Chase nods his head across the room, and before I can stop myself (dammit!), I turn in that direction. My eyes collide with Kenan’s and my breath stutters.
The man is fine. There’s no getting around that.
Obviously, he’s back from Philly. It’s okay that he hasn’t called. I’ve been telling myself that it’s for the best so we can keep things in a little box marked ‘friendship.’ It’s only now, when our eyes meet and cling, that I admit I was lying to myself. I missed him and hoped he’d call even while telling myself otherwise. My gaze drifts to the beautiful blond woman at his side.
“Oh, pretty blue-eyed blondes with big breasts not your type?”
“Used to be. I was married to one for a long time.”
He said “used to be,” but it looks like they still are. I jerk my head back around and Chase’s cruel scrutiny is waiting for me.
“Like I said,” Chase says with a stiff little smile, “it’s a good thing.”
“I heard she’s on that new reality show,” Amanda interjects. “Baller Bae, and that Kenan moved to New York to be closer to her since it’s taping here.”
That’s not how Kenan told it, but I’ve taken a vow of silence on the subject of Kenan Ross, and I’m certainly not breaking it for these two loose-lipped fools.
“Open your presents, Bill.” I lean past Chase to tell my friend. “If you don’t love what I gave you, I want it for myself.”
Billie doesn’t need much persuading, and squeals and coos over every gift. The whole time, I stubbornly refuse to look back in the direction of Kenan and his ex-wife, even though I feel his eyes on me more than once.
“Lo!” Billie’s squeaks and holds up the gift I made for her. “This is gorgeous. One of your designs?”
I smile and nod, swelling with quiet pride when Billie puts on the little bolero jacket. It’s sequined, and the stitching is so subtle it’s practically invisible. The embroidery on the elbows and at the collar is intricate and vibrant.
“I love it so much.” Billie stands for her hug. I take the few steps to reach the head of the table.
“I love you so much.” I hold her close and whisper in her ear, “Be careful what you wish for, Bill.”
She jerks back and peers into my face, startled green eyes searching mine for a knowledge she can’t be sure I have. I don’t even really know, but I get these urges. Promptings. Strong feelings. I don’t always know what they mean, and most of them I ignore, but every once in a while, I say what I see, and I see Billie wishing for something she shouldn’t have.
“Okay, enough of the love fest,” Chase says. “Either you two start making out or break it up and open my present, Billie.”
Billie stumbles back to sit down, sending a dazed look at me before starting back in on her pile of presents. I return to my seat, and feeling eyes on me from that direction, finally give in and glance over to Kenan’s table. I’m ready to cross my eyes or stick out my tongue—do something that throws him off his game—but it’s not Kenan staring at me.
It’s her.
Bridget Ross’s eyes are chilled, blue curacao in a frosted glass. I look away quickly, wondering why she’s staring at me. I’ve felt something connecting Kenan and me ever since the first time we met. Is she astute enough to discern the invisible ribbon tying us together across the room?
“You ready for this train?” Yari asks me once we’ve all paid our bills, boxed up what’s left of the cake, and are preparing to go our separate ways. “Girl, we gotta make this hump back to Brooklyn.”
“Yeah.” I snap myself out of any thoughts about Bridget and Kenan. “I’m gonna use the restroom before we start home.”
I rush off to the bathroom, hoping no one from our table follows. I need a minute to compose myself—to regain the resolve I had at the beginning of this journey to keep things simple. To be just friends. Because somewhere along the way, things changed, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that. If there’s one thing I have to be, it’s sure.
I’m walking down the dimly lit passage, almost at the women’s restroom, when one word from behind steals all the things I’m sure of, and dares me to take a chance.
“Button.”
14
Kenan
She stops midstride, but doesn’t turn.
She’s arresting enough from the back. While I was in Philly, she reinstated the braids. Bright and platinum in the half-light of the hall, they are gathered high at the crown of her head and held tight by chopsticks. She’s like a China doll, slight and curvy. Her emerald green dress with its high Mandarin collar and printed with pink cherry blossoms fits lovingly to the sinuous lines of her body.
She turns slowly, giving me plenty of time to brace for her, but I’m still not ready.