Page 16 of Tempt (Peachwood Falls #1)

C hase

Here goes nothing.

Kennedy sits at the table with her knees pulled up to her chest. No fire is coming out of her nostrils, and the daggers in her stare are relatively dull. I’ll take it .

“Hey, Kennedy,” Megan says.

She doesn’t smile but doesn’t frown, either. It’s a shield of well-constructed apathy. “Hi.”

“Your uncle Gavin is a lot to deal with in the morning,” Megan says as she pulls out a chair and sits. “He gave me a ride from the rental car place a little while ago, and I swear he didn’t take a breath. Talked all the way here.”

“Dad is that way too.” She tilts her head toward me. “But I guess you’ll know that soon enough.”

I watch her carefully, pausing before I respond. The more time passes in silence—with me looking straight at her—the stronger my point. Eventually, she sighs and turns her attention to the sleeve of her shirt.

“So you aren’t a morning person?” Megan asks her.

“Me? No,” Kennedy says. “Having to get out of bed in the morning ruins my day every day.”

“Good,” Megan says.

Kennedy eyes her curiously. “Good?”

“No, it’s not good,” I say. “I make Mom wear a shield to wake her up just in case she throws things.”

It’s a joke, mostly. Kennedy isn’t easy to deal with before school. But as soon as I admit it, I worry that will throw Megan for a loop.

She surprises me.

“You better buy Kennedy a shield, too, because I don’t function before the sun is up,” Megan says. “And the only thing worse than actually getting up is dealing with someone happy about it.”

Kennedy fights a smile. I do too.

“I don’t want to be anywhere early,” Megan says, reclining in her seat and speaking directly to Kennedy. “I don’t need to discuss the weather. And please don’t tell me you’re a big breakfast person because, if you are, we’ll need to figure out a grab-and-go thing. I can’t eat before ten.”

Kennedy sits up, dropping her sleeve to her side. “Okay, same . Gram gets upset that I hate breakfast. So she sends a cereal bar with me every morning, and I give it away in first period. If I eat that early, I want to puke.”

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” I say.

“Actually, that’s not true.” Megan grins, her blue eyes sparkling. “Recent studies have shown that lunch might be the most important meal of the day.”

“Oh, bullshit.”

“No, Daddy, it’s true,” Kennedy says. “Think about it. It makes sense. If you eat a little lunch, aren’t you ready to eat anything you can get your hands on by the time you get home? But if you eat a bigger lunch, you’re not dying. Right?”

What the hell is going on here?

I suppress my smile—because God knows that an indication that I’m happy with how this is going might set off my child—and settle back in my seat.

“You know,” Kennedy says slyly. “Maybe I should warn Megan about what a grump you can be when you get home from work.”

“Excuse me?” I say over their laughter. “I work hard for ten, twelve hours a day and then come home to you fighting with Neve or crying over algebra or?—”

“Whoa, let me cut in here,” Megan says, holding up a hand. “Crying over algebra is excused. Come on, Chase . Have a heart.”

“Yeah, Dad . Come on. Have a heart.”

I wonder if Megan hates algebra and mornings or if she’s rolling with the punches to win over Kennedy. Because by the looks of things, they’re forming a team. And for whatever reason—reasons that I won’t give too much thought—it’s cute.

“Algebra never killed anyone.” I smile. “That’s all I’m saying.”

Megan winces. “Well, except Hippasus.”

“Hippa-who?” I ask.

“Hippasus. He was an early follower of Pythagoras. Legend says that he was executed for demonstrating the existence of irrational numbers.”

“I knew it.” Kennedy throws her arms in the air. “I knew math was dangerous. I’ve felt it in my bones for years.”

Megan smirks and shrugs.

“Can I use this as an excuse to get out of algebra?” Kennedy asks. “I think death by the mob over irrational numbers is a solid argument.”

“Good try. No ,” I say quickly before shifting in my seat toward Megan. “How did you know that? That’s the most random thing to know.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Kennedy laughs. “It didn’t matter, but now it does. How did you know?”

Megan’s cheeks flush. “Fine. When I was a teenager, my mom married this guy, Rick. They were married for almost ten years. Anyway, he had a son, Rodrick, and I despised that kid. He would come over on the weekends, or every other one, and was such a know-it-all. It didn’t matter what you were talking about; Rodrick knew all about it.

I got so mad at him once that I brought up menstruating, thinking he’d bail on that conversation.

But nope. He tried to tell me all about how women’s bodies worked, and I’ve never wanted to punch someone in the face so hard in my entire life. ”

“How old was he?” I ask, chuckling at the idea of a younger version of Megan trying to fight.

“Fourteen.” She looks at Kennedy, who is watching her, amused. “Fourteen-year-old boys don’t know shit. Ah ,” she says, making a face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Said what?” Kennedy asks.

“Shit.”

I laugh. “You’re fine.”

“Yeah. You’ve met my dad and my uncle Gavin. I mean, everyone is allowed to curse but me,” Kennedy says.

“Because you’re still building your vocabulary, and you don’t need to resort to cheap words to express yourself,” I tell her. Again . “And if you,” I say, turning to Megan, “know some random fact that goes against this theory, keep it to yourself this time.”

Megan narrows her eyes, trying to decide whether I’m kidding. I toss her a wink and watch the air exhale from her lungs.

“I would like to reiterate that part about fourteen-year-old boys not knowing shit,” I say, grinning. “That was the best fact of the day.”

“You’ll never think boys know anything, Dad.”

“You’re right—because they won’t. I know because I was one.”

“So when, exactly, does that change?” Kennedy smacks her lips together. “Otherwise, how do I know you know what you’re talking about? You’re a grown-up boy.”

“Simple. When someone, not just boys, can make decisions based on character and not emotions, you can give things they say a little credit.”

