It Matters To Me (The Wandering Hearts Book 2) (8 page)

Me:
Have you seen Kenzie?

Callie:
Trouble in paradise, lover?

I roll my eyes at her response. Leave it to Callie to never miss an opportunity to flirt, even if it’s with one of her friends’ boyfriend. Boyfriend? Is that what I still am? I feel a panic creep into my chest.

Me:
I’m getting worried about her.

Callie:
She bailed on girl’s night and our night of debauchery.

I pause, allowing an ounce of hope to enter my thoughts.

Me:
Did she say why?

Callie:
Girl stuff.

What the hell does that mean? I wonder.

“Screw this,” I growl, scrolling through my contacts and clicking on Kenzie’s name.

I wait, listening to each ring as I hold my breath.
Answer. Answer. Please Answer.

“Hello?” There’s hesitation in her voice, but I don’t care, she answered.

“Kenz? Are you okay?”

There’s the hesitation again. Then a breath into the phone, followed by silence.

“Kenz?” I ask, my voice shaking.

“I’m here,” she answers softly.

“Where have you been?” I try my best to start the conversation, but I can’t seem to shield my anger and frustration.

“Around.” She gives me nothing. There’s the stubborn girl I know so well.

I imagine what she looks like on the other end of the line. Does she have her hair collected into her signature loose, top-of-the-head bun, or is she letting her red tresses fall and frame her face like she knows I like?

“Can we talk?” I growl.

She doesn’t lose control. There’s no crack in her voice or stress in her breathing. She’s confident and sure when she replies. “There’s nothing left to talk about.”

“How can you say that?” I snap.

“I don’t have time for this.”

Her words hurt more than I believe they were intended to.

“Why?” I demand. “Where are you going?” The curiosity overwhelms me as I imagine her rushing off to meet another man.
Don’t,
I tell myself.
That’s not Kenz. She wouldn’t leave you for someone else.
But, as the silence lingers after my question, the doubt begins to grow.
Would she?

She sighs and my eyes close. An uneasy feeling wraps itself around my ankles, anchoring me to the spot where I’m standing. Something shifts in my heart and I’m suddenly unsure of everything.

“Ben, I meant it when I said—”

“Kenz,” I interject, wanting more than anything in the world for her not to say the words I know are coming next.

“We’re done.” But she says them anyway. “I have to go,” she says before I can string together the perfect sentence. The sentence that will fix it all; the sentence that will win her back. There’s a click and then a deafening silence.

“Kenz?” I question, even though I already know she’s hung up. “Damn it!” I shout, my desperation transforming into anger again.

I imagine her big doe eyes, the pools of jade sparkling.

“Everything okay son?” My dad’s voice cuts through the thoughts.

“Huh?” I gasp. “Oh yeah, fine.” I lie.

“Good, then if you’re done with your love life drama, Mr. Thompson has been waiting over thirty minutes for his oil change,” my father teases. I smile weakly, thankful for the distraction.

Hesitating, I think of claiming the last word in the conversation with Kenzie by sending a text, but then think better of it, shoving the phone into my pocket.

H
ONEY.
I
’VE PASSED THE RESTAURANT
a couple dozen times but have never been inside. While it is a casual place, it also isn’t a restaurant in mine or Ben’s budget. When Aiden texted me the location, I considered asking that we go somewhere else. Then curiosity got the better of me. After all, when else will I have the chance to eat at the chic farm-to-table eatery?

Stepping inside, I see the hostess speaking to a young couple in front of me. My eyes dart around the open floor plan, an exposed brick wall, bare industrial ceilings, and reclaimed wood from floor to ceiling. I snicker to myself as I notice there’s no shortage of hipster diners. Ben would hate this place.

My phone buzzes and I retrieve it from my small black handbag. My chest tightens.
Speak of the devil.
He just won’t let this drop, no matter how many times I tell him we’re not getting back together.

Ben:
Where are you?

Me:
It doesn’t matter.

Ben:
It Matters to Me.

My eyes involuntarily roll. I’m sure very little matters to Ben, other than Ben.

Me:
Well it shouldn’t.

Ben:
What is that supposed to mean?

Me:
It means it’s not your concern anymore.

Ben:
Seriously Kenz, where in the hell are you?

Me:
We’re done Ben.

Ben:
Fine, whatever.

His final text stabs through my heart like a hot poker of truth. I want him to leave me alone—why does it hurt so badly every time we interact? I want to tell him I’ll always love him. I want to tell him that this has nothing to do with who he is, but everything to do with who we are together—but how can I? He’ll never understand because he thinks when we’re together we’re perfect. He can’t stop long enough to look at us and see that together we’re all wrong. We hardly interact with one another when we’re in the same room. I can be sitting right next to him and yet I’m further from him than I’ve ever been.

I look down at my screen, and see the dots indicating Ben is unleashing the mother of all text messages to me. I moan in frustration, unsure why I ever thought a break up with him would be easy.

