“Still don’t know how you have a whole-ass love book, hooking people up, but didn’t believe you would have it for yourself.” Canaan settled back against the plush leather.
I adjusted my seat belt. “Relationships, love, and romance will always attract attention. Even those who aren’t ready for commitment still need that human connection. To fulfill wants, desires, and needs. As much as I love and am grateful for you, I still believe I’m good alone.”
He smiled. “You seemed happy, or at least satisfied, when I met you. It’s what drew me to you . . . well, and that your naked body fell on top of mine.” We laughed together at the memory.
“I was happy, or at least content. Right before you walked up to the table at the restaurant, I told Saraj I was okay with being single. He didn’t believe me and said I would lose readers and followers sooner or later if I didn’t at least appear to have a man. His idea was for me to ask you to take a few selfies and give the illusion we were together since he could tell I was caught up.”
“Oh, so you were just as sprung as me.” He grinned. “My ego couldn’t handle you not calling me, and even that night, you were so dismissive. I had to make you remember me.”
“And, sweet baby, did you do that. Had my head swimming and my body aching. Had me terrified out of my mind that I would lose myself in you and never return.” I tilted my head to see his face. “I just wanted a selfie of us and to let my followers speculate. You gave me so much more.”
“Never thought I would say this,” he wryly shook his head, “but I’m glad that video got leaked.”
“Yeah, me too.” I rested my head on his shoulder. My life really couldn’t get any better than being with Canaan Jackson.
“Kensie, your cell,” Ms. Murielle said. “It’s Dr. Radi. I can get it for you.”
Flour covered my hands as we baked fresh French bread. “Yes, please.”
She wiped her hands on her apron and picked up my cell off the counter. “Hello.” She paused. “Kensie is about to answer. Thank you.”
I quickly washed and dried my hands, wondering why he called on a Wednesday evening. “Dr. Radi?”
“Kensie, why haven’t you answered my emails?” he demanded.
I moved out of the kitchen before I responded. “I’ve been on the grind and haven’t paid any attention to my emails.”
In the brief silence that followed, I wanted to remind him that if he hadn’t tried me, he would’ve been comfortable texting or calling instead of emailing me like he had in the past.
“Well, you’ve won the graduate award for sociological research.”
“Really?” I squealed and jumped around. “Out of all the doctoral students in the country,Iwon?”
“Yes,” he chuckled. “You’ve worked hard for this and deserve it. Congratulations.” The sincerity in his tone erased any residual ill feelings. He hadn’t been inappropriate in the five years I’d known him, and once I rejected him, he’d only been strictly professional.
“Thank you.” Blinking back tears, I gripped the cell. “What happens next?”
“They’ve been reaching out to you for the past three weeks and need to know if you’ll be able to fly to Raleigh. The ceremony is on April 30th. Don’t you remember it was moved up from July this year because of budget cuts?”
“I didn’t think I would win.” I wilted against the hall table. “That’s the day before Canaan’s race.”
“I thought the races were on the weekends.”
“It’s a four-day weekend celebration.” My mind spun with plans. I could fly to Raleigh and catch a late flight back. “What time is the ceremony?”
“Probably won’t give out the award until the end of the night.”
I closed my eyes. If I went, I wouldn’t be able to get back to Miami until Friday morning, missing the opening night to announce the Miami Grand Prix.
“Kensie, you’ll be there in time for the actual race. You can’t miss this chance to be honored by the National Association. Fly in Thursday morning and leave as soon as you can.” He paused. “If you’re worried that I will act in any way besides professionally, you don’t need to worry. Please make time to be there.”
“I’ll be there,” I promised and clicked off the cell.
With a mixed heart, I walked back into the kitchen. Ms. Murielle placed the bread pan in the oven. “Everything okay?”
“Just great,” I sighed, and she held open her arms.
Tears streamed down my cheeks in her motherly embrace. My mother hadn’t been the most affectionate person, reserving hugs for celebratory moments.
