Huge Deal (21 Wall Street Book 3)

by Lauren Layne

  “Don’t be. We understood. But I’d love to know why.”

  “Why did I go silent?”

  He nodded. “The first couple days, I can understand. But it was nearly three weeks.”

  It hurt.

  “It wasn’t well done. I know that. I guess . . .” Kate fiddled with her napkin. “I think I was embarrassed that I wasn’t handling it better. I’m not used to being the weak link, the one who can’t sleep at night and yet doesn’t want to do anything all day but sleep. I told myself that I was hanging out in Jersey for my mom’s sake, but she basically kicked me out. Did I tell you that?”

  When she looked up, he shook his head.

  “Yeah,” she said with a self-deprecating laugh. “I mean, she did it gently, mama bird–style, and I’m glad she did. But it was embarrassing as heck to realize that far from being the one who takes care of anything, you’re the one people are worrying about.”

  “Should we be worried about you now?” he asked quietly. He already was, but he also knew Kate was stronger than any person he’d ever met. For now, he just needed to make sure she didn’t shut him out.

  “I’m okay,” she said slowly. She picked up her wineglass but instead of drinking, she stared down at it. “I miss him. A lot. I just want the ache to stop. The pain of realizing I’ll never see him again.”

  He hurt for her, but Kennedy didn’t offer any platitudes. He didn’t tell her it would get easier or that the pain would lessen over time. She already knew that. She didn’t need words.

  She needed a distraction from her pain. And he was determined to be the one doing the distracting.

  “What are you doing tomorrow?” Kennedy asked.

  She paused midchew, then swallowed. “Um. I don’t know. More penis stuff, I guess.”

  His wineglass paused halfway to his lips. “Dare I hope you’re referring to Lara’s bachelorette shenanigans?”

  “My penis agenda is none of your—”

  “No,” he interrupted. “I hereby ban the phrase penis agenda. Actually, let’s just go ahead and take the word penis off the table altogether.”

  “What do you want me to call it? What about—”

  “No,” he said again. “Just no. Are you free tomorrow or not?”

  “Why?”

  “Free or not,” he said, refusing to give her any chance of wiggling out of what he had planned.

  Kate rolled her eyes as she took another bite of her scallop. “Fine. No. I don’t have anything going on tomorrow.”

  “Good. I’ll pick you up at eleven. Dress casual.”

  She paused with her fork in her mouth, then pulled it out and frowned. “What?”

  “There will be no penises, so don’t get excited.”

  “I thought we couldn’t use that word.”

  “Loophole. If you have said body part, you’re allowed to say it.”

  Her cheeks turned slightly pink, and she took a sip of her water.

  Kennedy hid a smirk, fairly certain that her blush had more to do with arousal than embarrassment. But her next words had him sobering.

  “Kennedy, what are we doing here? I told you I wasn’t . . . I don’t want . . .” She broke off, looking frustrated that she didn’t seem to know what she wanted or what she was trying to say.

  His chest tightened with hurt for her, frustration for himself. But she came first, always.

  He reached across the table for her hand, the ache in his chest easing slightly at the way her fingers folded instinctively around his.

  “Do you trust me?” he asked quietly.

  She hesitated only a moment, then nodded.

  Hope soared. “Good. I’ll pick you up at eleven tomorrow.”

  23

  Sunday, May 19

  Kennedy showed up twelve minutes early. Of course he did.

  Kate picked up the phone and pressed the button to let him into the building without bothering to say hello, one hand still wrapped around the handle of her round brush.

  Not so long ago, her thick, straight hair had air-dried or was hurriedly brushed through with a regular old brush and blow-dryer. The new haircut required a bit of TLC to look full and bouncy, but she didn’t mind. She would have styled her hair for any Sunday brunch plans. Really. It had nothing to do with looking her best for Kennedy.

  At his knock, she opened the door and immediately sighed as she looked at him. “I should have known.”

  “What?”

  “You said dress casual!” she accused.

  He looked down. “This is casual. I’m wearing shorts.”

