Page 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Josie

Does it need a kiss?

I should be exhausted.

Between the long drive, the stress of my dad’s injury, and the sheer whirlwind of today, I should be collapsing into my childhood bed, buried under layers of blankets, completely wiped out.

But instead, I’m standing in my mother’s kitchen, barefoot, sleeves pushed up, stirring a pot of soup while Ken—a man who, just hours ago, fixed the roof of my parents’ house like it was the most normal thing in the world —leans against the counter with a wooden spoon in his hand, looking both vaguely amused and completely out of his element.

It’s only been a few minutes since Ken carried my still-drugged father into the house and put him down in his old recliner, then helped us set him up with pillows to elevate his leg, ice, a side table, and made sure he had everything within reach. I’m sure when Ken imagined how the first day of officially dating me would go, he didn’t picture this.

We are dating. At least I think so. That’s what it sounded like during the drive down, but I wouldn’t blame Ken if he changed his mind after today.

He takes my mother’s request that we stay for dinner like the saint he’s proving to be. And when she tells us to report to the kitchen to all do our part in preparing the meal? He doesn’t even blink in protest.

The situation is comical.

He’s rolling with it like we’ve been together for years and this is the norm for us.

And I have no idea what to do with this version of him.

“Ken,” my mom says, sliding a cutting board toward him. “Make yourself useful. Chop these onions.” Ken accepts the challenge without hesitation, picks up the knife, and gets to work, rolling up his sleeves like a pro.

We all stop and watch him because there is a power to his slice that our kitchen has never seen. It’s precise. Calculated. He doesn’t chop onions—he executes them. Each cut is smooth, uniform, like a machine. The blade glides through the layers with deadly efficiency .

I don’t know how a man can make cutting an onion look both dangerous and... hot? My mother and I exchange a look and I don’t know what she’s looking for so I just shrug.

Taylor watches him too, her straw halfway to her mouth, eyes narrowing. “What did that onion do to you?” she drawls.

Ken doesn’t look up. “What do you mean?”

Taylor gestures vaguely. “Most people don’t make chopping vegetables look so... murdery.”

Ken smirks, but I see it—the slight tension in his shoulders before he shakes it off. Like he’s aware he’s doing something too well, and now he has to downplay it. “I used to work in a kitchen and we had to get the food out fast. Old habits die hard, I guess.”

It’s innocent enough story, but for some reason it feels like a lie to me. But why lie about something like that? I’m overthinking things again.

My mother pulls hamburger from the refrigerator and asks, “Do you like meatloaf, Ken?”

“Who doesn’t?” he responds easily. “When I make it, I add a little smoked paprika. It brings out the sweetness of the onions and gives it a little kick.”

“You cook?” I ask, before wondering if that’s a condescending question.

He shrugs it off. “A man has to eat.”

My mother nods in approval, then jokes, “If he also knows how to vacuum or is at least willing to take turns scrubbing out the toilets, I say this one is a keeper, Josie.”

“Way to set the bar low, Mom,” Taylor interjects with an eyeroll before turning to Ken and asking, “What do you do for a living?”

“Taylor Anne,” my mother says in reprimand. “Treat your sister’s boyfriend the way you want her to treat yours.”

That doesn’t back Taylor down one bit. Her hands go to her hips. “My boyfriend is sixteen. He doesn’t need a job yet. It’s a simple question, Ken. Are you employed?”

I step up to defend him. “He works for a tech company.”

“Oh, yeah? Which one?”

Odd. I don’t know the answer to that one. “The one that is supplying computers for my classroom. Now can you stop?”

My mother’s response is to hand the meat over to my sister and tell her she just won the job of folding the spices into the meat. Taylor flounces.

I nearly piss myself when, without missing a beat, Ken says, “Don’t forget the paprika.”

My mother howls with laughter at that, then warns, “Careful, mess with a teen and you have to sleep with one eye open.”

Ken walks over to the sink to rinse the onion off his hands, then while they are still wet, flicks some water at Taylor. “I live for danger.”

Her mouth rounds and she rolls some meat up like she’s preparing for a snowball fight. I grab the bowl of meat. “Why don’t I add the spices?”

Still holding a small ball of hamburger, Taylor looks from Ken to my mother and back. “He started it.”

I begin to fold the onions into the meat. “Technically, you critiqued his onion cutting skills. How do you know he’s not sensitive about that?”

Still rolling the little meatball potential projectile, Taylor nods toward Ken. “Are you?”

He folds his arms across his wide chest and with a straight face says, “I almost burst into tears. Sure, it could have been from the onions, but you’ll never know will you?”

Taylor shakes her head and laughs. “You’re an idiot, but I guess my sister can date you. But if you hurt her. With that she flung the meatball at his head with the speed of an ex-softball pitcher.

