Reserved (7 page)

He held his hands up in surrender and she kept talking.

“I just finished listening to Paige’s latest plans for her nemesis, Sierra, all the way to school. Thank you for the mac and cheese, by the way. I haven’t had a chance to thank you yet.”

You mean you’ve been avoiding me for weeks,
he thought but didn’t say.

She met his eyes again, this time with a warmth he didn’t recognize. “Paige loved it. Her exact words were ‘Sierra’s dad can suck it.’”

Travis laughed.

“Yeah, you’re creating a monster, just so you know. I’ve been instructed to ‘forget’ her lunch box tonight so you can read the note she’s going to make you during art class today. It promises to have lots of kisses and a drawing of you in your kitchen. So, stay tuned for that.”

Travis started to say something, but Kenna still had more. He leaned up against the counter and tried not to look at her ass when she left to put a binder in Logan’s office and walked back to finish telling him about her morning. Hell, at least she was talking to him.

“Then, I ran out of Coke yesterday, so I have nothing in my system. I may have been a little grumpy when some mother, selling Girl Scout cookies in the drop-off line, asked me how many boxes I wanted.”

“How many did you get?”

“Six.”

“Thin mints?”

“Four boxes.”

“Nice.”

“That’s not the point. I still haven’t washed my car and she sort of startled me, so I snapped and I might have tossed the twenty at her. I just wasn’t very hospitable.”

“No, you? I can’t believe that.”

She looked like she was going to laugh for just a moment, and then it was gone. Instead, she pointed at him.

“Damn it, is that a new shirt?”

“No, I just thought I’d shake it up a little today. Getting tired of the T-shirts. Looks like you did too. I like the boots. We must be on the same page, huh?”

“I—I guess, yes, maybe. Oh damn, I have work to do.”

And with that, she practically flew out of the kitchen and then came bursting back in.

“Fine, you know what, this is stupid. It passed stupid a few days ago. I had a dream about you. You were there without your shirt on and now, now I keep looking at you and it’s messed everything up. So, there you have it.”

Travis attempted to ask a question but was silenced when she held up her hand, blew her hair out of her flushed face, and left the kitchen again.

A dream, huh? Well, thank Christ they finally got to the bottom of that, because he was beginning to think he’d lost her. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d given two shits, but somehow the thought of offending or upsetting Kenna made him uneasy. Which was interesting. So was the dream. He wanted to know more, but he’d give her some time to work. He had mozzarella to pull before they opened for lunch but after the rush, they’d talk.

There, it was out,
she thought, sipping her second Coke of the morning. It wasn’t that bad. Technically, she ran from the kitchen before he could even form a reaction, let alone speak, but it was fine. Now, things could go back to normal. Kenna read the same e-mail three times before she closed her computer. Oh, who was she kidding? The shirt, his smell, it was all still there. This feeling of uncertainty, the butterflies, could be a good thing, welcome even, but not for Travis. She was not his type, which was one of a few dozen reasons why she needed to stop . . . noticing him. Kenna checked the clock on her phone and walked out of the private dining room to see if the handyman service had arrived to hang the bigger specials board by the entrance. She plowed right into Travis before she even noticed he was there. Her hands immediately came up and were supposed to push away, but they clearly decided they liked where they were. Makenna stood, frozen, staring at his neck, well, more like the buttoned-up V at his neck, right below his Adam’s apple.

Adam. Adam’s apple. She’d never noticed that part of a man was named after her late husband. She had never even thought about it until now, standing between Travis’s steadying arms, make that big steadying arms, looking at his . . . throat apple. Jesus, her mind had turned into a Dr. Seuss book, maybe that one Paige loved with the little blond guy in the yellow onesie standing on the big rainbow swirly thing. What was the name of that one?
Oh, the Places You’ll Go!
—that was the one.

Travis’s chest expanded in a deep breath, and she felt the stretch of his muscles. She couldn’t stare at his throat apple named after her dead husband forever, so Kenna met his dark, dark chocolate eyes and for not the first time in her life, she cursed all things holy because even though she’d sort of told him about the dream, there was no relief.
It
was still there. The racing heart, flushed face, and attention to every single detail still floated all around her.

“What was the dream about?” His hands moved to her arms, up and then down in what she was sure was supposed to be comforting, but the heat pulsing through her body felt nothing like comfort.

She closed her eyes, lowered her head, and thumped it a couple of times on his wall of a chest.

“Kenna?” His voice was lower than normal, a little husky and dead serious. There wasn’t a trace of his usual wit.

“Okay, I have this recurring dream.”

“I’m listening.”

She stepped back from him and sat down on the green leather Carver chair she’d found at a neighbor’s garage sale. It was narrow, but she held onto the wood sides anyway. She wasn’t sure what to say. The dream suddenly felt incredibly personal, as if it meant so much more than just a bunch of nighttime illusions. She let out a slow breath as Travis lowered himself onto the cream-colored Farthingale, the latest addition to the dining table. That one she’d found at an antique store in Long Beach.
Focus, Kenna.

She started with the white room, skimmed past petting the cat, and by the time she got to Paige sitting on the counter and grabbing her wedding bouquet, Travis looked like one of the kids at the library reading circle.

“Wow, have you ever had this analyzed?”

“No.” She could tell he knew something good was coming, so he said nothing else.

