“Lon-in too?”
“Yes, half pint.”
She nods once, “’kay,” then moves to crawl to the bed. I spring into action, not wanting her to take a header off the bed.
Just before I can get there though, she’s turning to her belly and sliding off the end.
Damn.
Heart attack central, watching little kids move from big beds. This was going to have to change.
If Kensley changes her mind.
One moment at a time, I decide.
“Can I hold your hand?” I ask, holding my hand out to her. Sawyer smiles—finally—and reaches for it. I really enjoy holding her much, much smaller hand in mine.
We walk down the hall slowly, some because her stride is shorter than mine obviously, but also a bit because I’m afraid that once Kensley knows she’s awake, the day will be over.
I’m not ready for it to be over.
Rounding the corner, I’ve almost got myself convinced that Kensley will have London packed up and ready to go, as if she knows Sawyer is awake.
Surprisingly, though, she’s not.
In fact, she’s not even outside but in my kitchen, picking up where I’d left off.
Her smile when she sees us is wider than it was before. As badly as I want it to be for me, I know it’s for Sawyer. “Hey, baby. How was your nap?”
Sawyer nods and slips her hand from mine. I feel the loss all the way to my toes.
“London’s playing with Guinness. Do you want to also, or do you want to watch a show?” Kensley looks up at me then and, as if she needs to, explains, “They don’t get a lot of screen time, but…”
“You don’t have to explain yourself, Kensley,” I try to say gently but it comes out a bit rough. “You’re mom.”
Sawyer says something that I can’t decipher, but Kensley does. When she goes to her bag and pulls out an iPad, I get that Sawyer wants her show. “She can watch on the television. I have Netflix, Hulu…” I shrug. “I mean, if that works for you.”
Kensley looks like she’s debating, but eventually she brings Sawyer into the living room and I can hear the television turn on.
I focus on task, pulling my attention from the girls and to dinner. I’m putting the beef in a pan when Kensley comes back. From the corner of my eye, I watch as she leans outside to yell to London that she’s going to have to wash her hands soon, and I find myself fighting another smile.
Then, she’s next to me.
Right.
Next.
To me.
“I want to talk to you,” she says softly, busying her hands by going through drawers and looking for…
A spatula, I see.
“Okay.” I hold my hand out and she places the black kitchen tool in my hand.
I’ve broken up the meat before she even starts.
“I think I could like you,” she starts, to which I reply, “I know I like you.”
“You don’t—”
“Know you, yes. You’ve said.” I say it as gently as I can, and quietly. We’re having a quiet conversation and I recognize the need for it to remain that way, with little ears nearby.
“I just don’t understand how this could feel like…well, this, not after I’ve come out of a relationship. That’s gotta be the thrill of a new relationship, right?” She actually sounds confused, like she believes that. “And I’m beating myself up over it because I was always that person who saw people jumping into new relationships and introducing their kids right away and then consoling their kids when the boyfriend decides he’s had enough. I never thought I’d be that person. You know,” she continues, still in whisper-soft tones, before I can give my say, “I’m that person who sees these fast relationships and thinks, ‘Oh, that won’t last,’ or you read these stories where the couple met and were married a week later. You don’t think that can last. You don’t know each other! How can that last? But then you read the rest of the article and it says the couple is celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary.” I glance at her in my peripheral and am hit with the thoughtful look on her face. As if, maybe, she’s envious. “How is it that some people rush into relationships and they conquer it all, but others slowly build one, only for it to crumble down around them?”
I put the meat on simmer and cover it, letting her words sink in. Turning, I wash my hands at the sink and look out the window, spotting Guinness and London still going at it. London’s hair is a wild nest of blonde and I think I can see dirt lining her legs, but both she and the dog look like they’re having a blast.
I turn then, my ass against the lip of the counter and my hands gripping the edge. “Sometimes you have to go with feeling.”
“But feelings change.”
I nod, “Yes. But those marriages that last? They know that they’re going to grow up. They may grow apart some years, but they fight for the core of what they had.” I fist my hand and bounce it slightly in front of my chest in my explanation. When I continue, I cross my arms and shrug my left shoulder, not even realizing that my whisper has risen a notch. “They fight for that excitement they felt the first week. You see… I come from a family of instant love. My mom and dad married right out of high school. My grandparents were sixteen and eighteen. My sister married her high school sweetheart. My grandparents? They’re the ones who celebrated their fiftieth, sixtieth even, wedding anniversaries. You see all of that, you feel all of it, but it’s not happening with you, and you think maybe you’re broken. But then…” I shake my head, “I heard your voice, Kens, and—”
“…it clicked.” She’s repeating words I’ve given her, but I can’t help but hope that it’s clicked for her too.
“It did. I have felt so fucking,” I manage to lower my voice in time, “worried I’m this crazy guy but I can’t explain what I feel when I’m near you. When I’m talking to you. I get that it sounds asinine and unrealistic. From the outside looking in, yeah, it doesn’t exactly look healthy. Trust me, I know about unhealthy relationships. But this?” I shake my head. “It just feels right. And I’m not going anywhere. If you decide you need space, I’ll give it to you. If you decide you need to put distance between me and the girls, for the girls’ sakes, I’ll understand. Guinness might not,” I try joking, thankful when Kensley smiles a little. “If this takes two weeks or twenty years, I don’t plan on going anywhere.”
