Liam

 

My jaw is hinged open, not a word comes out, as I watch my Kensley duck away. It takes five seconds, minimum, for me to get with the program.

Quickly, I backhand Johnson in the chest. “Dude, what time is it?”

He glares at me, as he’s in the middle of a conversation with the next person in line. “Sorry,” I tell the guy chatting with Johnson. “Thank you for coming and your donation,” I try saying, but my neck is craned around the truck to see if I can catch which direction Kensley is running off in.

“Almost noon,” Johnson says, looking at his Apple watch—the fanciest thing the man owns.

“You got this?” I ask, not really wanting an answer. I’m already stepping away.

“We have an hour!”

“Yeah, I’ll be back.” I take another step back. “Thanks, man.”

“What the hell?” I hear him mumble but I’m already slipping between his back and the tail of the truck, moving toward the science center.

I’m looking through the crowd—it’s awfully busy for a Friday afternoon. Why aren’t these people at work? Who needs a lunch break, anyway?

I cross the road and finally spot her.

Damn, she moves fast.

I can move faster.

I pick up my pace, opting for a run. “Kensley!” I suddenly feel like I did last weekend, when I was running after Guinness.

Running through the park, yelling a name.

No one, not even the one my yells are directed to, is paying me any attention.

“Kensley!” I try again.

She lifts her hand and runs it through her hair, tugging at the end.

Nervous habit?

Reaction to hearing her name but ignoring it?

I could leave well enough alone…

But she came to me.

She knew.

She recognized.

And I wasn’t about to let the curiosity lose out.

“Kensley! Wait up!” Only twenty or so feet separate us now and I can see her steps falter.

“Kens!” I try again, and thankfully, that time she stops, but then hangs her head.

Defeated?

I reach her and slow to a stop in front of her. “You are a tough girl to catch,” I say, trying to break the ice.

Her smile is hesitant. Then quick.

“Maybe I didn’t want to be caught.”

“You wouldn’t have slowed down.” I’m embarrassed to be slightly out of breath after the brief sprint, but I think there’s more at play in the cardio region than just the run.

“I’m carrying what’s likely to be another ten-pound baby. Slowing down is inevitable.” I feel like she’s pointing out her pregnancy as a defense mechanism.

She forgets that I knew she was pregnant.

I didn’t forget.

Nor did I forget she has two daughters.

I knew when I let my curiosity win out with her, that courting her wasn’t going to be like it was with any other woman.

This one…

She was a package deal.

I’m also well aware that she’s likely to hold scars because of her douche ex.

These are all the things that have filtered through my thoughts over the last week. But they not one of them scares me.

If anything, they intrigued me.

Just like her voice got to me, held on to me by the balls…what little else I know about Kensley Cole has me gripped too.

“You want to go grab lunch?” I blurt out, and Kensley’s brows lift into her hair line. The long blonde tresses are fighting to sweep down over her eyes, the wind blowing just enough from behind her to cause a stir.

“You’re the king of forward, aren’t you?” she asks, but rather than put off, she looks…

Cautiously optimistic.

Like I am, right now.

“I’m afraid you’ll leave. Two run-ins, one an accident, the other not—”

“I didn’t come on purpose. I mean, I didn’t come to see you.”

I can’t help but grin down at her. “Sure. If that’s how you want to play it.”

“It’s true.”

“You don’t really sound convinced.”

“Well…” She pauses and looks around, reaching up to sweep her hair over a shoulder as the wind picks up again. “I have to pick up my daughters from their grandmother’s.”

“Okay. Let’s do something kid friendly.”

Her smile is now amused. “That’s not how this works.”

I cross my arms over my chest, finally feeling completely at ease. “Then tell me how it does work, Kensley.”

“One, you’re a stranger.”

Not missing a beat, I stick out my hand. “Liam Ryan Hardt. Radio personality. Twenty-six.” Kensley doesn’t play games; she may be slow on the talking to me part, but she takes my hand and shakes it firmly.

None of that dainty bullshit.

She’s strong.

Capable.

“You like long walks on the beach?” she asks, her smile slowly widening.

I shrug with a smirk. “They’re not bad.”

When she slowly drops her hand from mine, I go back to crossing my arms. “Your turn.”

“My turn?”

“You know. Name, age, location. That thing.”

“You didn’t give me a location.”

“I don’t need a pretty lady stalking me to my house,” I tease.

“Yet you think I need a big guy following me to mine?” Her face is completely, emotionally, open right now and again, I’m struck with how beautiful she is.