  “Uh-huh. Be honest with me—do you have those dry-cleaned, or at least pressed, every time you wear them?”

  He looked at her like she was crazy. “Of course.”

  Kate sighed again. “Whatever. Come in. But I’m not changing to match that,” she said, waving a hand over his perfectly pressed navy shorts, wrinkle-free white button-down, and boat shoes that were either never worn or kept in weirdly pristine condition.

  She, on the other hand, had taken casual to heart. Denim shorts that were at least a half decade old, slim-fitting black tee, and adidas Superstars.

  “I think you look great,” he said as she headed back to the bathroom to finish her hair.

  “Shut up,” she called back. “I’ll be ready in a few, make yourself at home, you know the drill.”

  Which was a little weird that he did. Weird to think that just last night they’d been in almost this exact same position—her primping, him patiently waiting to take her out. Weirdest of all, it felt strangely natural, as though they’d been doing this for years.

  She tried a minute more to get her hair to do the bouncy curled-under thing, but it just wasn’t cooperating today. Kate tossed the brush aside and pulled a hairband out of the drawer, deciding for a messy bun instead. It better matched the outfit.

  “Okay,” she said, coming out of the bathroom. “I’m ready. Or at least I think I’m ready. I could say it with more confidence if I knew what we were doing.” She looked pointedly at the navy duffel in his hand. “What’s in there?”

  “Don’t tell me you’re one of those people who can’t handle surprises.”

  “I’m absolutely one of those people who can’t handle surprises. I’m the one who plans them, not receives them. Not knowing is annoying.”

  “Says the woman who planned my surprise birthday party.”

  “Yeah, but that wasn’t my idea. I merely steered your girlfriend in the right direction so you had something to eat besides oysters.”

  “And yet that ice sculpture . . .”

  She shook her head. “I tried, Kennedy. Really, I did.”

  “How hard?”

  Kate laughed as she grabbed her purse. “She was persistent. How is Claudia, by the way?”

  “No idea,” he said, opening her front door.

  She paused in the process of dropping her keys in her bag. “Really? You haven’t talked to her?”

  “Do you talk to your exes?” he said, pulling the door closed behind them.

  “My exes are all super old news.” She turned to lock the door, but Kennedy, in his usual take-charge way, pulled the keys out of her hand and did it for her.

  “What about Jack?” he asked, looking at her out of the corner of his eye as he put the key in the lock.

  “Oh, well him, yeah. I guess he’s an ex. He’s great. But then, you already know that.”

  Kennedy’s hand stilled. “You guys talk?”

  “Sure. He called on Friday to offer his condolences, see how I was doing.”

  Kennedy’s scowl deepened for a fraction of a second, but then it cleared. “He’s seeing someone, you know. A Broadway dancer.”

  “I know. He told me. We talk, remember?” Kate said sweetly as they headed downstairs.

  “You’re not upset that he’s got someone new?”

  “I don’t really have a right to be, do I? I mean, I was making out with his brother just a few days after he and I broke up.”

&
nbsp; They stepped out onto the sidewalk. “That’s not an answer to the question.”

  “No, it wasn’t. Oh, it’s gorgeous out!” she said in surprise. “A perfect spring day.”

  He looked like he wanted to push the Jack thing further, but he relented with a slight sigh. “Yes, the weather cooperated nicely with my plans.”

  She gave him a dubious look. “You made outdoor plans?”

  “I did,” he said, lifting his hand to hail a cab. “What, you thought I melted in the sun?”

  “No, I thought you melted at the threat of dirt,” she countered, climbing into the taxi ahead of him.

  “Seventy-Ninth and Fifth,” Kennedy told the driver.

  Kate rolled through her mental Manhattan geography and frowned. “Not much there. It’s right by the park.”

  “Indeed.”

  “But what else—Wait. Are we going to the park?”

  He glanced over. “You don’t like Central Park?”

  “I love Central Park! I thought you didn’t.”

  “What sort of jerk doesn’t like Central Park?”

  “I told you, one who doesn’t like dirt.”

