“I am always cool,” he says. “I will be so cool in my powder-blue tux at prom in two weeks, don’t you think?”
I fake laugh. Or I fake a laugh. I can’t tell.
“Will you wear a powder-blue dress with ruffles?” he asks.
“Definitely with ruffles,” I say, even though the words that should come out of my mouth are I’m back together with my boyfriend so I can’t go.
How does my mom pull this stuff off? How does she manage to juggle all those guys when I don’t even know what to say to Lane about Noah?
Shakespeare was right about tangled webs.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Noah
My stomach drops when I see the name flashing across my screen. I take a deep breath and steel myself. As I leave the library I answer.
“Hey,” I say, mustering up my best confident voice, reminding myself that Jewel hasn’t a clue I’m on my way to see her daughter. At least, I hope she doesn’t. And as crazy as this may seem, I’ve never truly lingered on how she’d react if she knew about Kennedy and me. I suppose I’ve always assumed that at some point Kennedy would be old enough for us to be open about it, and no one would need to know we started when she was younger.
Yeah, that probably makes me naive.
“Hello, you darling man. I wanted to check on the licensing deal we made for Lords and Ladies lipstick,” Jewel says, launching right into business, as she always does. Doesn’t matter to her that it’s two in the afternoon on a Sunday. Frankly, it doesn’t matter to me either. I’ve always loved talking business with her, or any client. Right now, I couldn’t be happier to chat about lipstick with her because it means she doesn’t know the things I keep from her, so I do my best to ignore the prickly knot of guilt inside my chest.
“And do you think the ruby red shade accurately represents the Lords and Ladies brand promise?” she asks.
“Absolutely. It’s the color of the show,” I say, then answer her other questions about other hues. As I walk and talk alongside the slow pace of Sunday traffic, I try to convince myself I can juggle Jewel’s career and romance her daughter at the same time.
Surely, I can walk this tightrope. It is worth it. No one will ever know.
When the call ends, I ring my friend Matthew, because I need distance between Jewel and Kennedy. I need him to bridge the call with her mom, and my date with my girl.
We chat about sports, the new band he’s covering, then his trip to visit his brother in LA soon.
“What are you up to now?” he asks, as I hail a cab.
Once inside the yellow car, I tell him. “Meeting Kennedy. Seems we got back together.”
He sighs heavily. “Be careful, mate. That’s all I can say. You just need to be careful.”
“You’re not going to tell me to stop?”
There’s a pause, and in that pause I almost want him to say yes. I want someone to hold up a hand and knock some sense into me. “Not my place to. And hey, you never know. Plenty of relationships have started on rockier shores.”
“Right,” I say, pushing a hand through my hair, and leaning my head back against the seat.
“I just want you to look out for yourself too. It’s a really risky situation.”
I nod, then thank him as I hang up.
But honestly, I’m not even sure anymore what the greater risk is. I could lose Jewel, or I could lose Kennedy.
At the moment though, there doesn’t seem to be any question which way I’m leaning.
Especially not when the car pulls up to Eighth Avenue and Jane Street. She’s waiting on the corner, and a grin lights up her face that makes me forget anything but her.
Kennedy
I try not to breathe in the scent of the sunflowers.
Sunflowers reek, which is ironic considering how big and blazingly colorful they are. But the orchids are blooming by the lily pool terrace and they smell wonderful. We walk away from the smelly flowers and closer to the deliciously scented ones and now, here, and forever, all is right in the world. Noah’s hand is in mine, we are far away from Manhattan, and I’m surrounded by blankets of flowers, of succulent reds and delicate pinks and blinding oranges.
I pull him into a secluded section of the gardens. The butterflies and dragonflies shield us as we kiss. I run my hands through his hair, my fingers sliding through the soft brown strands. It’s like coming home, the feel of him. He slants his mouth to me, his lips finding mine; the slow, sweet connection that was severed for months is back in full force. He tugs me closer, his fingertips trailing along my cheek in a way that feels tender and hungry at the same time. As our lips fuse, and our breath mingles, I know right now neither one of us cares what anyone thinks of us, or if anyone is saying he’s too old for her or she’s too young for him, because this is New York City and we aren’t the only ones doing this.
We aren’t the only ones with a few years between us.
“Are you really mine again?” he whispers with some kind of wonder in his voice.
I nod, sighing happily into his embrace. “Yes. I really am.”
We spend the rest of the afternoon wandering. First the Herb Garden. “This is my kind of place. What’s better suited for a vegetarian than rosemary and sage?”
“I’m suddenly hungry for a salad,” he says, stroking his chin playfully.
Then we stroll through the Shakespeare Garden, which is bathed in green, with its lush bushes, trees, and shrubbery. “It would be funny if Shakespeare really wrote here,” I say.