“You’re stalling.”

“Kensley Ann Cole. Twenty-four.”

When she doesn’t continue, I lift my brows. “Anything else?”

She shakes her head, but still looks amused.

“’kay. See. Not strangers. Can I take you and your daughters to lunch?”

She looks to the side. “I don’t think…”

“Please?”

Slowly, her blue eyes make way to mine. “Fine. In-n-Out. It’s easy.”

“No. Station Tavern. It’s fun.”

“I’m going to have my girls—” she tries to argue, but I cut her off.

“I know. My nephew loves this place. He’s a little older than your oldest, I think.”

“I don’t know…”

“Hey, you agreed to lunch.”

She sighs and looks away, and I can’t help but smile again. “Save the heavy sighs, Kensley. It’s just lunch.”

“Fine. I’ll meet you there in thirty minutes, if that’s okay. The girls may have already eaten with Sharon, but they’ll have fun on the train.”

The train was the selling point for kids, and if she knew it was there… “So, you’ve been there,” I say, grin still in place.

She looks guilty.

“And I bet your girls like it.”

“Maybe a little.” Her smile is slow, but there it is.

Beautiful.

I start to walk backward, giving her the space she seems to want. “Okay. I’ll see you in thirty, Kensley Ann Cole.”

She shakes her head, but I can see I’ve got her. “Looking forward to it, Liam Ryan Hardt.”

 

*   *   *

 

I stop back at the truck to apologize to Johnson for leaving him.

…and to give him the heads up that he’s got the last thirty on his own.

The line has died down some as the fine people of San Diego are probably all eating lunch. Johnson is talking to a lone straggler, a new bin at his feet.

“Sorry, man,” I tell him after the guy leaves.

Johnson shakes his head, not amused. “You know these people come out to see you.”

“I know but…dude…that was Kensley.”

He shakes his head.

“You know. Kensley. From the show two weeks ago?”

Johnson still doesn’t look like he’s putting two and two together, but then I can see the moment it all clicks.

“Ooh…”

I nod. “Yeah.”

“You finally found her.”

“Funny story, Guinness actually found her.”

“So, there were no extra curriculars with that phone number you slid into your phone?” he asked, clearly amused.

“No,” I say, only semi-lying. “Guinness nearly plowed down her kid last weekend over at the playground. Anyway. I’m taking her and her daughters to lunch.”

“When? Tomorrow?”

“No.” I give him a cheeky grin. “Now.”

“Oh, hell no!” Johnson frowns. “You were gone for thirty minutes already! It’s not much longer before Natasha comes to take over the afternoon. I deserve a break, too.”

“Please, man?” I beg, even though we both know I’m as good as gone right now. He knows as well as I do, that I’m leaving for lunch, right now.

Right now.

As in, I’m moving away.

Backward.

Kind of slowly but only out of respect for our conversation.

“Fuck you,” Johnson grumbles, but I can see the smallest of grins on his face. He’s a closet romantic, that one.

“I owe you.”

“Yeah, you do…”

 

*   *   *

 

I’m at Station Tavern earlier than the agreed upon time.

It’s right by Balboa, but I wanted to be sure I wouldn’t miss her when she and the girls arrived.

If she gets here.

Oh. She’s gonna get here.

I don’t think she’s one to back down.

The next few minutes will be the proof of that one way or another, though.

I left my truck at the park, so I stand in front of the rustic looking building, lounging like your everyday solicitor. A few people come and go; I offer smiles to those who wave or say hello.

A couple with a happy Doberman comes by, too, and I think that maybe if we do this again, I’ll bring Guinness. He loves these dog friendly restaurants.

Look at me.

Making future plans with a woman and her kids, as if her showing up now isn’t hanging in the air.

I stuff my hands in the pockets of my jeans, wishing I’d taken the time to change. Usually, my days at the station include a wardrobe of sweats or joggers, and some comfortable shirt, but because we’d to come out for the food drive right away after, jeans and nice shirt, it was.

And by nice, I’m talking casually nice.

It all worked out in the end though, didn’t it? Nicer attire; lunch date with a pretty lady.

I watch as a car pulls into the lot. Could that be her?

A man steps out.

Nope.

I want so badly to check my watch, because I’m antsy as fuck, but I give her the benefit of doubt. Maybe her daughters had a rough day. Maybe they’d been sleeping when she picked them up. Kids slept in the afternoon.

Hell, I slept in the afternoon. Naps were glorious.

It isn’t much longer before a small SUV pulls into the lot. I don’t need to see the driver to know…

It’s her.