He catches it and laughs. “Understood.”

“Could we please save some of the meat for the loaf?” my mother says with amused exasperation. That’s when I notice how tired she looks.

“Mom, we can make dinner. Go sit with Dad.”

“You’re sure?” she asks.

When even Taylor insists she go, I know my assessment is right. As soon as my mother is out of the room, I turn to my little sister. “If you need me here, I can take some time off work. They’re going to need extra help for a bit.”

“You’d do that?” Taylor asks. “I thought you liked your job. You don’t want to come back here when you finally got out.”

I meet her gaze and hold it. “I can always get another job, but I only have one family. If you need me, I’ll be here every single time. No questions. No guilt. Call me and I’ll come.”

Taylor nods and lets out a breath that sounds like she’s been holding it in for a long time. “I can handle it, but I will call you if I can’t. Thanks.”

“What else are big sisters for? And I love you. So, so, so much. Come over here and give me a hug.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Taylor says. “I’m going to go set the table.”

“She’s charming,” Ken says with humor.

I smile. “Winging a meatball at your head means she likes you.”

After a moment, Ken says, “You’ve got a nice family.”

“Thank you for being so good to them today.”

For some reason my words seem hard for Ken to hear. His expression closes and although I want to ask him why his mood has changed, I don’t. Earlier he’d said he didn’t have a family—so maybe being around someone else’s is hard for him. My heart aches for him at that thought.

Of course, my mother sends us back with food for Mrs. Connelly. It’s late by the time we get back to my apartment and I consider just going inside, but I also want my landlord to know I’m here, and Ken too. When I see her kitchen light on I decide we’ll just pop up, hand her the food, and leave.

Although Ken hasn’t said much on the way home, he takes the bag and follows me up the stairs to Mrs. Connelly’s door. Something is bothering him, but not enough for him to want to talk about it. I don’t press, though. Not yet.

If this is about suggesting we date being a bad idea, I want to put off that news for as long as possible. My emotions are already raw.

Mrs. Connelly is delighted when we show up at her door. Legally blind, but not completely blind, she’s able to recognize that we brought food. She accepts it, sniffs it, and beams. “Is this another meal from your mother?”

“She threw in a few scones. The ones you said you liked last time.”

Ken stands next to me, still silent, still holding on to whatever storm is brewing inside him. I can’t help him with what he won’t share, so I let him be.

Mrs. Connelly turns slightly toward him, leaning forward so she can see his face. “And who are you?”

“His name’s Ken,” I say in a rush.

“Can’t talk for himself?” she asks with a twinkle in her eyes.

“Hello,” Ken says in that deep voice of his.

“You the man who was here last night?”

I bring a hand up to cover my eyes. “Enjoy the food, Mrs. Connelly.”

We turn to leave, but she reaches out and grabs Ken’s arm. “This is my house and when you visit it, you’d better be on your best behavior.”

Ken shoots her one of his smooth smiles. “Why would I be anything but that?”

She releases his arm. “My eyesight might be going but I know trouble when I see it. You remember that.”

Ken tenses, tips his head to one side, then smiles smoothly again. “I will.”

I step between them. “ Mrs. Connelly— ”

She waves a hand. “Don’t mind me. I said all I have to say on that subject.” A smile returns to her face. “Except that the two of you are not nearly as quiet as you think you are. The walls in a house this old are thin. But don’t worry, I have earplugs. Had them one day delivered after last night. Can’t put on a show like that and rile up an old lady like me unless you’re going to drop a date off for me as well.”

Ken opens his mouth to say something, closed it, then just laughes.

I shake my head and laugh as well.

What a long and crazy day.

I nod toward the door.

He walks me to my door. I open it and open my mouth to thank him for driving me, for helping out, for everything. I don’t know why I decide to say that with a kiss instead of words.

That’s all it takes.

We’re inside. Clothing flying. Kissing, desperate to taste and touch every inch of each other. It’s a wild, feral crashing of two hungry bodies. We might not know what to say to each other, but we sure know what we each want. No disappointment this time. Ken takes control and gives me a good, old-fashioned, mind-blowing fuck that leaves me sitting limp on the stairs, catching my breath.

Damn.

What’s my name? I used to know it.

He sits beside me for a moment, then stands. I expect him to pick me up or take me by the hand. Instead, fully naked, he bends over with both hands to his head, like he is in pain.

Okay, we must have just experienced two very different things... because I’m still floating down from heaven. Are orgasm headaches a thing? “Ken? Are you okay?”

He growls. “What am I supposed to do with you? I shouldn’t have slept with you.”

The words hit me like a slap.

