I couldn’t sit down. Nope. I was wearing out the floor because I’d been a complete asshole and it wasn’t sitting well with me.
Olivia had gotten home almost thirty minutes ago. I’d left the bar right after she had, but she hadn’t come home for close to thirty minutes after me. I hadn’t spied, watching to see when she got home, but I’d heard her come in the front door. I knew she was upset because the slam of her front door had rattled my walls. And since then, I’d had to actively stop myself from going over and apologizing to her.
Olivia didn’t deserve the way I’d spoken to her. Bringing up the self-help books had been a below the belt blow. Bentley had mentioned that Olivia was reading a lot of them a few years ago, and like every piece of information about Olivia, I’d stored it. When I’d heard her defending the piece of shit that she was out with, it just came out. I hadn’t meant for it to.
It might not seem like it, given my track record, but the truth was I’d never want to do or say anything to hurt her. But that’s exactly what I’d done. When I’d said what I had, she flinched as if I’d slapped her in the face. I’d seen how badly my words had wounded her, and I knew that I needed to make it right, or at least try.
But I figured the best thing to do would be to give it a night for us to sleep on it. If I went over there, I was pretty sure the door would slam again, but this time it would be in my face. If that happened, I wouldn’t blame her. Plus, as much as I didn’t want to think about it, there was a possibility that she might not be alone.
The thought of her with that slimeball made my skin crawl and my stomach turn, but there was a chance that she was.
I pulled my wallet out and took out the folded notebook pages that I’d stored in there for fourteen years. I’d kept her note to me in my wallet since the night I found it. I’d read it more times than I could count. She’d been so brave, and I hadn’t even had the balls to speak to her about it. Now, all these years later, I still hadn’t owned up to how I felt and, to add insult to injury, I was being a complete dick to her.
My phone vibrated and I put the letter away and pulled my phone out of my pocket. It was a message from a number that I didn’t recognize.
It read: Hey, it’s Kenna. I hope you don’t mind but I got your number from Bentley. I’d love to hang out and catch up sometime. I make a mean pot roast if you’re interested.
She added a winky face and meat on a bone emoji.
Women in the South were basically bred to believe that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. And they weren’t necessarily wrong. It just happened to be that my heart belonged to the woman that had shown up on my doorstep with her mama’s famous fried chicken.
I did not doubt that Kenna could make a mean pot roast, but I had no interest in tasting it. I thought about ignoring her text, which if I were being honest would be exactly what I would do if I was back in L.A. The chances that I’d ever run into a woman that had slid into my DMs was slim to none. Mainly because I never checked my DMs but also because that was really only an issue when you lived in a small town.
If I ignored the text then it would be awkward the next time I saw her, but I supposed that turning her down would be awkward as well.
I wrote and erased several responses before giving up altogether. I’d figure out what to say to her later when my head wasn’t clouded with regret for how I’d treated Olivia.
Tomorrow. I’d go over and apologize to Olivia and message Kenna back.
With that decision made I started up the stairs to call it a night. I’d only made it a few steps when I heard a loud crashing and scream coming from the other side of the wall that I shared with Olivia. Without giving it a second thought, I rushed out the door and knocked