Do I walk over, help her with the girls? Stay over here? What’s the correct protocol in this situation?

Well, I don’t want to be an ass, so the least I can do is walk over and offer help.

Deciding on that, I move toward the parked SUV. No one’s getting out though. Maybe it’s not actually her. My steps slow as I contemplate but then the driver’s door opens and Kensley steps out.

Immediately her eyes lock with mine over the distance, and she offers me that timid smile of hers. “Sorry. We had a meltdown.”

I continue walking toward her. “Do you need a hand?” I ask as she opens the back door.

She shakes her head, now facing the inside of the car, as her hands work in front of her. Over her shoulder, I see a brown-haired child. The one who’d been sleeping the other day.

“London, unbuckle please,” Kensley says as she unbuckles the other, pulling her out of the seat far quicker than I think I could do.

“I wanna go—”

“London.” Kensley pauses and I can hear the nerves—anxiety?—in her voice. “Unbuckle please.”

“I don’t—”

“London Sierra Jackman. Unbuckle please.”

“Can I help?” I butt in. I don’t know what I can do, though. What I do know, is I really don’t want Kensley to change her mind and pack her daughters back up, leaving lunch—and me—behind.

Kensley looks at me, the look in her eyes a mix of tears and embarrassment. She has nothing to be embarrassed about. “I’m sorry. They had a rough afternoon. Maybe we could do this another day.”

She wouldn’t do it another day. I can feel it in my bones.

“Here. Can I take this one?” I nod to the little brown-haired beauty in her arms. She has the same blue eyes as her mother, but otherwise I don’t see much of Kensley in her. She’s also a toddler, so maybe that was why—baby cheeks and button noses that would slowly shift over the next few years.

“I don’t know…” Kensley’s eyes dart between me and inside the vehicle toward London.

“I have a sister. A nephew. I know handing over your child isn’t what you’d probably consider a good move.” I think about what I can offer her as a trade to make her feel better. “I’ll give you my car keys and phone even, so you know I can’t leave. I can just take this one into the play area. She can play on the train thing.”

She’s definitely battling with the decision and I desperately want her to agree.

Her eyes are locked on her littlest girl’s face, but then they’re on mine. Holding. No wavering.

A solid eye-lock.

If I could communicate with her by my eyes, now would be a great time for that trick, but I don’t have anything like that up my sleeve. Instead, I don’t drop her gaze.

It feels…

Important.

Like this very moment is the deciding one.

I could beg. I could try charming her.

But those don’t feel right.

So, instead I stay quiet.

Staring down at her as she stares up at me.

Finally, she blinks. “Okay.” She shifts her daughter in her arms and holds out her hand. I don’t even bother asking what she’s doing; my phone and keys are out of my pocket and in her hand immediately.

Her eyes are still on me as she speaks to her daughter. “Sawyer, baby, this is mama’s friend, Liam. He’s going to take you just over there to play on the train. You remember the train, don’t you?”

The little one—Sawyer—is eyeing me carefully, her lips parted just enough to make her look like one of those modeling babies on baby food jars.

“You want to go play on the train?”

Sawyer is still staring at me, but she nods at her mother’s question.

Slightly, but she nods.

I don’t want to scare the girl, so when I reach to take her from her mom, I don’t do any fancy theatrics. I just give her a smile.

“Hey, Miss Sawyer. Wanna go play?”

She’s slow to let go of her mom, but once I have her against my side, she settles in comfortably.

Kensley though…

Kensley looks like she’s going to cry.

“Hey,” I say quietly. “We’re just going to be over there. You have my things. I can’t go anywhere.”

She nods a few times, and I watch as she quickly composes herself. “Alright. Thank you, Liam.”

“Alright, half pint, let’s go play,” I tell Sawyer, forcing myself to break the invisible tie that’s holding me here, the one holding Kensley so close.

When I turn to head toward the restaurant, Sawyer whimpers once, quietly, and shifts on my hip. I turn my head and see her looking after her mom.

“She’ll be right behind us, Sawyer. Promise.”

When she turns her head toward me, my cheek is brushed by one of her pigtails. They stick straight out and are really fu—freaking cute.

I can feel her staring at me, those big blue eyes locked on my face. I turn my head enough to give her a smile, still not wanting to scare her, but wanting her to know I’m a good guy.

Granted, I’m sure that’s what all the bad guys think.

