Jason’s ex-wife is a goddess.
It’s really hard to put into words the kind of presence Nadine carries effortlessly through the house.
She’s easily the most beautiful woman I’ve seen. Ever. Dark hair. Olive skin. Perfect lips. A slender body fitted into a sleek, white dress. Fear a woman who drinks red wine while wearing a dress that white. She wears beautiful, big gold earrings that peek out from under her dark, wavy hair—is it L’Oreal? Or is she just worth it?
She smells like lilac and honeysuckle, and it’s a smell that entices you to lean in.
I can see why Jason fell in love with her. Hell—I’m half in love with her and I only just met her.
Or maybe it’s the pot brownie that’s kicking in.
Even as I dig into this smorgasbord of food in front of me—pesto pasta, grilled asparagus, stuffed mushroom, lightly dressed salad, and a chunk of bread roll—I have a hard time keeping my eyes off Nadine, who is sitting across from me. Every now and then, she catches my gaze and smiles.
She does the same thing Jason does—holds eye contact effortlessly. It’s a skill.
I imagine what they must have looked like together—every picture the perfect Christmas card. A power couple. Hashtag couple goals. To be honest, I hadn’t put too much thought into Jason’s divorce before, but now it’s driving me crazy. What went wrong?
She’s smiling at me again, and it takes me far too long to realize that it’s an expectant smile…she’s asked me a question, and now I’m sitting there like a dolt, fork in hand.
Reality to Kenzi. “Sorry?” I ask.
“What is it you do?” she repeats.
“Oh—well. I’m sort of…in between jobs at the moment.”
“She used to manage a high-profile band,” Jason says. “Serious, like…top billboards. But she had to drop it to take care of her son.”
“And she writes the most beautiful songs,” Donovan adds.
My neck feels hot, and I can’t help a smile from slipping on my lips. What’s worse than one supportive boyfriend?
Two. Talking me up at the dinner table.
How’d I get so lucky?
“What band?” Nadine presses.
“The Polaroid Boys,” I tell her.
“Polaroid Boys. I think I know them.” She waves her fork in the air thoughtfully. “They did that one…what was it. ‘Heart Beat on Fleek’?”
“The anthem to my nightmares,” I say.
She laughs. “I like this one, Jason. Keep her around.”
As though I’m the new family dog—fun for the whole family! Great at parties!
It’s not completely off base, either; I’m unemployed, living with my mother, and I’m high off edibles. I feel like a heathen in this crowd. An ugly duckling in the midst of long-legged storks.
I stuff more pasta into my mouth, and that helps for the moment.
As if sensing my discomfort, Donovan leans over and bumps his leg against mine. His leg feels nice, his pants like velvet. His eyes are glassy—do mine look just as bad?
“You have pesto on your mouth,” he murmurs.
“You have mouth on your pesto,” I murmur back.
We break into a fit of laughter that no one else understands.