Megan nods emphatically. “Oh, I like that. I like that a lot.”

“That’s good, huh? It came to me one day while I was driving home from work.”

She lifts a brow. “So you think about emotional maturity while driving home from work? What do you think about before going to sleep?”

Last night, your ass . “Depends on the day.”

A slow smirk slips across her lips as if she just read my mind.

I shift in my seat again. Change the subject, Chase. Fast. “On a serious note, I’ll update the school contacts list with Megan’s name tonight. Ride the bus home, Kennedy, and do homework before you even think about asking to do anything.”

“Dad. Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously.”

She groans as if I just told her she was grounded. “I thought that since Gram isn’t here, maybe we could modernize things a little bit. You know, ease up on the reins.”

“Negative.”

“ Dad .”

“No.”

Kennedy doesn’t give up. Instead, she banters back and forth, countering every point and reason I give with a surprisingly strong argument. A part of me is exhausted from the constant bickering with her—the poking at boundaries and her challenging me on practically everything.

But another part of me is proud of that very thing.

I don’t want her growing up too ready to agree with anything someone says. I want her to think. To stand up for herself. To not be afraid to push back for the things she wants. Things that matter.

Even if it is biting me in the ass at the moment.

Megan watches us with an amused grin, her chin cupped in her hand and elbow resting on the table.

Just as I’m about to ask if she has anything to add—for no reason other than to include her in the conversation—the door to the mudroom flings open.

“Hey, Mr. Marshall. Miss me?” Neve says, her curly red hair bouncing against her shoulders.

“Terribly.”

She laughs as she prances around the room until she’s standing behind Kennedy. “You must be the babysitter.”

Megan laughs. “It’s nice to meet you, Neve.”

I groan. “Not you with the babysitter crap too.”

“Well, I’m the best friend,” Neve says, pleased with herself for irritating me. “I would say I’m Mr. Marshall’s favorite non-relative, but”—she makes a point of looking at Megan before returning her gaze to me—“I think that’s probably not true these days.”

Kennedy pushes her head back against Neve’s stomach.

“Neve,” I say, ignoring Megan’s stare, “pretend you have manners, okay?”

“Sure thing, boss. Moving on, I bet you’re wondering why I’m here.”

“You know—I’m not, really.” I just wish you’d leave .

Neve sighs. “I’ll cut to the chase. No pun intended.” She giggles at her joke. “Can Kennedy please, please, please come over today?’

“Please, Dad?”

“Mom said she’ll bring her home tonight—whenever you want,” Neve promises. “And we’ll be on time because I know you got a little upset when we were, like, five minutes late last time.”

I snort. “Five minutes, Neve? Are we just lying outright now, or what?”

“Fine. Thirty-five or whatever it was.”

“It was forty-five, and none of you, including your mother, answered your phones.”

Megan grimaces.

“Do you have any fun facts about tardiness?” I ask her.

She shakes her head. “Don’t pull me into this one. You’re handling it fine on your own.”

“Oh, come on,” Kennedy says. “Where’s the girl bond now?”

“Are you girl bonding with someone besides me?” Neve asks, gasping. “I’m shocked.”

Megan laughs. “I just knew that math killed someone once. I’m not here to steal your best friend, Neve. Relax.”

She stands tall. “I would hope not. We’ve been through it together.”

“Been through it? Through what?” I ask. “You’re fourteen.”

“Can we not point out how old I am for the fourteen hundredth time this week?” Kennedy fake cries. “Will this stop when I’m fifteen, or will you just change the language?”

Megan lifts a finger. “Okay, I’m going to chime in here. She has a point, Chase.”

“Whose side are you on?” I ask, dropping my jaw.

Her smile could defuse a bomb. “No sides. I’m on a balcony over here as an unbiased third party.”

I intend on flipping my attention back on the girls. There’s still a battle to be fought, after all. But the rosiness in Megan’s cheeks, the sparkle in her eyes—the hint of debauchery hidden in her sweet grin—distracts me.

Focus, Chase. Don’t go there.

I clear my throat.

Megan turns away. “What are you two wanting to do this afternoon? What do teenagers do for fun in Peachwood Falls?”

“Nothing,” Neve says, wrinkling her nose. “There’s nothing to do in Peachwood Falls.”

“We’ll probably just hang out. We won’t be making videos ,” Kennedy says, side-eyeing me. “We might … do our nails. Who knows?”

I fire Kennedy a warning glare to remind her I wasn’t playing. If she makes any more half-clothed videos for social media, she’ll not have a phone until she moves out of this house.

A horn beeps in the distance.

“Fine,” I say, giving in. “Go. Be home before six.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Kennedy hops up and kisses me on the cheek. “You’re the best.”

“Six. Not six oh one.”

“Got it.” Kennedy follows Neve to the door, sticking tight to her heels. “See you later, Megan.”

“It was nice to meet you, Megan,” Neve calls out.

“Bye, girls.”

The door closes swiftly as if they’re afraid I’ll change my mind.

As soon as we’re alone, the air shifts. Shadows dance across the tabletop. Megan’s jasmine perfume scents the air, and my body temperature rises.

I struggle to remember our conversation yesterday. I remind myself that my child—the same one that occupied the seat next to me a minute ago—is my priority. Over and over, I replay all the reasons I can’t afford to get off track.

Why I can’t touch Megan Kramer.

My muscles tighten in my stomach and across the back of my neck as I lift my gaze from the tabletop to her.

She grins. It’s simple, but when coupled with the heat in her eyes, nothing about it is sweet. “That was fun.”

I hold her gaze, unable to look away.

This is the first day, Chase. Twenty-nine more to go. Don’t blow it already .

I smirk and push away from the table.

I need to put some distance between us before things get really fun.