There’s a hostess today, and I ask if we can sit outside near the kids’ area. She guides us to a covered table right next to the sandy pit. “We’re going to play,” I tell the hostess, “but when two blondes walk in, one’s about this high,” I say bringing my free hand up toward my shoulder, “and the other about yay high,” down to my hips, “can you show them over here? They’re with us.”

“Absolutely. I can tell your waitress to hold off for a few minutes, if that works.”

I nod. “Please. Thank you.”

I don’t even wait for her to truly leave; I step down into the sandy area with Sawyer. When I go to put her down near the empty, wooden train set, she clings to my shoulder.

Okay.

“You want to go in with me?” I ask her.

Her eyes have lost some of their wideness, but they’re still unsure. Calculating. After a moment, she nods.

“Alright, let’s do this.”

For big kids, this train really isn’t anything exciting. It literally looks like a giant wooden-block style train, with a bench on the inside.

On the outside of the train, lining the wood-planked walls, are a couple of chalkboard looking things.

Nothing too fancy, but gives kids the chance to run amuck, and for parents to enjoy the craft beer Station Tavern is known for, while their kids are nearby and safe.

I fold my six-foot-plus self, so I can sit on the bench. The top of my head is brushing the roof, even with me bent forward.

But it makes Sawyer giggle, this bent over thing I’ve got going on.

“Yeah? You think that’s funny?”

Her smile is small, but she giggles again as she nods.

“You want to sit next to me?” I ask, but her smile disappears, and she shakes her head. “Alright, cool. You and me, half pint. Right here. You like it in here?”

She nods again, her tiny smile making a shy appearance again.

“What’s your name, sweet girl?” I ask, wanting to hear her voice. She’s so quiet otherwise. Shy? Maybe her big sister is loud enough for the both of them. The thought makes me curious but also has me grinning.

With what little I know of London, I don’t doubt she’s the loud child.

Quietly, Sawyer answers. “Sower.”

I lift my brows, my face morphing to surprise. Kids like animated adults. I just don’t want to do too much. “Sawyer?” When she nods, I smile. “That’s beautiful.”

Her smile mirrors mine and again, she stares at me for a full ten seconds before reaching out and putting her hand on my face. She pats my cheek and starts talking.

I don’t catch much of it, some ‘mama’ and what sounds like it could be London, but whatever it was that I did, it broke the ice with her.

I do my part in the conversation, offering a “Really?” and “Oh, my,” where they seem to fit. They work for Sawyer, who keeps talking. Whenever I shift her though, she stops and tightens her arms around me.

I barely know these girls, but I already know, without a doubt…

They are going to have a deep hold on me.

I glance over to the table and see Kensley has made it. She’s sitting there, London on her lap, as she watches Sawyer and me thoughtfully. There may even be tears in her eyes.

And that isn’t me being some sentimental sap, but I really think she may be crying.

When Sawyer gets to a break in her story, I interrupt gently. “Your mama and London are ready for lunch. Are you ready for lunch?” She nods excitedly and, carefully, I unfold us from the small confines of the train.

I’m surprised when Sawyer doesn’t let me put her down at the table, either, but I sit at the picnic style table and settle her easily enough on my lap. Kensley smiles at us—at Sawyer, really—and London eyes me warily from her lean against her mom.

London looks tired.

Maybe the breakdown had to do with naps?

I didn’t even consider naps when blurting we should do lunch. Maybe this later lunch was a problem for Kensley and the girls. If I’m going to do this again, I’ll have to be more mindful to the time.

“Did you have fun?” Kensley asks Sawyer, who wiggles in my lap a little.

“Yes!” She leans forward and flattens her hands on the table top.

“We went right out to the sand; we didn’t order water or anything,” I say but Kensley just smiles lightly, shakes her head, and shrugs her shoulder. It was quite the small production, but it was…

Her.

“It’s alright. The hostess said we’d be helped soon. Gives London time to calm down.” Kensley wraps her arms around her daughter and sways them side to side. “She’s tired.” She drops her cheek to the top of London’s head, and away from me.

I feel like there’s more there, but I won’t pry.

London shifts in her mom’s lap, so her shoulder wedges under Kensley’s arm. She’s sitting sideways from me now but still keeps her eyes locked on mine. Calculating. Much like Sawyer had done earlier.

“Do you like tater tots, London?” I try.

She nods a few times, then shrugs.

Like her mother.

“Hmm,” I think. “My nephew really likes the sloppy joes. I think they have them today. Only one day a week.”

If anything, London’s lips get tighter.

Obviously, London’s not going to be as easy to win over as her little sister was.

