I had liked one, loved him in fact. But three weeks before our enormous society wedding, he’d informed me God had told him to break up with me.
Apparently, the Almighty already had His divine eye on someone new for His devout follower because Mark had immediately shown up in public with a new girlfriend. They were now quite in love, or so I heard.
Deb leaned back in her chair and stretched, then scrubbed her fingers through her dark, short-cropped hair before sitting up straight again.
“Well, all I’m saying is you should take it easy on Larson—give the guy a chance. He doesn’t have too many real friends here. And underneath that silver-spoon, Park Avenue exterior is the kind of boy you want to bring home to Momma.”
I literally shuddered at that thought. “Mine would marry him herself if he looked at her twice.”
The only person more distressed than me by my broken engagement had been my mother.
Mark Fitzsimmons (of the Buckhead Fitzsimmons) hadn’t just been my fiancé. He’d been her trophy, a wealthy future son-in-law to parade around at social events, a name to drop among friends at the country club my parents couldn’t really afford. He was living proof she’d done her job—made her daughter desirable to a man from Atlanta’s highest social echelon and married her off to money—almost.
My phone rang, and I checked the screen—Missouri area code. “Beth? How are you? You’re all okay?”
“Hi. Yes. It hit just south of us. My neighborhood seems to be fine. So—reporting for Worldwide News—really?”
“We’ve got a crew on the way, but they won’t make it in until tomorrow, and there’s no local affiliate close to you. We need some pictures tonight, like, as soon as possible. How fast can you get over to the hospital? And please tell me your phone can record video.”
Beth agreed to help us out, and I gave her the number to call for the director’s booth when she started seeing some tornado damage. We’d put her eyewitness account live on the air along with any video she could shoot.
“We’ve got ourselves an iReporter,” I said to Deb as I ended the call.
“Awesome. Can you finish a couple of scripts for me while I work on the new rundown?”
“No problem.”
Beth did a nice job with her off-the-cuff reporting, better than the fire chief, actually. Poor guy’s voice was shaking the whole time. And Larson handled the constantly-changing show smoothly, making what was chaos behind the scenes look planned somehow.
He was a spoiled-rich-pretty-boy, but I had to admit he did have some talent.
After the show I gathered my things, trying to scoot out as quickly as possible. The crew often went out for drinks after the show. I’d avoided the get-togethers so far, and tonight would be no exception.
Saying a quick goodbye to Deb, who’d just emerged from the director’s booth, I headed for the hallway.
“Kenley.”
Shivers. Could I pretend I hadn’t heard him?
No—that would be weird. I turned to face Larson. Goodness gracious, the man was beautiful. I swallowed. “Yes?”
“Nice work tonight. Some of us are heading for Darby’s. Want to join us?”
And now my heart’s slamming like he just asked me for unprotected sex. Regulate yourself, Kenley.
“Oh. No. Thanks. I can’t. I have to… get home.”
“You sure?” His face contracted in a cajoling smile. God, he had a good smile.
Of course with his family’s money, he’d undoubtedly had access to the orthodontist-to-the-stars, but it was more about what the rest of his face was doing. He had the most appealing laugh lines I’d ever seen, radiating out from the sides of his mouth and even appearing at the corners of his eyes whenever he laughed or smiled.
Which he was doing now with heart-liquifying effectiveness as he approached me.
“Traffic’s going to be a nightmare out there right now—unless you enjoy spending quality time on 285 with America’s least patient drivers.”
I took a shallow breath. “Right. I know. But I’d better get started. My family, you know. They’re expecting me for dinner.”
Now I sound like I’m ten years old. He probably had a mental image of me pedaling down the interstate on a sparkly pink bicycle with handle streamers.
Larson’s answering grin looked genuine, not derisive. “A family that has dinner together. Must be nice.”
I nodded and whirled around again, hot-faced, eager to reach the safety of my car, but not necessarily to go home.
Family dinners probably were nice in some homes. In mine, they’d been considerably less nice since my failure to close the deal with Mark.
At our table, the main dish was a generous portion of guilt served with a side of pressure.
Two
Home Sweet Home
“I’m home.” I stepped into the kitchen from the garage, inhaling the aroma of chicken and dumplings and homemade cornbread. “Mmm. Dinner smells good.”
Momma didn’t look up from the pot she was stirring. “This is your father’s. I made a salad for you and Cinda.”
“Okay…” Clearly the calorie police were on duty tonight.
Maybe I had gotten a little too friendly with Ben and Jerry in the wake of my breakup, but I was far from overweight, and it irked me to have my food intake supervised.
Just one of the many delights of moving back in with my parents at age twenty-three.
My younger sister Cinda also lived at home while taking classes at Georgia Tech in the heart of Atlanta.
“Where is she? Is there a game tonight?” I asked, opening the fridge to pull out a pitcher of tea.
Blonde, blue-eyed, and medium-height, Cinda could’ve been my clone, except for the athletic gene that had missed my DNA and hit hers full force.
Oh and the killer-smart gene, too. I could never have gotten into Tech.
“Yes, she should be here directly.” Momma finally turned to look at me. “Oh the good Lord help us, Kenley—you didn’t go to work like that, did you?”
She’d been at her morning tennis match when I’d left the house today. Now she stared, her face the picture of dismay.
Stopping in place like a toddler caught in the middle of a naughty act, I looked down at my outfit—jeans, a loose sweater, flats. Perfectly ordinary. I knew it was my bare face that troubled her more than my clothes, though I was sure she didn’t love them either.
“Well, since you can see I just came home from work, yes, this must be how I went to work.”
Forcing my stiff body back into motion, I went to the cabinet and taking out four glasses. I filled them with ice and sweet tea, trying to control the angry burn rising from my chest to my hairline. I should totally have gone out for drinks with the gang from work. I was rapidly getting in the mood for something stronger than tea.
“This is pretty typical of what producers wear there, Momma. It’s not like I’m on-air anymore.”
She let out an exasperated sigh. “Unfortunately. But that doesn’t mean you have to go out dressed like someone’s housekeeper.”
“There’s my hardworking girl.” Daddy walked into the kitchen from the living room and kissed my cheek. “I think you look beautiful, baby girl. As always.”