It was the first day of July, and she and Meredith were close to being done with the space. Their goal was to finish by the Fourth of July. Meredith, however, had a prospect she couldn't ignore.
"His name is Sam Watanabe. He's five eight." Meredith grabbed her purse and prepared to leave for the date. "Finally, I found a first-generation, Japanese-American man who's actually tall enough for me. And he's a biochemist. And he's cute. Even my parents should approve."
"I would never ask you to pass up destiny." Kerris laid out her sarcasm along with a tarp for painting.
"I'm actually excited. I think Sam and I could hit it off."
"I can't wait to hear about it." Kerris adjusted the edges of the tarp, glancing at Meredith over her shoulder. "And you look really pretty, by the way."
"I'm not sure I can return the compliment." Meredith examined Kerris's cutoff jeans, white wifebeater and work boots. Kerris's hair was caught up in a messy ponytail atop her head, dark tendrils escaping around her face and neck. "Will you get to freshen up at all before Cam comes with dinner?"
"It'll have to do." Kerris grimaced, glancing down at her paint-spattered hands. "He's been slammed, too, with this crazy deadline at the office, so maybe he won't look much better."
"He needs to be painting. His talent is wasted with graphic design."
"I know. It's in his plans." Kerris blew at a tendril of hair drooping over her eyes. "In the meantime, he's got bills to pay like the rest of us."
"I'm sure Kristeene Bennett would help, right?"
"If Cam would let her, yeah." Kerris glanced at her watch. "You better get outta here if you don't want to be late for your date with destiny."
"Thanks again for the pass tonight." Meredith backed her way toward the door.
"Just name your firstborn Watanabe after me!" Kerris flung the request after her friend dashing down the front porch steps.
Still laughing, Kerris slipped in her earphones. Her pop playlist got her through half a wall before her stomach growled like a stray dog. Her phone screen lit up with an incoming call from Cam.
"Hey." She sidestepped two buckets of paint. "You on your way?"
"About that." He colored his sigh with frustration. "This project is kicking my ass. I don't think I'll make it over."
Kerris swallowed disappointment, wishing it were a Big Mac. Her stomach growled more aggressively, echoing its displeasure.
"That's okay. I'll be fine. I think I have an apple left from lunch or something."
"Actually, Walsh said he could drop something off here for me on his way home, and I asked him to pick something up for you, too."
"No!" The word erupted from her mouth more violently than she had intended. "I mean, he doesn't have to. Call him and tell him not to do that. I don't want him going out of his way."
"It's not out of his way. It's on his way. Besides, he's already on his way over."
"Oh, how sweet." Kerris gnawed on her bottom lip and fiddled with the pencil securing her washed-two-days-ago hair.
"Okay, babe." She could hear Cam's attention already drifting back to his project. "Gotta get this done tonight. Love you."
"Love you, too." She tugged at the frayed bottoms of her cutoffs, glancing at her paint-stained wifebeater.
Walsh was on his way. She had tried to avoid being alone with him for the last month. They saw each other at least once a week at the children's ward for craft hour. Was it coincidence that he was usually there visiting Iyani? It probably just worked out that way, but she found herself secretly, guiltily looking forward to that hour.
Simply put, she had never met anyone like him. Self-assured, but not arrogant. Humble, but not wimpy. Appreciated the finer things, but didn't seem to need them. Compassionate. Generous. Driven. She wanted to stop, but the list went on.
Walsh could have anyone. She and Cam were made for each other; they could heal each other and build together. The future and family they'd never thought they'd have, they could have with each other. She was more and more sure that at the end of the summer, when Cam asked again, she would agree to marry him.
But there were moments, when she was drifting asleep by the river, when things were quiet and the day was done. In those moments, her vigilance sagged and the armor encasing her mind slipped. She'd think of Walsh and undo all her self-preservation.
She would eventually build up an immunity to the sheer magnetism of the man. If she didn't smother this insensible attraction, how could she move forward with the future she craved, the one where her children waited? And who better than Cam to share that future?
A tap on her shoulder startled her, cannoning her several inches off the ground. She whirled around to see Walsh towering over her, a large brown bag in hand.
"You scared me to death," she said, louder than normal because she still had in her earphones.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to. I called your name a couple of times, but … "
"No problem."
Kerris swallowed around the tumbleweed pushing its way up her throat and brushed suddenly damp palms over her ragged shorts. She needed to get him out the door as soon as possible. "I told Cam you didn't have to bring me anything."
"It was fine." His smile seemed more casual than what was in his eyes. "Your spot's not far from Cam's, and my mom was determined to feed him. Each Monday she cooks soul food."
"Soul food, huh?"
"Walsh Foods was founded on Southern cooking. Mom can make every one of those frozen meals right in her kitchen from scratch."
Kerris often forgot about the prepared foods business that had made the Walsh Foundation possible.
She sniffed appreciatively in spite of herself.
"I guess I could eat a little something."
"Big of you." His response had soaked in sarcasm overnight.
"Sorry." She had to laugh at herself, feeling some of the tension drain from her shoulders. "I really am starving, and would love to inhale whatever is in that bag smelling so good."
He looked around for a place to set the food, eyes widening at the gleaming hardwood floors, newly spackled ceiling, and freshly painted walls.
"This looks incredible, Kerris."
"Oh, you should have seen it before." She reached in her pocket to grab her phone. "Look at these early pictures. See how far our little fixer-upper has come."
"Wow, you weren't joking about what you two could do."
"You ain't seen nothing yet." She knew she was bragging, but couldn't resist. "Come see the furniture and display racks upstairs."
She grabbed his hand and dragged him deeper into the shop, tugging him into the small bathroom. Instead of wallpaper or paint, a mural covered the walls, depicting the river that cut through the city of Rivermont. It included the covered bridge, the historic houses and cottages along its bank, leisurely fishermen with their rods extended, and even canoes meandering down the placid stretch of water.
"This is gorgeous. Did you do this?" Walsh traced a finger along the river on the wall.
"No, Cam did."
"I forget sometimes how gifted he is." Walsh looked down at their still-clasped hands.
"Oh! Come on. I'm starving." She jerked her hand free and darted from the room like a skittish colt.
* * *
Walsh followed at a more leisurely pace, trying not to notice the elegant muscles in Kerris's calves and thighs, clearly displayed by her cutoffs. Or the toned line of her arms and shoulders. He'd been concentrating on not seeing Kerris all summer, without much success. Tonight, he didn't have the will, and there was no way he could resist.
"Actually, I haven't eaten, either."
He kept his voice soft and even, free of the rebellious desire he usually subdued. He should head home and eat with his family. Instead, he let the silent request to share her meal dangle in the quiet of the room around them.
"Oh," Kerris said into the awkward moment he had created. "Would you … well would you, like to stay and eat?"
"What a gracious offer." He chuckled with self-derision. Was he so desperate that he would stay when she so obviously didn't want him to?
"Sorry. No, of course you can stay," she rushed to say. "There's a kitchen just through here."
They sat at the small card table in the kitchen, lit by summer's late-setting sun, a wary silence insulating them. Walsh raised his head when Kerris scraped her fork across the plates their cook, Mrs. Quinton, had packed. She barreled through her food, head bent, shoveling forkfuls of macaroni and cheese and collard greens into her mouth. Walsh carefully placed his fork down on the table, raising his brows at the swift repetition of the fork to her mouth, broken occasionally by a quick bite into a drumstick.