joke and when she pulls on her hand again, I let her go. But, instead of heading down for London, she moves to the railing and leans into it, facing the yard. The patio is only lifted ten inches, but it’s enough to need the railing.
I let her have her space, getting up quietly to step into the house. Running a hand roughly over my face, I step further into the kitchen and start pulling out things for dinner.
Even if they don’t stay, I’m having tacos, I decide.
But damn, I want them to stay.
I haven’t gotten too far in my prep when I think I hear a noise. Stopping what I’m doing, I listen harder. Nothing.
When I start up again though, I swear I hear the sound again.
I wash my hands quickly and wipe them on my jeans as I make my way down the hall, thinking it may be Sawyer.
Sure enough, I can see her sitting in the middle of the bed, her face a mask of confusion.
“Hey, half pint,” I say, nearing the door. She turns her head to face the door and when she sees me, I can’t tell if she’s going to smile or scream.
She doesn’t look like she’s too sure, either.
So, rather than barging my way in, I lean against the door. “Your mama’s outside. London too. She’s playing with Guinness. You want to play?”
Nothing.
Still, she watches me thoughtfully.
Her hair is an absolute disaster, sticking out in every which direction; pairing that with her sleep-heavy face, she looks like the small toddler she is.
But, in this state, I also see Kensley in her, where I wasn’t sure I did yesterday.
“Im?” she finally asks, and I nod.
“Yep. That’s me.”
“Mama?”
“She’s outside.”
Caught in the Act Page 9