A Dad for Her Twins. Tanya MichaelsЧитать онлайн книгу.
two small, dependent babies. Mick’s failed attempts to be there for them had reinforced her determination to be independent. She must really be tired from the move if she was tempted to lean on a total stranger.
Straightening, Kenzie regained her composure. “Will you stay and eat with us, or do you have family waiting for you to join them for dinner?”
“Enrique and I ate early—he says waiting too late gives him heartburn at night—but I would love to stay for a few minutes and get to know you better.”
Kenzie dished up three servings of the tamale pie and poured glasses of sweet tea. At her first bite of the dinner, she nearly moaned. “Oh, this is so good!” she told a delighted Mrs. Sanchez.
Drew grunted acknowledgment, but refused to slow his eating long enough to vocalize praise. Leslie looked disgusted by his behavior.
“Boys,” she muttered imperiously. “Mrs. Sanchez, would you give my mom and me the recipe for this? We probably couldn’t make it this good, but it might be fun to try.”
“I’m pleased you like it!” Mrs. Sanchez said. “I’ll bring the recipe up sometime this week.”
“No practicing cooking while I’m at work, though,” Kenzie told her daughter. “Sandwiches and microwaved snacks only.” The kids were maturing, but not enough that she wanted them messing with a gas stove unsupervised.
When conversation revealed that Mrs. Sanchez was home most days, Kenzie thought about getting the woman’s phone number so that the kids had an emergency contact right here in the building. Mrs. Sanchez seemed to know every one of their neighbors. Along with Mr. C., the first-floor tenants were a young married couple with a two-year-old who begged them to take her for rides on the elevator, a Georgia Tech grad student and the crusty Wilders.
“They’ve been married nearly forty years and have raised bickering to an art form,” Mrs. Sanchez told Kenzie after the kids had cleared the table and returned to their abandoned book and video game. “They tell anyone who will listen that they’re determined to outlive the other. If you ask me, though, they’re crazy about each other and smart enough to know nobody else would put up with either of them.”
The second floor, where Mrs. Sanchez and her husband lived, included a woman with six cats—Kenzie hated to think about her pet-deposit bill—and a family with two teenage daughters. Mrs. Sanchez said that should Kenzie ever need a sitter, she could give fifteen-year-old Alicia a call.
“Not her older sister, though. Boy crazy, that one. If she was thinking about a boy or on the phone with a boy—which she always is—she wouldn’t notice a child spurting arterial blood in front of her. Then there’s the third floor,” Mrs. Sanchez continued. “You, a flight attendant named Meegan and, of course, Jonathan. You’ve met him?”
Kenzie nodded. Questions bubbled up inside her, trying to pop free, but she bit her tongue. Voicing any curiosity conflicted with her resolve as a practical single mother to have no interest in him.
Mrs. Sanchez paused, her prolonged silence and dark eyes making Kenzie feel as if she had to say something.
“He, uh, seems nice. We didn’t talk much, but he helped me carry some stuff to the apartment when I dropped a box on the stairs.”
“He’s a good man,” Mrs. Sanchez said, her tone wistful. “Sometimes, I wish I could have known him before…”
“Before what?” The question spilled out of its own volition. Ann would be so disappointed. Hadn’t Kenzie, approaching thirty, learned to temper her impulses with more discipline?
To Kenzie’s surprise, Mrs. Sanchez wasn’t quick to fill in the blanks of JT’s history as she had been with the other occupants.
“Before he moved here,” was all she said. “He had a different life and must have been a very different man. Maybe you can get to know him better at the Labor Day rooftop picnic. Everyone in the building comes! Well, not Meegan, if she’s traveling. You’ll still be here Labor Day, won’t you? That’s right around the corner.”
Kenzie nodded. “We don’t move until mid-October. We just needed somewhere to stay in the interim.”
“You picked the right place! Peachy Acres is a nice group of people, but a little nosy,” Mrs. Sanchez said with a grin. “Once residents know I’ve met you, they’ll want to hear all about the new lady in 3D.”
“Not much to hear,” Kenzie said. “Mother of two with a desk job at a bank. Very staid.”
Mrs. Sanchez raised an eyebrow. “I suspect there is more to your story than that.”
Not if I’m lucky. After her unorthodox childhood and tumultuous marriage, Kenzie aspired to an uneventful life with as few surprises as possible. Although, she conceded as she walked Mrs. Sanchez to the door and thanked her again for the unexpected visit and wonderful food, not all surprises were bad. As she had the thought, she couldn’t help glancing past Mrs. Sanchez at the closed door of apartment 3C. Mrs. Sanchez’s earlier words ran through her head. He had a different life and must have been a very different man.
What kind of surprises had life dealt Jonathan Trelauney?
IN ART SCHOOL, entire semesters could be spent in the study of perspective. There was no question JT needed to change his perspective. With a growl of frustration, he stood up from his desk. Maybe a change of scenery would help this afternoon. Sure as hell couldn’t hurt.
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