  Kennedy patted the bag and then looked out the window. “Good thing I’ve got a blanket to sit on.”

  Kate gaped at him. There was only one reason someone took a blanket to Central Park. In all of her imaginings, and there had been plenty the night before, the thought of Kennedy planning a picnic in the park had never occurred to her.

  “Why are you staring at me?” he asked, not bothering to look her way.

  “Why Seventy-Ninth? The park starts at Sixtieth.”

  “All the tourists enter at Sixty. It’s less crowded up north.”

  “It’s also closer to your apartment. Like, really close.”

  “So?”

  “So why the heck didn’t you just have me meet you? I could have grabbed the subway. You didn’t have to come all of the way south just to pick me up. What a waste of—”

  “Kate?”

  “What?”

  “Be quiet.” He smiled a little as he said it, still not looking at her.

  Her mind raced. Friends didn’t cab thirty blocks downtown, only to retrace their steps uptown. Friends didn’t. But dates sure as heck did.

  She wasn’t sure whether the thought pleased her or terrified her. Maybe a little bit of both. But she’d meant it last night when she said she trusted him. She trusted him not to hurt her. So she stayed quiet.

  Several minutes later, Kennedy paid the driver, and Kate couldn’t contain her broad smile as they walked toward the entrance of Central Park, a little girl on a scooter nearly clipping their toes with a happy “Sorry” shouted over her ponytail.

  “Sorry about that,” a man echoed, speed-walking after the girl, a toddler on his hip. “Rosie, slow down!”

  “Hurry up, Daddy!”

  Kate’s smile slipped just a little bit, the scene reminding her of long-ago weekends with her own father. Not at Central Park but at the little rinky-dink park in their neighborhood where the grass was always a little brown, the swings a little rusty, but the memories were pure gold.

  Kennedy set his hand on her back, just for a moment, a casual touch that might have said this way or watch out for the dog poop. But the slight brush of his thumb along her spine and the lingering warmth told her he understood what she was feeling. It said I’m here.

  “Do you do this often?” she asked as they stepped into the park. It was bustling, being a sunny weekend day, but even still, she felt the difference from the city just steps behind her and the oasis ahead of her.

  “Sure, great running paths,” he said as they weaved their way down the path, sharing it with strollers, walkers, and the aforementioned runners.

  “No, I mean for picnics.” They veered to the right down one of the many forks in the road Central Park had to offer.

  “Ah. No. Can’t say that I’ve done it . . . probably in a couple decades.”

  “Decades? So you did this when you were a kid?”

  “Sure. It was actually an Easter tradition, weather permitting.”

  She looked up at him. “Huh.”

  His eyes were scanning the various grassy areas, probably looking for the perfect spot to settle, so when he looked back down at her, he seemed surprised she was watching him. “What?”

  “I just can’t reconcile the Dawsons with a messy picnic in the grass.”

  “Who said anything about messy?” he asked with a quick wink. “My mom had a whole arsenal of dedicated picnic equipment, right down to the red-checkered blanket she had handmade from some woman out in Nantucket. The picnic baskets even had a special pie carrier, perfect for our Easter picnic days.”

  “A pie carrier. Wow.”

  “Maybe let’s not mention this to her,” he said, patting his decidedly non-dedicated-picnic bag. “If she still has the old picnic stuff, she’ll probably try to foist it upon me.” Kennedy touched her upper arm, then nodded to their left. “Over there. There’s a spot under the tree that looks flat.”

  Kate headed toward the spot he indicated. Together they spread out the navy blanket from his bag, and she happily kicked off her shoes and settled on the blanket, watching as he unpacked the rest of the bag.

  “What’s in those?” she asked as he pulled out two enormous canteen-style water bottles.

  “Water, rosé,” he said, pointing at one, then the other.

  “Rosé, as in wine? Can you drink in Central Park?”

  “I won’t tell if you won’t.” He pulled out a stack of plastic cups. “If anyone asks, it’s pink lemonade.”