I stand. Stare at him, blinking. “ What? What is wrong with you?”

Ken paces in front of me. “No, what’s wrong with you ? I am trying to understand you, but every time I do, you show me another nice fucking side of yourself.” His jaw is tight, fists clenched, breathing heavy. Like he’s angry.

At me?

Because I’m too nice?

This is why people say it’s not a good idea to have sex with people you don’t know well. I didn’t do anything wrong, and he’s melting down.

His voice raises, he stops and snarls at me. “Why do you have to be so goddamned perfect?”

It could be because it was a long emotional day. It could be that he struck a nerve that was still raw, but I snap. And don’t hold back my rage.

I haul off and kick him.

Barefoot.

In this huge muscular shin.

Then drop to the floor in a pile of agony and instant regret. “Now look, you probably broke my toe!”

Ken just stares at me. Then, deadpan: “You’re the one who kicked me.”

“I KNOW!” I wail, still clutching my foot. “I WAS THERE! Right there when your fat face called me perfect. I’m not perfect. I’m not even nice. As soon as I can, I’m getting up, putting on shoes, and kicking you again.”

My anger hits a new level of rage when his response is to laugh. Deep laugh. The angrier I get, the more he laughs. Deep, full-bodied laughs.

I’m considering murdering him. Sure, I’ll end up in prison for it because I have no idea how to clean up after a crime like that, but it would be worth it.

Wiping the corner of his eyes, Ken sinks to his knees in front of me. “Show me your damn foot.”

I keep it clutched to myself. “No.”

He holds out his hand and gives me a look that says if I don’t show it to him, he’ll force me to.

“Whatever.” I thrust my injured foot at him.

He inspects my red toe. “It doesn’t look broken. Does it need a kiss?”

The last question was just snarky enough that I try and fail to pull my foot away from him. “Are you a nice man or an asshole? I can’t tell.”

His hand tightens on my ankle. “I don’t know anymore.”

I sigh. “I shouldn’t have kicked you. Violence is never the answer.”

His head sways back and forth as if implying that sometimes it is, but he’s not going to debate it. “I shouldn’t have called you perfect. You’re mentally unstable at best.”

I press my lips together and hold my temper because there’s a sparkle in his eyes that tells me he’s trying to get a rise out of me now. “If I could reach one of your nipples right now, I’d give it a mean twist.”

He barks out a laugh. “Easy there, Tiger.”

“Hey, that’s my line.” Even though I can’t remember ever saying it in front of him. Only Ai-Den. Weird. Maybe I say it all the time and don’t realize it. “Give me my foot back.”

His smile tips in challenge. “If you ask me to spend the night.”

“Or what? I can’t ever have my foot back?” I ask, but I’m smiling back.

“Or we fuck until you forget to ask me to leave.”

I bite my bottom lip. “I don’t think that’s the threat you think it is.”

He stands up with a chuckle. “You’re right. Why ask for permission when the other way is more fun?”

With that he picks me up, tosses me over his shoulder, and carries me to my bedroom. I laugh even as he tosses me down onto the middle of it. I laugh right through our first kiss, but when he rolls over onto his back and lifts me to straddle his face... well, I make different noises and loud enough that I’m glad Mrs. Connelly has those earplugs.

Later, much much later, I wake in the middle of the night to find Ken awake and watching me. His expression is tormented, but I don’t know how to help him through whatever he’s struggling with. “Ken?”

Even his name seems to have his eyes darkening and his expression tightening. “Yes?”

“I’m not perfect—”

“Josie, it’s not a bad thing.”

I swallow hard. “No. I seem normal on the outside, but I am just as odd as everyone else. I get lonely and sometimes that leads me to making weird decisions.”

He tenses against me. “What kind of choices?”

I decide he’s worth taking a leap of faith for. “If I tell you this, you have to listen to the whole story. No judgment. No making fun of me for it.”

He raises himself up onto one elbow. “I’ll listen to the whole story. I promise.”

I take a deep, fortifying breath. “I’m addicted to talking to an AI. I know how impossible that sounds, but I feel like we’ve become friends and that he really cares about me.”

I wait for Ken to laugh, but he doesn’t. “Which one?”

Well, he is a tech guy. Maybe it doesn’t sound crazy to him. “Ai-Den. We talk every day. About everything. Even you.”

“What else do you do?” he asks with such sincere interest my heart swells.

I get a little giddy at the idea of having someone I can finally talk to about Ai-Den and the journey we are on together. “To understand what we’re doing, do you mind if I go back to how we met and how this all started?”

“I don’t mind at all. In fact, it’s a story I need to hear.”

I nod. “It will definitely help you understand me better. And, actually, it’s really exciting to have someone I can finally share all this with...”