Reminders of Him(65)
“Where’s Leah?”
Roman looks confused. “Leah? What?”
Mary Anne is walking toward me. She grins and leans over the bar when she reaches me. “Roman was getting swamped, so he asked me to grab you. I was kidding about Leah. I was just trying to build some angst for you because girls love angst. You’re welcome.” She picks up a tray full of drinks and glides over to a table to deliver them.
I shake my head in confusion. I’m irritated she lied, because now Kenna’s mind is probably going in a thousand different directions. But I’m also relieved she lied. I didn’t want to see Leah.
I stay and take a few orders and close out three tabs, but as soon as Roman is caught up, I head to the back. Kenna isn’t in the kitchen. I look around for her, but Aaron motions toward the back door to let me know she’s on break.
When I push open the door to the alley, I find Kenna leaning against the building with her arms folded over her chest. She looks up at me as soon as I walk outside, and I can see the immediate relief wash over her.
She was jealous. She tries to hide it by forcing a smile, but I saw the look on her face before she shoved it away.
I walk over to her and mimic her position against the wall. “Mary Anne was lying. Leah wasn’t here; she made that up.”
She narrows her eyes in confusion. “Why would she . . .” Kenna stops talking, and a small smile spreads across her lips. “Wow. Mary Anne is messy.” She doesn’t seem angry that Mary Anne lied. She appears impressed.
Her smile makes me smile, and then I say, “You were jealous.”
Kenna rolls her eyes. “I was not.”
“You were.”
She pushes off the wall and heads for the stairs, but she pauses right in front of me. She faces me, and I can’t tell what her expression means.
I don’t know what she’s about to do, but if she tried to kiss me, it would make my fucking night. I’m tired of the back-and-forth with her. I’m tired of hiding her. I’d give anything to be able to get to know her better without worrying about consequences, to be able to ask her questions that have nothing to do with Scotty or the Landrys. I want to openly kiss her, I want to take her home with me, I want to know what it’s like to fall asleep next to her and wake up next to her.
I fucking like her, and the more I’m around her, the more I don’t want to be apart from her.
“I’m putting in my two-week notice,” she says.
Shit. I chew on my lip until I’m positive I won’t drop to my knees and beg her to stay. “Why?”
She hesitates and then says, “You know why.”
She disappears back inside the building, and I sit in my fucking feelings.
I stare at my truck with an intense urge to drive straight to Patrick and Grace’s house and tell them all about Kenna. I want to tell them how selfless she is. I want to tell them what a hard worker she is. I want to tell them how forgiving she is, because every single one of us has been making her life a living hell, yet she somehow doesn’t seem to resent us for it.
I want to tell Patrick and Grace every wonderful thing about Kenna, but even more than that, I want to tell Kenna how wrong I was when I told her Diem wouldn’t benefit from having her in her life.
Who am I to say that to a mother about her own child?
Who the fuck am I to make that kind of judgment?
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
KENNA
It starts raining on our drive home. The rain hitting the windshield is the only sound right now, because neither of us is speaking. We haven’t said a word to each other since we were in the alley earlier tonight.
I wonder if he’s mad that I put in my notice. I don’t know why he would be; he’s the one who brought it up. But he’s so quiet it’s making things uncomfortable.
I can’t continue to work for him, though. How do we plan for my potential departure when we’re starting to crave each other’s company? I thought this was messy before, but it’s bound to get even messier if I let it continue.
There’s an unresolved energy moving between us in the truck when he pulls into the parking lot. Sometimes when he drops me off, he doesn’t even turn off the engine of his truck. But tonight he does, and he removes the keys, and his seat belt, and he grabs an umbrella and gets out of the truck.
It only takes him a few seconds to make it to the passenger side, but in that few seconds, I’ve decided I don’t want him to walk me up. I can walk myself up. It’s better that way. I don’t trust myself with him.
He opens my door and I reach for the umbrella, but he pulls it back.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Give me the umbrella. I can walk myself up.”
He takes a step back so I can get out of his truck. “No. I’m walking you up.”
“I don’t know if you should.”
“I definitely shouldn’t,” he says. But he keeps walking. Keeps holding the umbrella over my head.
My breaths start to catch in my chest before we even reach the top of the stairs. I fish my keys out of my purse, unsure if he’s expecting to come inside or if he just plans to tell me good night. Either choice makes me nervous. Either one is too much. Either one will do.
He closes the umbrella when we reach my door and waits for me to unlock it. Before I open it, I turn to face him as if he’s going to let me say good night without inviting him inside.