“But then there’s Mark.”
“You can have every excuse ready that you want, woman, but I’m going to have a counterargument for you. I’m not afraid of Mark. He may be the father of your kids, but he’s nothing more than an asshole. If he causes problems for you when it comes to them, I’ll be whatever it is you need me to be. Just probably not hit man, because I don’t look that great in orange.”
Kensley’s smile is wet with tears. “You probably do look good in orange. It’s disgusting.”
“Are you telling me that I’m pretty, Kensley Cole?” I’m grinning wide and while I’m not fishing for a compliment, I like this banter.
She shakes her head, still smiling, and brushes her palms against her eyes, wiping away those tears. “You know you are.”
I take a gamble then, and push from the counter, stepping toward her…crowding her in.
Close enough to smell her subtle perfume, lotion, shampoo—whatever it is, it smells divine.
But enough space that she can move if she needs to.
Which, considering she has a pregnant belly, is a little more room than I’d normally be willing to give. Her face, though; her emotions…they’re completely open to me.
So, fuck it. I take that last step.
I lean in, so I can brace my hands on the counter top on either side of her hips.
The hard roundness of her growing belly rests against mine.
Her breath has the smallest of hiccups as she looks up at me.
The moment feels too powerful to give another bantering answer, so instead, I drop my head toward her ear, running my nose softly down over her temple, before whisper
ing, “I like this. I like you. I love your girls. I know we just met, but I feel like I’ve known you for years. And I can see knowing you for years. I can see walking London to school in the morning, and Guinness greeting her when she gets home in the afternoon. I can see caving and getting Sawyer her own puppy because even though Guinness will love on her, there’s something between London and him. And I don’t want to leave out my half-pint. I can see doing this very thing, hanging out in the kitchen with you, next year, ten years, twenty years down the road. Just maybe not in this kitchen, because someday I’d like my monthly payment to go toward a mortgage and not to a landlord.”
Kensley giggles at that, and I pull my head back, looking down at her.
“Do you think you can try to trust this?” I ask her softly.
“I want to.”
“Then I’ll take that for now.”
Chapter Eleven
Kensley
“Good night, baby,” I whisper, brushing London’s still wet hair from her face. She pulls her pink comforter up to her chin and gives me a tired smile.
“Good night, mama,” she whispers right back. I drop a kiss to her forehead before standing, looking over my shoulder to Sawyer’s crib.
She’s out like a light—and has been since right after bath.
London was allowed to watch an episode of Curious George after bath and even then, she’d been nearly sleeping on the couch.
I walk through the dark bedroom, bending at the door to flip on the night light.
“Mama?” London’s whisper is exaggerated, but just another reason why I love the girl.
“Yeah, London?” I stand and turn, leaning against the wall. I can see she’s still tucked in tight.
“I had fun today. I like playing with Guinness.”
I smile softly. “I think he likes playing with you too.”
“We do it again?” she asks around a yawn.
I shouldn’t make the promise.
I couldn’t possibly know what the next day would bring.
I don’t know what the next months will bring.
But still…
“I think so.”
“I’m glad.” Her voice is softer now, no doubt she’s ready to sleep for the night.
“Good night,” I say again and step out of the room, closing the door just enough to stop any sounds, but not so it clicks closed.
In the hall, I look to the bathroom, debating if I shower now or later.
I know, though, if I leave dishes, they won’t be done until the morning, and Sawyer’s favorite water cup is in the sink.
The apartment is small; much smaller than the house we’d lived in with Mark.
It’s also much smaller than the monthly rent price tag calls for, but that’s San Diego for you. I wasn’t ready to consider leaving the immediate area, not with Sharon and the park so near.
I move down the small hall and into the living room—a living room that hardly fits the second-hand couch I bought last week.
Then, there’s the kitchen.
It’s laughable.
Maybe only a third of Liam’s kitchen, and in a galley-style, but I suppose I should be grateful it has full-sized appliances.
It certainly doesn’t have the deep, stainless steel sink that Liam’s did.
I don’t want this for my girls.
My baby.
With my hands in the sudsy water, I start making a mental list: I have to find a job. Have to. My savings is only going to get us so far, and then there’s the hospital and birth costs…
I blow out a breath of anxiety.
This is such a mess.
I’m not prepared to have a baby.
Not with the hospital costs.
The other necessities and their costs.
I need either a crib for the baby, or a bed for Sawyer. Diapers. Formula, for just in case.
Dollar signs, dollar signs, dollar signs. They all add up.
Pulling my hands out of the water but letting my wrists sit over the basin, I look up at the ceiling, willing the tears to stay back.
I’m not ready for this.
What the hell was I thinking?
I could talk to Mark.
He’d take us back.
I’d just have to be okay with—
No!
No. No. No.