I look up at Kensley. I’d noticed her lift her head, but I’d expected to see her eyes cast downward, watching her daughter. I’m surprised to find her staring across the table at me. I open my mouth to say something, apologize maybe, but she just shakes her head slowly, the smallest hint of a smile on her face.

Anyone else, and this whole exchange would feel awkward.

Here I am, with a woman I don’t really know, but “know” enough about her for her to not want to be anywhere near me. I’m holding one of her kids, a kid who won’t let me put her down. And, oh yeah, the woman is pregnant.

This shouldn’t feel right, but it does.

“Hey, guys, my name’s Jana.” I tear my eyes from across the table, to the end, where Jana—our waitress, I’m guessing—is standing. “I’ll be your waitress this afternoon.” She puts the menus in the center of the table. “Can I start you all off with water? Milk?”

It’s in my nature to answer first, but I don’t have the slightest clue what to start the girls off with. White milk? Chocolate milk? Did someone have a milk allergy, and would substitute with apple juice? Or, hey, maybe they were a bit new age, and wanted almond milk. I don’t—

Kensley is smiling wide now, talking to Jana but looking at me. “Water for me, and two kids’ white milks, please. Liam? Water?”

Slightly befuddled by my recent train of thoughts, I nod. “Yeah. Water works.” I look to Jana. “Thank you.”

“Can I bring crayons for your daughters?” she asks me, and I’m struck dumb.

Struck silly stupid.

Everything in this moment literally clicks.

“Yes, please,” Kensley says for me. “Crayons would be great.”

I’m watching Kensley speak.

I can feel Sawyer’s sweet weight in my lap as she dances and taps on the table.

I see London watching me thoughtfully…

And everything else is fuzzed out.

The world is moving quickly, there’s static, but the clearest point of it is this table and these three girls.

It’s as if hearing Kensley’s voice on the phone was the starting point of where I was supposed to end up.

Shit.

I’ve known her for probably an accumulation of three, four hours, but what was it they were always saying?

When you know, you know?

And shit, but I think I know.

“Are you the man with the dog?” I almost don’t catch London’s question; she hasn’t moved from her sideways perch on Kensley’s lap.

I nod. “I am. I’m sorry if Guinness scared you. He likes to make friends.”

“I see dogs here. Why isn’t he here?” She’s still staring at me hardcore. I’m being put through the ringer by a four-year-old.

“I didn’t have time to go home and get him. He would have liked it though.” Finally, London resituates herself, turning to face the table and I have to hold back a fist pump. I’m winning over the four-year-old now.

“Can you go get him?”

“London,” Kensley scolds gently. “We’re eating lunch now.”

London frowns and looks up at Kensley. “But that family has their dog.” She points to a table a few feet down the row.

I know it’s not right of me to say, but I do anyway. “Maybe next time.”

Just as I expected them too, Kensley’s eyes lock with mine. I mouth ‘sorry’ even though I’m really not.

I would do this again.

And again.

And again, for good measure.

I’d do it here, at the park, maybe on vacation, even.

“I s’pose,” London huffs, leaning into the table. Just because she turned though, doesn’t mean I’m not through with the interrogation, it seems.

“D’you got kids?”

I shake my head. “No, just a nephew.”

“What’s a nephew?”

I can see Kensley struggling to shut down her daughter’s questions, but I give her a small shake of my head. I’m good. I’ve got this.

“My sister’s son.”

“How old is he?”

“Four.”

London gasps. “I’m four!”

“He turns five next month,” I chuckle.

“I turn five next month!”

Now, Kensley laughs. “No, baby, you turn five in ten months.”

“Oh.” London frowns. “Okay.” She thinks some more. “How old’s Guinness?”

“Three,” I answer, continuing this question-answer game.

“How old are you?”

“London!” Kensley’s eyes are wide. “That’s not polite.”

Her mini-me glares over her shoulder at her, obviously not sure how it’s an impolite question. “But mama—”

“It’s okay,” I chuckle.

“Well, no…”

“But you’re an adult? Like mama?” London continues. I’m impressed by her enunciation and words, and her ability to turn a question that quickly.

I nod. “I am.”

“Lon-in!” Sawyer cuts in, banging on the table.

Through with her questioning, London starts to talk to Sawyer. She’s livelier now; like whatever it was that hurt her four-year-old feelings, were long gone.

I smile at Kensley.

This is right.

I wonder if she feels how right it is, too?

Before I can find a way to ask, Jana comes back with crayons and beverages, and Kensley and I laugh over not having looked at the menu yet.

Food first.

Talk later.