23. Kenna

23

KENNA

"If ya wanna make an omlette, ya gotta break a few eggs." ~ Archie "Witty" Whitlock

"So, how are things going with…" Taylor's words trailed off as she bounced her shoulders up and down.

"We're just friends," I stated out of habit. It was a Pavlovian response at this point whenever I was asked about Sam.

It had never been an outright lie before. But after last night, it felt like it might be. Although, people had friends with benefits. Was that what we were? Or was it just friends with benefi t , no s, not plural?

Taylor's face scrunched in confusion. "Isn't this the third date you've been on?"

"Oh, sorry, I thought…never mind." Even though I'd accidentally answered the question, thinking she was talking about Sam, my answer didn't change. Except with Jonah, it was actually true. He was an amazing guy, and I thought he was attractive, but I wasn't attracted to him. We were definitely in the friend zone. Tonight, had sealed the deal on that. I was hoping that seeing him tonight would get my mind off of Sam, but if anything, spending time with Jonah only emphasized what I felt about Sam and what I lacked with Jonah. "The fourth date, actually, but I think that this will be the last one."

It was frustrating that I didn't feel a spark with him. My life would be so much easier if I did. Jonah had every quality I wanted in a partner except one: he wasn't Sam. But if that was the make-or-break criteria, then I was going to be single for the rest of my life.

That thought made me want to drink. I grabbed a bottle of wine from the table, popped the cork out, and filled two glasses.

"None for me," Taylor waved her hand as I poured the second.

"Do you have to work later?" I asked, thinking that was why she was sticking to water.

"No." She leaned forward and whispered. "Actually, I'm…pregnant."

"Pregnant?" I whispered back.

She nodded and pulled a ring from her pocket. "We're getting married in two weeks."

"Married? Two weeks?" I parroted again.

"I have three days off between Christmas and New Year's," she explained. "It's going to be small. Well, as small as it can be in Wishing Well. Kane is going to walk me down the aisle and be Remi's best man. And I was wondering if you would be my maid of honor."

"Oh my gosh! Yes. Congratulations!" I whisper-yelled as I threw my arms around Taylor and felt her stiffen. She hated any form of PDA, but she was just going to have to deal with it. I was so ridiculously happy for her.

"Don't say anything to anyone," she whispered into my ear before pulling away from me. "I don't want anything to take away from your parents' night. I'm going to tell everyone in the next few days."

"Got it," I assured her as I saw Jonah approach us out of the corner of my eye.

"Hi." He smiled at both me and my cousin.

"I'm gonna go find my daughter. Last I saw, she was raiding the dessert table," Taylor excused herself.

When she left, Jonah reached out his hand. "Would you like to dance?"

"Sure." I nodded and placed my fingers in his palm.

The touch did nothing for me. No zip. No a. No dee. No doo. No dah. All Sam had to do was look at me and my entire body zip-a-dee-doo-dah'ed and zip-a-dee-a'ed. And it was sure a wonderful day.

As Jonah and I walked out to the dance floor, I felt goosebumps lift on my arm, and I knew, I knew that Sam had arrived. I glanced around the room and sure enough, he was there. He was wearing black slacks and a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, which put his forearm tattoos on display. He looked…so good.

We hadn't spoken since this morning, when my mom interrupted our breakfast. I had no idea how he was feeling about the night before. I'd been hoping to see him when I got back from my mom's hair appointment, but his truck wasn't in the driveway, so I knew that he wasn't home. It was there when I left an hour later, but since I was already running late, I didn't have time to pop next door and ask, " So how are you feeling about our one-night stand ?"

"This party is great." Jonah glanced around as he pulled me into his arms on the dance floor. "Your parents are really lucky to have found each other."

"They are." But I was not going to be the one to point that out to them because every time someone expressed that sentiment, they were met with a lecture from my mother about how a successful relationship isn't luck; it's hard work. It's commitment. It's compromise. It's never giving up on each other.

Even though I knew that was all true, and I'd witnessed them doing the work, I still felt like there was a little bit of luck in their story. My mom was born in Italy. My dad was born in Ireland. Both of their parents moved to the United States in search of the American dream. They met on the last day of school when my mom had just finished her freshman year, and my dad was a graduating senior. Not even just the last day; it was after the last bell rang and school was out. If my dad hadn't forgotten to turn in his biology book and my mom hadn't volunteered to work in the office that day after school, they would never have crossed paths since my dad left for boot camp two days later.

As Jonah and I moved across the dance floor, I looked at the pictures of them I'd gotten blown up that were hanging on the walls. My favorite was the one that was taken when my mom was saying goodbye to him as he got on the bus to go to basic training. His hands are cupping her face, and she's crying. She'd only known him for forty-eight hours, but she was heartbroken for him to leave.

When I looked back up at Jonah, I saw his expression had grown serious. "Can I ask you something?"

I wasn't sure what he was going to say, but I had a feeling I wouldn't like it. Still, I couldn't exactly say no .

"Sure."

His eyes narrowed slightly, and he tilted his head. "It's probably none of my business."

"That doesn't stop anyone else in this town."

"Right." He nodded as a warm smile spread on his face again.

I waited, looking up at him. I'd never seen this side of him. He looked hesitant to say whatever it was he wanted to say. Every interaction I'd had with him, he'd been so confident and self-assured. Seeing him unsure made me even more nervous about what his question was.

He cleared his throat. "I know that you and Sam are just friends, but are you sure there's nothing going on there?"

I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could say anything, Jonah continued.

"I'm only asking because he looks like he wants to use me for target practice right now."

My eyes shot to Sam, and I saw Jonah was not exaggerating. Sam looked like a sniper, and his scope was fixed on my date. I thought about explaining the behavior away by saying Sam was just protective of me, that we were friends, and that he thought of me like a sister, but after what happened last night, I didn't feel right doing that.

When I looked back up at Jonah, I told him the truth. Well, my truth anyway. "It's complicated."

"I thought so." I could see that he was a little disappointed, which even made me feel worse. "Well, as much as I've enjoyed getting to know you, I've always found that particular Facebook status a little crowded in a relationship."

"I'm sorry." I apologized.

"Don't be. I hope everything works out the way you want it to. But if not, you know where to find me."

"Thanks."

The song ended, and Jonah headed off the dance floor. As I glanced back to where Sam had been standing, I didn't see him anywhere. My first thought was that he'd probably snuck off to some dark corner with someone. That thought made me want to cry and punch someone at the same time.

What was I doing? Why had I just screwed up my chances with a hot, single man who was emotionally available and interested in me? For what?

Sam had never had a relationship last longer than a two-liter carton of milk in my fridge. I wasn't even sure of his reasoning for wanting to be my first. It could be that he'd offered himself as a tribute, Hunger Games style.

"Care to take a spin on the dance floor?" Brady Calhoun asked as he held his hand out to me.

Brady rubbed a lot of people the wrong way, but I'd always thought he was just misunderstood. I know that people accused me of having rose-colored glasses on and only seeing the good in people, but I'd rather give people the benefit of the doubt than become cynical and untrusting.

Plus, Brady was a really good dancer. Really good. And if Sam was off with his latest shiny thing, I didn't want to wallow the whole night. Dance or cry in the bathroom? There really was only one answer.

"Sure." I placed my hand in his, and as he spun me around the floor to "Country Girl" by Luke Bryan, I did my best to just have fun and not think about Sam Whitlock. And I almost succeeded. Almost.