Chapter 3

 

Twenty-seven.

The number of blocks that were on the ceiling. There were also tiny cracks in the two middle blocks and in the one right above my head.

Eighteen hand-painted pink roses decorated the white-wash furniture.

Sixty-two pale yellow vertical and horizontal lines crisscrossed to create small squares on the green wallpaper.

I knew these things because I'd spent my night tossing and turning, and apparently, counting everything I could. Not even the melatonin I'd taken could keep me asleep for longer than an hour at a time.

At least I had one less thing to worry about. My potential client, Carly Williams, had agreed to reschedule our meeting. I rolled onto my side and huffed out a breath. Staring at the white curtains, I willed them to give me answers to the questions that floated around in my head.

Bzz Bzz

I clutched my chest and glared at my vibrating phone on the nightstand. A quick peek confirmed it was Dean calling… again. My heart drummed to a nervous rhythm, and instead of answering his call, I slipped out of bed and marched to the bathroom.

Pulling the curtain back, I reached inside the shower and turned on the faucet. While I slipped out of my shorts and cami, my tired reflection stopped me cold. After I curled my fingers around the smooth ceramic of the basin, I leaned forward and studied my appearance up close.

I looked as forlorn as I felt. Puffy cheeks and dark smudges beneath my eyes, evidence of my lack of sleep. I hadn't even bothered to wash my makeup off last night. I hadn't looked that pitiful since college, only then my scattered appearance had had nothing to do with sleep deprivation. A deep frown formed on my forehead and anger bubbled its way through my veins. Twelve years was a long time. Long enough to let go of your past.

Why the hell couldn’t I let go then?

I shook my head and stepped beneath the scalding water. Tilting my head, I put my face directly in the path of the warm spray. Seconds morphed into minutes as I just stood and allowed the water to draw the stress from my limbs.

Eventually, I grabbed a sponge, cleaned myself and turned off the shower. It was when I was sitting on the bed, towel-drying my hair, that I realized Zoe was right.

I needed closure.

My heart could never fully let go of Brett because of that awful letter that just didn't resonate with the man I so passionately loved. The man who took the blame for me.

My cellphone buzzed to life again, giving me a heart attack in the process. Dropping the towel, I leaned over the bed to snatch my phone from the nightstand. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before I answered.

"Babe, where have you been?" Dean's voice greeted me. "I've been calling since yesterday."

Guilt ate at me because of my behavior. Dean was the kind of man that every woman wanted. He was handsome, came from a good family and along with his steady job, he had values I respected.

"I had car trouble and—"

"Yeah, I know," he cut in, sounding more hurt than angry. "Your dad phoned me last night."

After I'd taken a few minutes to decompress last night, I texted Zoe—who still hadn't responded—then I made a quick call to my parents. It didn't surprise me when they weren't happy with me. My mother was absolutely mortified when she learned I’d be spending a few nights in a place that didn’t have room service. The only thing my father was worried about was whether we could get Carly to agree to see me at another time.

"Oh." I slipped off the bed and walked over to the drawn curtains. Delicately pulling them back, I peeked outside. "I didn't want to worry you," I answered weakly while I stared at Mrs. Davis's beautiful backyard. My attention was immediately drawn to the gazebo situated in the far left corner. With all the colorful flowers surrounding it, I bet there'd be tons of butterflies floating around.

"That makes no sense, Kenzie." Dean's voice sliced through my thoughts. "We're in a relationship, I should be your first call when you're in trouble." I imagined him running a hand through his blond hair—like he always did when he was at a loss. “This is about me asking you to move in with me, isn’t it?" He added softly.

I let go of the curtain and turned so I could lean my back against the wall. With my index and middle fingers, I circled my temple repeatedly. “Dean, can we not do this now?”

A defeated sigh filtered through the line. “When will you be back?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want me to come there?”

“That’s not necessary. Besides, don’t you have to be in court on Monday?” Dean was a criminal defense lawyer, a good one too. So good, that he’d already made junior partner.

“Jonah knows the case like the back of his hand, he can lead.”

I threw my head back and squeezed my eyes shut. “You’ve been preparing for this case for months. Dean, you should lead. And I’m pretty sure my car won’t take that long, anyway.”

“Kenzie,” I spotted the smallest hint of anger in his voice. “Why do I get the feeling that you don’t want me there?”

“It’s not that, it’s just—” I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling while I struggled to find the right words to say. A knock sounded, and I welcomed the out. “There’s someone at the door, I’ll call you later.”

Dean’s clipped, “Goodbye,” made me feel both sad and relieved. My brows drew together while I stared at the phone in my hand.

