I clear my throat to make room for the tiny no I speak out loud. “I googled it on my phone and read that it can take about one to two weeks for a restraining order request to process.”
I’m looking out my window when Ledger says, “You got a phone?”
“Yeah. A few days ago.”
He grabs his own phone and hands it to me. “Put in your info.”
I don’t like how bossy that seems. I don’t grab his phone. Instead, I look at it, and then at him. “What if I don’t want you to have my number?”
He pegs me with his stare. “I’m your boss. I need a way to contact my employees.”
I huff because I hate that he makes a valid point. I grab his phone and text myself so I’ll have his number, too, but when I save my information, I list myself as Nicole rather than Kenna. I don’t know who has access to his phone. Better safe than sorry.
I set his phone back in his phone holder as he pulls into my parking lot.
He swings open his door as soon as he kills his truck. He grabs the table, and I try to help him, but he says, “I’ve got it. Where do you want it?”
“Do you mind taking it upstairs?”
He heads that way, and I grab a couple of chairs. By the time I make it to my stairwell, he’s already heading back down to grab the rest of the chairs. He steps to the side, pressing his back against the railing to make room for me, but when I pass him, I can smell him. He smells like limes and bad decisions.
The table is propped up next to my apartment door. I unlock my door and then set the chairs next to the wall. I look out the window, and Ledger is grabbing the rest of the chairs from his truck, so I glance around my apartment to see if anything needs rectifying before he comes back up. There’s a bra on the couch, so I cover it up with a pillow.
Ivy is at my feet meowing, and I notice her food and water bowls are empty. I’m refilling them as Ledger taps on the door and then opens it. He brings the chairs and then the table inside.
“Anything else?” he asks.
I set Ivy’s water bowl down in the bathroom, and she goes straight for it. I close the door and shut her in the bathroom so she doesn’t try to escape through the open front door. “No. Thanks for the help.” I walk to the door so I can lock it after Ledger leaves, but he just stands by it, gripping the door handle.
“What time do you get off work at the grocery store tomorrow?”
“Four.”
“Our T-ball game should end around then. I can give you a ride, but I might be a little late.”
“It’s okay. I can walk. The weather is supposed to be nice.”
He says, “Okay,” but he lingers in the doorway for an uncomfortable beat.
Should I tell him I overheard him?
I probably should. If there’s one thing spending five years without a life taught me, it’s that I don’t want to waste a single second of the life I have left being scared of confrontation. My cowardice is a big part of why my life has turned out the way it has.
“I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop,” I say, wrapping my arms around myself. “But I heard your conversation with Roman.”
Ledger’s eyes flick away from my face, like that makes him uncomfortable.
“Why did you tell him to be careful around me?”
Ledger presses his lips together in thought. His throat slowly rolls with his swallow, but he still doesn’t say anything. He just looks torn as his face takes on what looks like a world of pain. He leans his head against the doorframe and looks down at his feet. “Was I wrong?” His question is barely above a whisper, but it feels like a scream echoing inside of me. “Would you not do anything for Diem?”
I blow out a frustrated breath. That feels like a trick question. Of course I’d do anything for her, but not at the expense of others. I don’t think. “That’s not a fair question.”
He locks eyes with me again, and I can feel my pulse beginning to pound.
“Roman is my best friend,” he says. “No offense, but I barely know you, Kenna.”
He might not know me, but he feels like the only person I know.
“I still don’t know if what happened between us the first night you showed up at my bar was authentic, or if it was all an act to get to Diem.”
I rest my head against the wall and watch Ledger’s expression. He’s looking at me with patience, and not at all with judgment. It’s like he truly does want to know if the kiss we shared was authentic. It’s almost as if it meant something to him.