“So, I tickle Paige and when I turn, Adam is standing by the stove, spoon in hand. He’s in just pajama bottoms and smiling a really glorious smile. He says, ‘Good morning,’ pulls me in, kisses me, I touch his face, and then everything sort of fades into a soft light.”

Travis was giving her the Poor Dead Husband look. She couldn’t really blame him; it was a bittersweet dream.

“I—I’m sorry. How often do you have this dream?”

“The first time was a few weeks after Adam’s memorial, and then a couple times a month for the two years following. By the time Paige was three, I was used to it and it became more sporadic. I had it right before we opened The Yard and then . . . two weeks ago.”

Travis shook his head. “That’s rough.” He let out a breath.

“So, did I show up in the dream as some freaky shirtless neighbor?”

Kenna steadied herself. She owed him an explanation. “The dream is always the same, has been for years, until the last time. Until two weeks ago.”

“Okay . . .”

“The last time I had the dream, when I turned in the kitchen,”—just rip it off like a Band-Aid, she told herself—“when I turned around, Adam wasn’t standing there in his pajama bottoms.”

Travis still looked confused.

“You were.”

Oh, snap!
David used that phrase all the time at the gym, and it was the first thing that hit Travis’s brain when he heard the plot twist in Kenna’s dream. Her eyes settled on him with such weight that he tried to play it off by reminding her he didn’t wear pajamas, which made her laugh. Thank God, because things were suddenly intense. A version of him was making Paige breakfast in her recurring dream. How did a guy respond to that?

“Have you ever, you know, substituted anyone else into this dream before?”

“No,” she said, looking at him as if he might have some explanation to ease the awkwardness.

“Well, that’s interesting.”

“Yup.”

“So that explains all the weirdness. This was
the
dream, and not just some sheet ripper we could laugh about and dismiss.”

“Sheet ripper?”

“Yeah, you know.” He saw the blank expression in Makenna’s warm eyes and remembered how long she’d been out of the game. For some reason, that made him want to show her what a sheet ripper was rather than simply explaining it.
Yeah, that’s a great idea, idiot.
“Huh, well, maybe you don’t know. A ripper is a sex dream, you and me getting all hot—”

“Okay, that’s good. I get it. No, there were no ripping sheets.”

Travis smiled because her face flushed and she looked so uncomfortable that all he could think to do was make her laugh again. He had perfected the art of “it’s no big deal,” so even though he might like to explore why she had dropped him into her recurring dream, he went with his default—the easy way out.

Makenna was picking at the nail on her thumb.

“I think it’s interesting and all, but it’s just a dream, Ken.”

She shot him a look that said she hated when he called her that, but he could also see her face ease a bit.

“I’m sure it’s just because we work together and I’m one of the only guys you’re around who’s not a relative. I mean, there’s Larry, but he’s old enough to be your dad. The other guys are either gay or sporting some pretty serious beer gut.”

She laughed. Mission accomplished.

“You’re right,” she said less than convincingly. “And I’m working on that, expanding my horizons, getting out there. So, I don’t want you to feel weird about this.”

“I don’t.”

“You don’t?”

“No.” Travis stood up before he said that he was flattered, a little bit intrigued, and a whole lot aware that if he wasn’t drawn to his friend’s sister before, he sure as hell was now. There was no point in saying any of that because that was just the stupid side of his brain or heart speaking. That side led to all kinds of things he didn’t care to deal with.

“Okay, well . . . good. Me neither. Good. This was great. I’m glad we talked.” Kenna opened her laptop.

Travis smiled. Damn, she really was something.

“I am too. Good talk. Now, stop being weird. It was a dream. We can’t control our dreams. If we could, hell, there are a couple of Victoria’s Secret models I would love to invite into my next one.”

She shook her head and as he turned to leave, she was already back to working her mouse. She seemed lighter, relieved. That was good; she had enough crap on her plate.

Victoria’s Secret models?
Man, you’re really an idiot.

Chapter Seven

M
akenna woke up on her back, which was strange because she was a stomach sleeper and usually opened her eyes with her face smushed into her pillow. It was Wednesday, her still half-asleep mind told her, but then her eyes flew open as soon as she noticed the feel of Paige’s little hand in hers. Her daughter was lying right next to her, awake and also looking at the ceiling.

“Are you okay, Peach?” Kenna said, softly squeezing her daughter’s hand.

“Fine. Morning, Mama.”

“Morning. Did you have a nightmare?” Kenna turned, head still on the pillow, to look at her.

“Nope.”

“That’s good. You going to tell me why you’re in my bed and we’re holding hands?”

“The otters.” Paige’s sweet face turned and they were now both looking at each other, still holding hands.

“Of course, the otters.” Kenna gave her a silly confused face.

Paige giggled.

“Otters hold hands so they don’t lose each other when they sleep. I didn’t want to lose you, Mama. You would be sad if I dr—drif—”

“Drifted?”

“Yes, if I drifted way away, that would be bad. We have to hold hands at night so that never happens.”

Kenna smiled and pulled her daughter close so they were spoons. Big spoon and little spoon. She kissed Paige’s soft dark blonde hair, which smelled like her strawberry shampoo. Kenna tried not to cry. The love overwhelmed her sometimes and there were other days, usually when she cocked her brow in confusion, that Paige looked so much like Adam. It had been years; he had died when she was only five weeks old, but there were moments it still squeezed at Kenna’s chest.