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.”

“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 whispering, “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.”