She confirms it when she sits up at the edge of the bed. “I’d better get going. Amelia sometimes wakes up a few hours after she goes down.”
Defeat worms through me as I watch her get up and dress. When she reaches the door without uttering a single word, I call after her. “Kenna?”
She turns. “Hmm?”
“It doesn’t have to be just a one-time thing, you know.” I hold out my arms. “I’m here all week.”
Her momentary smile turns into an impassive stare that splinters my fucking heart. Because if expressions could talk, hers just told me she has no plans of repeating what was the best damn hour of my life.
Then she’s gone. And I spend the entire night staring at my ceiling wondering if I’ll ever be the same again.
Chapter Twenty
Kenna
What did I do?
I roll over in bed and check my phone. It’s five-thirty in the morning. I’ve barely slept at all. I would blame it on the running toilet, but I’d only be fooling myself. I rub my hand over my chest, my heart already aching over my impending loss. And I had to go make it even worse by sleeping with him. And then finding out even more details about him that did nothing to dissuade my ever-growing feelings.
Am I just one of those ‘love the one you’re with’ girls who assumes every relationship she’s in istherelationship?
No. Carter is different.
Did I say the same thing about Cyrus? I honestly can’t remember. I picked him because he seemed successful. A good provider. He promised me a future. A stable environment for Amelia. It was all I’d ever wanted. How stupid I was not to want more. How naïve to think money equaled love and security.
I laugh out loud at the last thought, because oh, how I’ve been proven wrong.Sovery wrong. Was my father right all along?Ismoney the devil’s playground?
Not wanting to waste any more of my thoughts on my dad and my ex—they’re only tamping down the electric vibe that’s still coursing through my veins, courtesy of Carter—I pad quietly out of the bedroom. I use the bathroom and then stare at the running toilet. “I’m a grown-ass woman,” I murmur. “I should be able to fix this.”
I run through the same troubleshooting steps I did last night. I jiggle the handle.Nothing. I take the lid off and check the chain.Attached. This time, though, I go a step further, andwhen I press down on the rubber flapper thingy, the tank starts filling.Okay, now we’re getting somewhere.I release it when water flows over my hand, but the water immediately starts draining. I sigh. It’s the flapper thingy. I don’t suppose…
I open the under-sink cabinet, andVoila!There are two brand new flapper thingies behind the extra toilet paper.
Of course there are. Haven’t I learned by now the guy upstairs is perfect?
I hold one up. How hard can it be to replace one of these? A quick internet search tells me what I need to know, and I begin. Shutting off the valve behind the toilet, I flush to empty what’s left in the tank. I replace the flapper, turn the water back on, and stand back, proud of myself. But then I frown into the mirror, realizing I’ve just made it so Carter won’t have to come down and fix it. “Nice job, Kenna,” I whisper sarcastically.
Shuffling over to the coffee maker, I look outside through the French doors. The sun hasn’t risen yet, but there is that pre-dawn glow. I feel my shoulders slump knowing I’ll only be here for what, three or four more sunrises? Carter said the parts will be in tomorrow. It’ll take a day or two to fix the car. Does that mean I’ll be on the road this Saturday?
My eyes close. Is it bad that now I’m wishing the parts get delayed? I’m torn between wanting to get out of here ASAP so as not to dig myself in any deeper, and having more time with the guy I just know I’ll be comparing all other men to for the rest of my life.
I shake the small bag of coffee.Darn. There’s definitely not enough in here to keep me awake today. Looking at the ceiling, I wonder if Carter would mind if I borrowed some of his. I haven’t heard footsteps. I’ll just run up and quickly grab some.
Throwing on my robe and some fuzzy socks, I head up the stairs, opening the door at the top slowly as it tends to stick and make noise. I eye the chain dangling to the side—the one I’venever used—knowing it’s just one more thing on the long list of things I love about him.
Love?
My heart misses a beat when I think back to something similar I said to him last night. About loving a man who’s not afraid to cry.
Most men might have taken issue with that particular word being used only a week after meeting someone. It slipped out. And I didn’t really mean it the way it sounded. Did I?
It’s crazy to think these strong feelings I’m having are actually love. After all, I thought I was in love with Seth, Jerry, and Cyrus—the only other men I’ve ever slept with.
Sex doesn’t equal love, Kenna.
When I cross the kitchen, sparing a glance down the darkened hallway, I scold myself once again for last night.Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
I’m as silent and quick as a Ninja as I pour some of his breakfast blend medium roast coffee grounds into a small Ziploc baggie.
