Page 87 of Faking Forever
“I feel like you’re playing with fire, Smith. And somebody’s bound to get hurt.”
“Muchbetter,” Smith proclaimed as he stood, hands on his hips, staring down at the new, comfortable sofa. It was a boring, boxy, inoffensive thing. Even the color was a snoozeworthy, an inoffensive light gray.
“What will you do with the old one?” Kenny asked curiously. Smith and Harris had lifted the old one onto the back of Spencer’s bakkie, after which Harris had departed.
Kenny was somewhat surprised when Smith chose to stick around. But he’d helped her remove the plastic from the new sofa, moving it fractions of inches to the left or right before deciding that it was in the perfect position.
Smith was still staring thoughtfully at the sofa and didn’t turn to look at her when he replied, “Giving it to Spencer. He runs the local youth center in his spare time. He’ll find a use for it. Refurbish to use at the center, maybe. Do you think this needs to move a trifle to the left? It still seems off-center.”
“It’s fine,” Kenny said with an exasperated glance heavenward.
And she thoughtshewas anal about crap like this. She’d been happy five “little adjustments” ago.
He tilted his head to the right, still looking at the sofa. “You sure?”
“Oh, for God’s sake!Yes, I’m sure. Now leave it alone.” She tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow to tug him awayand they both froze when her palm touched his warm, bare skin.
He turned toward her, crowding her with his heat, and height, and hardness.
She swallowed, the sound embarrassingly loud in the oppressive silence of the room.
Their eyes met and there was a quiet, despairing acknowledgment between them. An acceptance that the sudden electric current sizzling between them was real.
And intense.
And inevitable.
His head dipped.
“No.” Her whispered denial washed over his lips, which stopped within a hairsbreadth of hers, held hostage by that small, hushed word.
“No?” he asked on a despairing little groan.
“We can’t keep defaulting tothis, Smith. It’s unhealthy and I’m trying sohardto make emotionally healthy choices. For both our sakes.”
He groaned again, louder this time, the sound pained and rife with frustration. He dropped his forehead to hers, hands moving up to cup her face gently. He held her like that for a long moment before dropping his hands and stepping away from her.
“Why did you have to come here?” More frustration, smattered with anger now. “I was doing okay. We were moving on.”
“Youwere moving on.Iwas just left behind. “
“You can’t leave someone who was never there, Kenna.” His voice was gentle, for once lacking in rancor and accusation.
The words were presented as a simple statement of fact.
“I’m here now,” she pointed out and took a couple of steps back, sinking down onto the sofa to watch him silently.
Waiting forhimto decide what the next move should be.
He hesitated, took a step toward the easy chair, and then stopped again.
“I-I have to get the bakkieand sofa back to Spencer.”
He swung on his heel and left without another word, leaving Kenny reeling.
“Well then,” she whispered, running her damp palms down the cotton of her light summer skirt. “I suppose that’s that.”
She stared fixedly down at her hands, vision blurry, as she took a few deep breaths and tried to work through the staggering sense of emptiness and loss that crashed over her, threatening to her drag her down and drown her.