I squeeze my eyes shut and take a cleansing breath.
My kids are not going to live in that household.
They aren’t going to live with a dad who could give two shits about them, or about talking to them. I’m not doing that to them.
I think about Liam and what he’d said in the kitchen before dinner—how he could see us down the road. Today, tomorrow, and the next days.
God, I want to see it.
I so badly want to.
You do.
I open my eyes and stare at the wall in front of me.
Yeah.
I do.
I can see it and damn, it scares me to hell and back. I don’t know him enough to trust his thoughts; to trust that he won’t become overwhelmed. Sure, he likes hanging out with the girls, but he’s spent no more than three hours at a time with them—and that was today. How would that change if he was with them twenty-four seven?
It’s a lot to take on, and a lot to ask of a guy.
Startling me, my cell begins ringing. I glance at the clock; it’s only seven-twenty. I dry my hands on my jeans as I turn to pick it up from its resting spot on my counter.
Speaking of the devil…
I don’t even bother hesitating; I open the call and bring the phone to my ear. “Were your ears itching?”
“You thinking about me, Kensley?” There’s humor in Liam’s voice.
“I won’t admit to any such thing.” This. It’s just so easy.
I think that’s what scares me the most.
How easy it is.
Surely it can’t stay that way.
Can it?
“Well, I was thinking about you.”
I’m smiling and don’t even realize it right away. “You, Liam Hardt…” I let the thought end.
“That’s me. I just wanted to call, say goodnight. Be sure the girls settled in okay after their busy day.”
“They did. Sawyer was exhausted; nearly fell asleep in her bath. London couldn’t stop talking about Guinness.”
“Guinness,” Liam says, and his voice sounds amused, “has been laying by the door since you guys have left. Well, other than his potty breaks. But he lays there and every now and then, lets out this cry.”
“Are you using your dog and my daughter to get us to come back over?” I carry the phone to the couch, before curling up in the corner.
Still smiling.
Still amused.
Letting myself feel.
To enjoy this moment.
“Would it work?”
I don’t truly answer, just lightly laughing before releasing a happy sigh. “I think the girls need a little normalcy tomorrow. We have errands to run, but maybe we can do something during the week. I mean, however it works best for your schedule.” He probably goes to bed earlier than the girls during the week. At least, if I had to get up at two in the morning, I’d be going to bed before seven.
“I guess I can understand that.” He doesn’t sound upset though. He sounds like he genuinely understands my need to keep things simple for the girls.
For now, anyway.
However… I’m not going to keep pressing the brakes because this was all too fast.
I decided to go for the ride.
There still needs to be some boundaries on my part, where my girls are concerned, though.
“What do you do with the girls during the week? Do they always go to their grandparents’?”
“They will this week. I have a few appointments in the mornings.”
“Maybe you and me could meet for lunch then. Monday maybe? If it works for your appointments.”
“I’d like that.” It would be nice to do somet
hing without the girls, just him and me. See if the energy between us was there without the added presence of London and Sawyer.
“Okay. It’s a date.”
I smile again and say softly, “It’s a date.”
* * *
Sunday went far quicker than I could have anticipated.
Between London’s hair trimming, grocery shopping, and a trip to the second-hand store for the last of our needed furniture, I was just as exhausted as the girls were.
Sawyer even fell asleep in her spaghetti. I hated waking her for a bath, but there was no way a washcloth was going to be enough to clean her up.
Now, too early on a Monday morning, I go over my list for the week.
I have two interviews for a job, one a little later this morning, and the other on Thursday afternoon.
When I drop the girls off at Sharon’s this morning, I’ll have to be sure she’s still good for Thursday. Usually I pick the girls up around one, but Thursday they’ll need to stay over until three or so.
The furniture we bought yesterday is going to need to be finished, sooner than later. I can probably start the girls’ dresser this afternoon. I look up from the couch to where the bulky pieces—the girls’ dresser and a changing table for the baby—are hanging out, out of place, in the living room.
London’s bed was a queen-size frame, so the dresser wouldn’t have to match that. I still am not sure if I should move Sawyer to a big girl bed or get a second crib.
She’ll be out of the crib soon enough though, so it doesn’t really make sense to get a second crib.
I know the hesitation in moving her to a big girl bed is all on my part, though. She’s ready. Even if I’m not.
For simplicity, I think, looking at the furniture again, I may just do white chalk-paint finishes to both pieces.
Re-upholster the pad of the changing table to a soft gray.
White and gray. It would work for the baby, regardless of gender.
Mentally, I try to reconfigure the furniture setup in my room, because the baby is going to have to be in there. Sawyer’s crib will barely fit, but I can make it work.
So much to do this week…
I sigh, and then am quickly jotting down on the list—OBGYN. That appointment was tomorrow and while it wouldn’t be a big deal, I know I’m going to have to schedule my glucose test after. I have a history of big babies, and while I’ve never tested positive for gestational diabetes, it’s something that’s always on my doctor’s radar. I’ll need to check with Sharon to see what day would work for her in the coming weeks.
Caught in the Act Page 10