“There she is,” I hear, followed by a pause. I look up to Aiden’s smile, as he’s standing behind the hostess. He’s dressed in a pair of jeans that hug his hips and bottom in a way that my eyes can’t stop themselves from lingering. A blue sweater is pulled over a button up plaid shirt, the tails of which peek out from the bottom of the wool top layer. He’s hot, but in a way that looks like he doesn’t even try. I, on the other hand, spent most of the evening trying on everything in my closet. And ended up deciding on one of Ben’s favorite outfits.

Quickly I shove my phone into my handbag and force a smile.

“Right this way,” the hostess offers with a wave of her well-manicured hand. I envy her ability to enjoy her job. I smile and walk next to Aiden as we follow the petite and cheery brunette.

“Everything okay?” Aiden whispers. My back stiffens as I feel his warm breath on my neck, just below my ear.

I smile through my lie. “Fine.”

We sit. I glance at the single page menu, trying not to think about the multiple vibrations in my purse, indicating additional messages from Ben.

My mouth begins to water as I read the description of the roasted half chicken on top of mashed butternut squash and potatoes. I look up at Aiden. He runs his fingers through his hair, his eyes intensely narrowed at the page of delectable yumminess in front of him.

I bite my lip, apprehensively pulling my phone out into my lap, even though I know I shouldn’t. It doesn’t matter how many times I tell myself not to look at that damn screen. I can’t help it, I have to look.

Ben:
I guess I’ll just start telling myself I’m over you and the way you look in that little black dress.

Damn him and damn this dress. Why didn’t I go with the torn jeans? Why did I have to switch to Ben’s favorite right before I left?

Ben:
I’m not sure if it’s the way you felt in my arms or the way you always laughed at my jokes that’s making this so hard. Perhaps it’s the man you make me want to be. I can’t quit thinking about that crinkle in your nose when you smile, but if it’s what you truly want, I’ll try. I’ll keep telling myself I’m over you and hope I might start to believe it. I doubt that’s possible.

My head is spinning, and all of the air is leaving my chest as if I’ve been punched in the gut. Years together and he has never managed to put two romantic words together, let alone something so eloquent. I glance down at my black dress— the black dress. A tear escapes.
Damn it Ben.
My thoughts are swimming in a whirlpool of confusion.

“Kenzie,” Aiden begins. He can see me, through the smoke and the cloudy exterior I try to put up. He sees the pain, everyone can see it. I hate I can’t hide it. “What’s wrong?”

I gasp, shaking my head. My heart feels as if it’s shrinking into a pile of dead ash by the moment. “I’m so sorry. Just ignore me,” I force a laugh through my watery gaze and tight throat.

He reaches across the table, placing a hand just short of mine. I wonder if his skin is warm, if his flesh would be comforting to me or alarming. “I’m a pretty good listener,” he offers in a tender tone.

His sincerity surprises me. The concerned eyes and empathetic smile seem different from the man I worked alongside all day.

I laugh again, hoping it diminishes the perceived drama that I’m sure it must sound like I’m spewing. “Just guy trouble.”

“Ah, I see.” He sits back and smiles in a way that makes me think he has jumped to the wrong conclusion.

I shake my head. “No, I don’t think you do.” I’m not one of those pathetic girls that desperately chases after a man who doesn’t want her, and from his glare, I can see he thinks I am exactly that pathetic.

He presses his lips together, crossing his arms. “Let me guess…” He taps his chin with a single finger as he studies me.

I lift my eyebrows. “This should be interesting,” I snark.

“No, come on now, give me a chance,” he continues. “I’m good at this stuff.”

“What stuff is that?”

“Reading people,” he answers.

“Is that right?”

He lifts his shoulders casually and shrugs, and I catch a quick flutter of his eyes. “I can’t help it. It’s a talent I was born with.”

I go to bite the inside of my jaw, trying to stop myself from throwing down the gauntlet, but it’s too late, my tongue is quicker than my teeth and the words leap from my mouth. “Okay then, let’s hear it. What is it you think my guy trouble is?”

“You don’t need me to tell you, you already know.”

I smirk though inside I’m relieved. “Exactly. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He’s no longer looking at me with humor in his eyes. There’s a seriousness to them now. Like the one he got when he was in work mode at the studio. “No Kenzie, I know exactly what I’m talking about.”

He leans forward, eyeing me from side to side. I swallow hard. He continues, folding his hands in front of him, “You thought you had met Mr. Right. Everything was headed toward that big final happily ever after and wedding bells. But something wasn’t right.”

He pauses. He doesn’t take his eyes off of me as I shift uncomfortably in my seat. I want to tell him he’s wrong, but so far he has hit the proverbial nail on the head.

“Something changed, though. Maybe him … maybe you. Or maybe the problem was nothing ever changed. Regardless, you realized you wanted more, but he’s having a hard time letting go.” He shakes his head. “But what do I know, right?”