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I adjust my khakis and my thoughts, but the grin persists, because now my mind jumps to last night in my bed, when I pretended to wrestle her off me after she snuggled close and wedged her cold toes between my calves. Next, I flash to standing beside her in the kitchen early this morning, brewing coffee and making her laugh at my attempts to seduce her with a whisk I didn’t even know we had while she flipped slices of egg-drenched bread in a pan. We froze when Matt walked in all geared up for another day at the academy, took stock of us—Kendall menacing the front of my sweats with stainless steel cooking tongs while I tried to whisk my way under the T-shirt she borrowed. “There goes my appetite,” he muttered, before he walked out. We laughed so hard we had to hold each other up.
I can feel a residual smile curving my lips as I turn onto a side street and search for Art In Progress. It’s not hard to find. A small crowd loiters on the sidewalk in front. I pick up my pace for no other reason than I can’t wait to see Kendall. She’s talked about this job, the kids, and this place enough for me to know she’s excited about tonight’s exhibit. And I’m excited for her. I know any job can seem shiny and bright after only a handful of days, but I wonder if she realizes she’s never sounded even a tenth as excited about getting her law degree as she has about AIP.
I keep a neutral smile in place as I walk past the mix of teens and adults gathered out front. Recognition flashes across a face or two, but this isn’t my night, and I don’t want to steal attention, so I ease through the door. There are even more people inside. It’s a decent-sized space, but nonetheless at capacity. The hum of conversation echoes in the well-lit room, along with soft background notes from a dark-haired guy playing a piano. Because I’m scanning the crowd for Kendall, it takes me a moment to notice the art. Photographs, sketches, and paintings decorate the dark-toned walls. Sculptures bask under spotlights. And then there’s the ceiling. Shades of blue and green swirl above, tinged with yellow, purple, orange, and red. It’s like an ocean. A sunset. A galaxy of color designed to shower inspiration down on all of us.
Duly inspired, I renew my effort to find my girl. My girl. I falter for a moment. The thought of her being mine is disconcerting. Not because I don’t want to be with her. I do. So fucking much. But I can’t promise I won’t unwittingly hurt her. Ultimately, my career is my main focus; it’s what I’ve strived for. But then I see her standing at the far end of the room, and I selfishly forget about everything but wanting her. Needing her.
She’s in conversation with a kid who looks about sixteen and a middle-aged woman with similar features. Kendall’s not facing me, but as if sensing my attention she turns her head, and her gaze collides with mine. My smile expands at the same time hers fades, and for a moment I’d swear she looks at me like I just sucker-punched her, but I don’t get a chance to confirm my impression because she turns back to her conversation.
What the…?
Yes, I’m forty minutes late, but she knows I was tied up in my meeting; I sent her a text as soon as it ended, telling her I was on my way. Is she bent because I wasn’t here when the event started? That doesn’t make any sense, either. She told me the show would last two hours and I should come by whenever. I stare at her from across the room, and I can tell by how she rubs the side of her neck that she feels my regard, but she doesn’t turn.
Fuck it. I’m going in. I walk over to her. Not fast, not slow, but directly so there’s no doubt of my destination. The two people she’s speaking with look my way as I near, acknowledging my approach. Kendall? Nothing.
“Hey,” I say, not bothering to hide my confusion, even though airing my uncertainty with an audience probably isn’t the best move.
“Hello,” she replies, her tone cool and professional. “Vaughn, this is Bonnie and her son Will.”
I exchange greetings with Bonnie and get a shy nod from Will.
“Are you one of the artists?” I ask Will, while taking measure of Kendall from the corner of my eye. She keeps her focus on the teen.
Will nods again. Okay. I get it. Speech isn’t his thing.
“Do you have work on display tonight?”
He inclines his head and points, indicating the framed sketch of three girls playing with a dog that I noticed on my way in. “The charcoal drawing? That’s yours? Dude”—I offer him my fist for a bump and he gives me one—“that piece caught my eye.”
The boy blushes and shrugs. His mom squeezes his shoulder. “We’re very proud of his work.”
“I can see why,” I answer sincerely.
“Oh,” Bonnie exclaims. “There’s Josie. We want to say hello before we head out. It was nice meeting you, Kendall.” She expands her smile to include me. “Vaughn.”
“Nice to meet you, too,” Kendall replies, and you’d never guess by her smile that there’s a single thing bothering her. But I know. “Will, I’ll see you Friday.”
He offers a wave before they walk away. I turn to Kendall. “What’s wrong?”
Her body language answers with a resounding everything. Her back is straight, her arms crossed, her figure a long, contained column in a midnight blue pantsuit and complicated silver heels. “Nothing I can get into right now. I’m working. If you want to wait until I’m done here, we can talk then. It’s entirely up to you.”
“I’m sorry I’m late.”
“I know. I saw your text.”
Someone passes behind me. Kendall lifts her chin in greeting and takes another step away from me. “Excuse me. Another artist and her guests just arrived. I need to welcome them.”
Now I step back, too, because as much as I hate the brush-off, her point is valid. I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize this opportunity for her. “I’ll find you later,” I say, and walk to the nearest wall to stare blindly at a group of watercolors. I won’t hover. I won’t crowd. But I will damn well wait her out. I do covertly watch her in action. Any casual onlooker would see an outgoing, radiant woman with a knack for putting those around her at ease. Only someone who’s taken a crash course in the nuances of Kendall Hewitt would detect the tension in her shoulders or the determined set of her smile. When our gazes clash from across the room, I force myself to focus on the art, not on dissecting what I might have said or done to put the wounded look in her eyes.
I take my time walking through the exhibits and end up meeting Candace, Kendall’s boss. She’s a bouncy woman with genuine enthusiasm for what she does. It’s clear she could talk about Art in Progress all night, but the event is winding down, and her sharp look says she recognizes I haven’t hung around all evening strictly for the exhibit, no matter how worthwhile the cause. She turns, catches Kendall’s attention through the thinning crowd, and waves her over. The reluctance in her strides confirms my impression she’s been stalling for the last half hour.
“Kendall, thank you so much for your help tonight. I don’t know what I would have done without you. But now”—Candace glances at her watch—“you’re officially off the clock. Take this handsome fellow and hit the road.”
“I can stay and help clean up. I don’t mind—”
“Nonsense.” Candace swats the suggestion away like a pesky fly. “You came in early to set up. The rental company will deal with most of the cleanup, and we’ll tackle the rest tomorrow. Go. Shoo. Thank you and good night.”
“Okay,” she says through a forced smile. Her eyes dart to me. “I have to get my purse from the office, and I’m parked in back.”
