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I took a long sip of the ice water on the table. When I set the glass down, I answered her. “Every time you walk away from me, it’s written on your ass.”
Her face went as red as the sun beginning to dip into the ocean. She nodded and sat back in her chair, picking up the menu to give her something to do besides spar with me. She took an incredibly long time perusing the options. It was basically fish or seafood. Blackened or fried.
The waiter came over and took our orders, returning with a beer for me and a fancy drink for Kenna. She made little noises over the umbrella in the frothy liquid and the colors of the alcohol in the glass. Her first sip had her closing her eyes and rocking back and forth in her chair.
“Need a moment alone with your drink?” I drawled.
Kenna’s eyes shot open. “I haven’t had a decent drink in years. Let me enjoy it.”
For how much personal information she’d dumped on me when she had her breakdown, she was still a stranger. “They don’t sell alcohol in California?”
Kenna twisted in her chair to stare at the sunset. The dying rays of the sun highlighted the natural red tones Char had put back in Kenna’s hair. She kicked her feet out to stretch out her legs and looked like she was finally relaxing. The Dirty Hooker could do that to you with the straw palapas lending shade from the sun, the sand between your toes, and the reggae music softly playing in the background. It was impossible to be stressed here.
“My soon-to-be ex-husband wasn’t a fan of me drinking.”
This guy sounded like an absolute tool. “Are you a messy drunk?” I needed to know these things, considering I was the one responsible for driving her home tonight.
Kenna turned to me, her soft smile making her look younger than when she’d first arrived on the key. “No. He just had very specific rules about things.”
I opened my mouth to explore what kind of rules he had, but quite frankly, I didn’t give a fuck about that man. It sounded like Kenna would be better off without him, so why drag the past into our conversation? The waiter arrived with our food, the steaming plates making my mouth water. I’d forgotten lunch today.
We both tucked into our food, but I finally put my fork down to watch Kenna. I’d never seen a woman attack a plate of shrimp tacos quite like her. She let out little moans here and there, licking her fingers and scraping the tines of her fork against the plate to get the last little bit of refried beans. She looked up at some point, realizing I was watching her. She froze.
“Making up for lost time?” I asked, wondering if her ex had some sort of rule about eating too.
Kenna swallowed her bite of food and sat up straight, as if she was trying confidence on for size for the first time. “Actually, yes. I didn’t eat much married to Justin. He liked me thin.”
Something about the way her voice trembled made my gut churn with anger. I’d never met the guy but I’d be willing to punch him in the face if he showed up in Sunshine Key.
“Fuck that,” I snapped. “I prefer women exactly as nature intended. Men who feel the need to change a woman make me wonder about their fragile manhood.”
Kenna’s face went from shocked to a blinding smile. “Can’t say I disagree with that.”
I tilted my head to the side. “Are we actually agreeing on something, Kenna?”
She guffawed and tucked back into the side of rice on her plate. I ordered us another round of drinks just to see Kenna sway side to side in food bliss. When the sun had completely set and our plates were officially scraped clean, we headed back home, chatting about nothing in particular like we were actually friends.
Harley: Let’s take Kenna out on the boat. I want to meet this woman who’s monopolizing my best friend’s time.
Me: You sound like a jealous girlfriend.
Harley: And you sound like you’re trying to change the subject.
Me: Good night, Harlan.
Harley: Watch your tone. Don’t make me use your real name, young man.
Chapter Nine
Kenna
The plants seemed to reach for my ankles as I walked through the living room, so I closed one eye. I stubbed my toe on the coffee table, but at least the plants stayed in their pots this way. My phone dinged and I spun in a circle looking for it. Then I remembered it was in my purse, which was strapped across my chest. Fishing out the phone—and keeping that one eye shut—I saw a new email from Justin’s attorney. Dread swirled with the alcohol in my gut.
Emboldened by Dec’s opinion on my ex and his fragile manhood, I clicked on the email and read it. I had to squint with the one eye to read it, but basically it was rescinding all the previous communication about our accounts being frozen.
“What in the world?” I kept scanning the email—which did not apologize for the egregious error of freezing the accounts in the first place—until I got to the part that mentioned a Mr. Mel Cheatum. I gasped and clicked the button on the side of the phone to make the phone go dark.
Why was Mr. Cheatum communicating with Justin’s lawyers? I was discombobulated that first day in his office, but I was pretty sure I hadn’t mentioned anything about my divorce. Then it hit me. Dec had been in my house and he must have seen the divorce papers on my dining room table. I clearly remembered whining to Dec about the frozen accounts and why that meant I’d be stuck with neon yellow hair forever. I hadn’t exactly done a bang-up job keeping my private life private where Dec was concerned. Circumstances lately had landed me squarely in the “hot mess” category. Verbal diarrhea was par for the course.