  “I can’t really reconcile you drinking pink anything,” Kate said as he set a container of store-bought pasta salad alongside a baguette. “Wait, what is that?”

  “Travel cheese board.”

  “Whaaaaat? They make those?”

  “What did you eat on picnics, Henley? Cardboard?”

  “Normal food. String cheese. American cheese on white bread with off-brand mayo. Fig Newtons—name-brand, obviously.”

  He pulled out a package of delicate macarons from a bakery Kate knew well. Not for herself but from buying hoity-toity gifts for clients. Kennedy caught the direction of her gaze and wordlessly handed over the package.

  “Isn’t this dessert?”

  He gave her a come on, we’re grown-ups who can do what we want look, and with a grin, she took the package. She went for a green one, guessing it was pistachio.

  “Mmmmm.” Her eyes closed, delighted to be right about the flavor.

  When she opened them, Kennedy was frozen in place, giving her the same look as he had last night when she was eating the scallops. Knowing she was playing with fire, Kate couldn’t help herself from extending the cookie toward him, surprised, and yet not surprised, when after only a brief hesitation, he leaned down and nipped a bite of cookie directly from her fingers.

  Their eyes locked for a second before she forced a bright smile. “Amazing, right?”

  “A little sweet,” he said, chewing, as he finished unpacking the last of the food and paper plates.

  Kennedy settled on the blanket beside her, lying on one side, as he reached for the rosé thermos. He looked . . . different.

  This was relaxed Kennedy. Picnic Kennedy.

  She didn’t like it. She’d just barely figured out how to get over crusty Kennedy and had convinced herself that she didn’t want her heart entangled with anyone, and then he had to go and be all appealing.

  Kate forced herself to look away before she did something stupid, only to look in the entirely wrong direction. “Oh jeez.”

  Kennedy picked up the plastic cups and followed her gaze, going still when he saw where she was looking.

  On the far side of the lawn was a couple who, while not naked or even half-naked, might as well have been. Make-out session didn’t quite describe it. It was more like . . . foreplay.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever quite so clearly understood the phrase get a roo
m,” Kate muttered, somehow unable to look away from the amorous couple. She wasn’t close enough to determine anything more than that the woman was blonde, the man brunette, but there was no mistaking the way his hand slid over her hip, the way her long hair spread above her head, unknowing, or uncaring, that it was in the grass.

  Kennedy cleared his throat. “Wine?”

  Kate tore her gaze away. A second ago, she was thinking, Heck yes, wine. Now her body was tingling, ever aware of his nearness.

  “Have you ever?” she blurted out.

  “Have I ever what?”

  She nodded in the direction of the couple without looking at them.

  His eyebrows lifted. “Made out in the grass?”

  She smiled. “Yeah. Or, you know, kissed in public. Actually, never mind,” she said with a shake of her head. “Stupid question.”

  Kennedy frowned. “Why is it a stupid question?”

  “Because you’re Kennedy Dawson. I believe I once heard you use the words PDA and lowbrow in the same sentence.”

  His frown deepened to a scowl. “You make me sound so . . .”

  “Uptight?” she teased.

  “Yeah.” He looked down at the cups, then tossed them to the side before looking back at her, his gaze going from irritated to considering. “Though, now that I’m remembering, that’s not the one word you’d use to describe me.”

  Kate froze, that night on the boat crashing down around her, remembering her outburst, her confession. Remembering that what had followed made the couple across the lawn look tame.

  Every instinct in Kate’s body wanted her to flee, but she forced herself to face the situation like an adult, even as she swore she could feel her heartbeat at every single pulse point. “Yes, well. That was before.”

  “Before your dad passed?” he asked softly.

  Kate swallowed. Nodded.

  Kennedy’s hand twitched as though he might reach for hers, but then stilled once more. “So the feelings . . . the ones I was so blind to. Gone?”

  Her heart began to pound. “I thought we agreed to put that night behind us.”

  “Actually, I didn’t agree to any such thing,” Kennedy said quietly, studying her. “I merely haven’t pressed the matter. But I do have questions. When you’re ready.”