Another knock stole my attention. I dropped my phone on the bed and headed for the door. On the other side stood a woman that looked like she’d stepped out of a 50s magazine. With her shiny black hair intricately knotted on top of her head and lips painted bright red, she probably turned heads wherever she went.

“Hi, I’m Lola.”

I smiled and gripped her outstretched hand, “Kenzie.” Colorful patterns coiled around her arm all the way to her collarbone. There was even more ink peeking out from beneath her white crop top. Is everyone in Willow Creek covered in tattoos?

Her assessing gaze traveled from my silk blouse to my pencil skirt and down to my bare feet. I got the impression that she was sizing me up. “Nana wanted to know if you’ll be joining us for lunch today.”

I’d briefly met Mrs. Davis last night, she was friendly and welcoming. Having lunch with her hardly seemed like a hardship. “I’d love to, thanks.”

After Lola informed me that lunch was served at one, she disappeared down the hall. I closed the door and walked over to the dresser next to the window. Tilting my head to the side, I tried to see myself through a stranger's eyes. My white blouse neatly tucked into my black skirt looked professional but probably screamed stuck-up to most.

My gaze flitted to my heels, still lying in the same spot I'd kicked them off last night before it slowly traveled to my open suitcase perched on the couch. I groaned because I knew it contained nothing but business attire. Mother would probably have a fit if her daughter traipsed around in jeans and a tee.

I could already hear her: 'You only have one chance to make a first impression, Kenzie. Your clothes should reflect your sophistication.'

With that thought, Dean popped up in my mind. He shared my parents' view on how you presented yourself in public. I looked up at the ceiling, trying to recall a time where I'd seen him out in public wearing jeans.

Never. Slacks and a dress shirt was his idea of dressing down.

I tried my best to shake my depressed mood, but by the time I headed down for lunch, I was even more wired than I'd been when my car broke down. Pausing at the entrance of the dining room, I inhaled the delicious smell that permeated the air before I forced a smile and entered.

The space was so different from what I was accustomed to. In the middle of the room stood a big farm-style dining table, warm and welcoming. I suspected the mouthwatering aromas came from the buffet table to the left. My stomach chose that moment to remind me of how little food it'd had since yesterday. I pressed my hand against my belly as I ventured further, scanning my surroundings with every step.

To the right were three bright yellow loveseats arranged in front of the window that overlooked the backyard. I heard movement and turned my head to the table where Mrs. Davis stood smiling.

She'd just placed a small vase containing flowers on the table, and she was admiring them. I felt like a towering giant when I reached her. She had to be about a foot shorter than my five-foot-seven.

"They're beautiful," I said in lieu of a greeting. "Are they from your garden?"

The older woman beamed up at me; her chocolate eyes shining brightly. "They are," she twisted her plump body so she could fully face me. "Did you sleep well, dear?"

"Like the dead," I lied.

Mrs. Davis looked me up and down and then shook her head, "There was no need to dress up for lunch."

I felt like a complete idiot. Heat crept up my neck and settled on my cheeks. "I, uh—"

"Nana, I can't find the—" Lola burst into the room. "—cinnamon." She'd changed into a sleeveless form-fitting red number that ended about mid-thigh. She looked so stunning, I felt underdressed.

A soft laugh sounded from beside me, "Top shelf, my sweet Lola." With a muttered thanks, Lola ducked back the way she came. Mrs. Davis touched her palm to the back of my arm, "Come on, let's sit for a bit while we wait for Lola's friend to arrive."

We seated ourselves on the couches by the window. The pops of color that burst through the green were simply magnificent to see. I could imagine someone losing hours by just sitting there, staring out the window.

"The garden used to be my Gerald's favorite place," Mrs. Davis's voice was soft and wistful.

When I turned to her and saw the dreamy expression on her face, I almost didn't want to speak, afraid I'd interrupt whatever memory she was lost in. "I can see why." My voice was just above a whisper.

The doorbell sounded and a few seconds after that, Lola's cheery, "I'll get it," filled the air. That pulled the older woman from her reverie.

Mrs. Davis's smile lit up her whole face. "Ah, young love." She reached over and placed her hand over mine. "Do you have a love waiting for you at home, dear?"

Did I? "I—"

"Is that your famous roast I smell, Mrs. D?"

My blood turned to ice, and my heart flatlined before it kicked up again at an alarming pace.

That voice.

After twelve years of not hearing it, the deep, silky timbre still managed to send chills down my spine.

My gaze skittered to the dining room entrance, and the breath rushed from my lungs. Across the room, our eyes locked and as much as I wanted to—needed to—look away, I couldn't. A gasp tried to work its way up my throat, but I swallowed it down.

I was vaguely aware of Mrs. Davis talking to me, but I couldn't hear a word she was saying. My attention was firmly fixed on one person and one person alone.

Brett Carter.