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“You won’t get away from me!” My grandmother’s pounding footsteps close in on me.
I make it to the ground floor first and race to the living room. Inside, a room full of geriatric biddies are scrambling to box and hide the evidence. My couple of seconds head start is dwindling before my eyes when I catch the weakest link of the group. Ms. Gerdy. She struggles to close the box in front of her.
“Ms. Gerdy, let me help you.” I reach her as Glamma runs into the room.
“Gerdy, nooo!”
Too late, I snatch the box, only to have my breath knocked out of me, twice. First, from viewing what can only be a wedding invitation with Cameron and my name on it. And second, when Glamma tackles me to the floor for the second time.
“Oof!” I groan as I land.
“Ladies, go go go!” Glamma yells without letting up on her hold.
Ms. Gerdy mouths an apology as she claims the fallen box and invitations. Everyone wraps up and leaves as if they are part of a Daytona 500 pit crew. When the house empties, Onyx releases me.
As I set my clothes to rights, I glare at her. “This is the real reason New Year’s Eve at 11:30 PM was so specific, I guess. Just tell me one thing, when are Cameron and I getting invited to our wedding?”
CHAPTERTHIRTY
Cameron
“Ican’t believe you still haven’t told her.” Khadijah rests her pen on the patio table.
We’re in the backyard filling out hints for a scavenger hunt and organizing the corresponding prizes while Jazzy and Kenya spend the night out. They’ll return tomorrow after Jazzy wraps up a few details pertaining to her move from Felicidad.
“You have no idea how many times I’ve tried, but I have a new strategy. And you, dear sister, are here to help me woo Kenya into admitting she’s in love with me.”
“I don’t know, Cam. I was on board before but this seems like you’re complicating the situation with bribery.” Khadijah points to the row of plushies I bought for Kenya. “Maybe even more deception.”
“You weren’t there Deej. I know I’ve been a little more than chicken shit for holding things off as long as I have, but I have no other choice. She will only forgive me if she’s in love with me.” I check my list to see how many clues are left to write out. “It’s not like I’m tricking her into loving me. I’m pretty sure she does, but she isn’t. And if she doesn’t acknowledge her feelings to herself at the least, I have no chance of surviving the fallout.”
“So, your response to this is sex and gifts?”
“And romantic overtures. Don’t forget the romance.” I shake my finger at her.
Her pointed glance doesn’t change.
“But yes, lots of sex. A good strategist relies on their strengths, and the bedroom is where I shine.”
“Okay, I’ve heard enough.” Khadijah covers her ears. “It’s bad enough that I know you have sex, I don’t need to hear you talking about how good you are at it, too.”
“Understood. FYI, I feel the same way. If you meet someone, please keep the intimate stuff to yourself. Alright, this is the last one.” I place a Rimuru slime plushie into the box with the other toys Kenya will hunt for over the weekend. “Thanks again for placing these around the town before you leave. If the town folks see me, they’ll tell Kenya everything before she returns in the morning.”
“You know I’ve got you. By the way, do you need me to say anything to Rhys and Hanson? We’re meeting up to discuss our set list for our upcoming performances. I will put your choice on the list.”
“No, but I will start attending rehearsals on Monday.” I glance at my hand and curl my fists. “I won’t fail you.”
Khadijah picks up the box and stands beside me. “I’ll make sure to play interference about the new song. I’ve already asked Stewart to be on the lookout for up-and-coming songwriters who can match our sound.”
I smile my gratitude. Although I’ve made great strides on the drums, I have yet to write anything down. Every time I try, Kenya’s melody plays in my head. I itch to write it, but whenever I touch my pen to paper, I recall everyone from the label and the band rejecting my last song. Even our manager refused to go to bat for me.
If they pass on Kenya’s melody, I don’t know if I’ll be able to play music again.
* * *
When Khadijah leaves,I aimlessly wander about the house. Jackpot’s stare follows me, but she also wants no part of my purposelessness. On my way to the kitchen, the doorbell rings.
I open the door to find a disheveled Pedro holding up a six-pack in one hand and a bag I assume includes more beer in the other. “Hey, Kenya’s not around.”
