There are a dozen chocolate cupcakes staring at me when I walk inside the bar.
“Dammit, Roman.”
Every week he goes to the bakery down the street and buys cupcakes. He only buys them so he’ll have an excuse to see the woman who owns the bakery, but he doesn’t even eat them. Which means that leaves me with the task of eating them. I usually take the ones that survive the night to Diem.
I grab one of the cupcakes just as Roman walks through the double doors from the back of the bar. “Why don’t you just ask her out? I’ve put on ten pounds since you first saw her.”
“Her husband might not like that,” Roman says.
Oh, yeah. She’s married. “Good point.”
“I’ve never even spoken to her, you know. I just keep buying cupcakes from her because I think she’s hot, and apparently I like to torture myself.”
“You definitely enjoy self-torture. You still work here for some reason.”
“Exactly,” Roman says flatly. He leans against the counter. “So? What’s the update on Kenna?”
I look over his shoulder. “Anyone else here yet?” I don’t want to talk about Kenna around anyone. The last thing I need is for it to get back to the Landrys that I’ve interacted with her outside of the one time they know of.
“No. Mary Anne comes on at seven and Razi is off tonight.”
I take a bite of the cupcake and talk with a mouthful. “She works at the grocery store on Cantrell. She has no car. No phone. I’m starting to think she doesn’t even have family. She walks to work. These cupcakes are fucking delicious.”
“You should see the woman who bakes them,” Roman says. “Have Diem’s grandparents decided what to do?”
I put the other half of the cupcake back in the box and wipe my mouth with a napkin. “I tried talking to Patrick about it yesterday, but he doesn’t even want the topic up for discussion. He just wants her out of town and out of their lives.”
“What about you?”
“I want what’s best for Diem,” I say immediately. I’ve always wanted what’s best for Diem. I just don’t know if what I used to think was best for her is still what’s best for her.
Roman doesn’t say anything. He’s staring at the cupcakes. Then he says, “Fuck it,” and he grabs one.
“You think she cooks as good as she bakes?”
“Hopefully one day I find out. Almost one out of every two couples divorce,” he says, his voice hopeful.
“I bet Whitney could find you a nice single girl to date.”
“Fuck you,” he mutters. “I’d rather wait until Cupcake Girl’s marriage falls apart.”
“Does Cupcake Girl have a name?”
“Everyone has a name.”
It’s the slowest night we’ve had in a long time, probably because it’s Monday and it’s raining. I don’t usually notice every time the door to the bar opens, but since there are only three customers right now, all eyes go to her when she slips inside and out of the rain.
Roman notices her too. We’re both staring in her direction when he says, “I have a feeling your life is about to get incredibly complicated, Ledger.”
Kenna walks toward me, her clothes soaking wet. She takes the same seat she sat in the first time she was here. She pulls Diem’s scrunchie out of her hair and then leans over the bar and grabs a handful of napkins. “Well. You were right about the rain,” she says, drying her face and her arms. “I need a ride home.”
I’m confused, because the last time she got out of my truck, she was so angry with me I was positive she’d never be inside of it again. “From me?”
She shrugs. “You. An Uber. A cab. I don’t care. But first I want a coffee. I hear you guys carry caramel now.”
She’s in a feisty mood. I hand her a clean rag and start making her a coffee while she dries off. I look at the time, and it’s been at least ten hours since I was in the store. “Did you just now get off work?”
“Yeah, someone called in, so I worked a double.”
The grocery store closes at nine, and it likely takes her an hour to walk home. “You probably shouldn’t be walking home this late.”
“Then buy me a car,” she retorts.
I glance over at her, and she raises an eyebrow like that was a dare. I top her coffee with a cherry and slide it over to her.
“How long have you owned this bar?” she asks.
“A few years.”
“Didn’t you used to play some kind of professional sport?”
Her question makes me laugh. Maybe because my short two-year stint as an NFL player is usually the only thing people around here want to talk about with me, but Kenna makes it seem like a passing thought. “Yeah. Football for the Broncos.”
“Were you any good?”
I shrug. “I mean, I made it to the NFL, so I didn’t suck. But I wasn’t good enough to get my contract renewed.”
“Scotty was proud of you,” she says. She looks down at her drink and cups her hands around it.
She was pretty closed off the first night she came in, but her personality is starting to slip here and there. She eats her cherry and then takes a sip of the coffee.
I want to tell her she can go upstairs to the apartment Roman stays in so she can dry her clothes, but it feels wrong being nice to her. It’s been a constant battle in my head for the last couple of days, wondering how I can be attracted to someone I’ve hated for so long.
Maybe it’s because the attraction happened last Friday, before I knew who she was.
Or maybe it’s because I’m starting to question my reasons for having hated her for so long.
“You don’t have friends in this town who can give you a ride home from work? Family?”
She sets down her coffee. “I know two people in this town. One of them is my daughter, but she’s only four and can’t drive yet. The other one is you.”
I don’t like that her sarcasm somehow makes her more attractive. I need to stop interacting with her. I don’t need her to be here in this bar. Someone might see me talking to her, and word could get back to Grace and Patrick. “I’ll give you a ride home when you finish your coffee.”
I walk to the other end of the bar just to get away from her.
Kenna and I head outside to my truck about half an hour later. The bar closes in an hour, but Roman said he’d take care of it. I just need to get Kenna out of the bar, and out of my presence so no one can tie us together.
It’s still raining, so I grab an umbrella and I hold it over her. Not that it’ll make a huge difference. She’s still soaking wet from her walk here.
I open the passenger door for her, and she climbs inside the truck. It’s awkward when we make eye contact, because there’s no way we aren’t both thinking about the last time we were together on this side of the truck.
I shut her door and try not to think about that night, or what I thought of her, or how she tasted.
Her feet are against the dash when I settle into the driver’s seat. She’s fidgeting with Diem’s hair scrunchie as I pull onto the street.
I can’t stop thinking about what she said—about Diem being the only person in this town she knows besides me. If that’s true, Diem isn’t even really someone she knows. She just knows Diem is here and that she exists, but the only person she really knows in this town is me.
I don’t like that.
People need people.
Where is her family? Where is her mother? Why has none of her family tried to reach out and get to know Diem? I’ve always wondered why no one, not even another grandparent or aunt or uncle, has tried contacting Grace or Patrick about meeting Diem.
And if she doesn’t have a cell phone, who does she talk to?
“Do you regret kissing me?” she asks.
My focus swings from the road and over to her as soon as she asks that. She’s staring at me expectantly, so I look at the road again, gripping my steering wheel.
I nod, because I do regret it. Maybe not for the reasons she thinks I regret it, but I regret it all the same.
It’s quiet all the way to her apartment after that. I put my truck in park and glance over at her. She’s looking down at the scrunchie in her hand. She slides it onto her wrist, and without even making eye contact with me, she mutters, “Thanks for the ride.” She opens her door and is out of my truck before I find my voice to tell her good night.
