end.
“You must be Ms. Stevens,” Kenyon said. “Sorry I’m late, but Terrance’s hockey practice ran long. I’m his—”
“Oh, of course,” she replied. “You’re here for the interview.” Makayla cringed at the sound of her high-pitched voice. What else would Kenyon be doing here if not for parent-teacher interviews? Now that he clued her in, she could see the resemblance between father and son. They shared the same dark skin, high forehead and blunt nose.
“I must admit, Ms. Stevens, you’re not what I expected.”
Same here. “I get that a lot,” she confessed. At a paltry five feet, two inches, Makayla was often mistaken for an older sister of one of her students.
Smoothing a hand over her hair, she wondered how her makeup was holding up. Her last three interviews had been back to back, which left little time to catch her breath, let alone freshen up. And the last thing Makayla had expected was to run smack-dab into her old high school crush.
I hope he doesn’t recognize me, she prayed. But how could he? In high school, the chips had been stacked against her. Grossly overweight, she had been saddled with thick glasses, colored braces and a severe case of acne. And it didn’t matter how many times her grandmother pressed her hair, it still looked like she had stuck both hands in an electrical socket.
Kenyon had been the all-American boy. Teachers loved him, male students emulated him and every girl on campus wanted him. Makayla never had any male friends in high school, let alone a boyfriend, and as her weight climbed, she realized someone as popular and as charismatic as Kenyon Blake would never be interested in a girl like her.
Makayla felt as if she was going to melt. Not only was sweat trickling down her back, wisps of hair were sticking to the sides of her face. Drying her hands on her skirt, she avoided his intense gaze. Get it together, girl! You’re acting like you’ve never been in the presence of a man!
“I don’t mean to hold you up, but Veronika will kill me if she finds out I missed the interview.”
I believe you, Makayla agreed silently. An image of Mrs. Blake flashed before her eyes and she shuddered. “How about we reschedule for one day next week?”
“Sorry, but I’m leaving for Fiji the day after tomorrow. I’m a freelance photographer so I take the jobs whenever they come. “
“I guess I could stick around a little while longer,” Makayla said. She cleared her throat to conceal the loud rumbles coming from her stomach.
His cheeks dimpled when he smiled. “Why don’t we discuss Terrance’s progress over dinner? That is, unless you have someone waiting for you at home.”
“That’s not necessary. My classroom is just down the hall. Please, follow—”
“I know a nice place up the street. What do you say?”
“I don’t know—”
“The service is great, the food is fast and it’s quiet.”
“I really don’t mind staying here.”
“I insist.”
“Well, I am hungry—” she said out loud.
“Then we can talk over dinner.”
Swayed by his smile, she nodded in response. His eyes were every bit as dark and mysterious as they had been in high school. Makayla didn’t think she could handle having dinner with Kenyon, but her curiosity got the best of her. She wanted to know if he had lived out his dream of playing in the NFL, if he still jogged five miles a day, but most important, she wanted to know how in the world he had ended up married to a woman like Veronika Blake.
Chapter 2
Kenyon glanced up from his menu, just in time to see Ms. Stevens exit the ladies’ room. He couldn’t believe this dainty woman with the pretty eyes and sensuous mouth was his nephew’s teacher. Her sun-kissed complexion paid tribute to her Caribbean roots, her cute, gumdrop nose gave her a youthful look and her curvaceous figure only added to her appeal. Everything about her from her shy smile to her tiny waist came together perfectly in a petite, compact package.
Hot damn! he thought, as he settled back into his chair. Kenyon must have spoken out loud because the plump-faced waitress strolling by stopped abruptly.
“Welcome to the Barbecue Kitchen. I’m Christine, but my friends call me Sunny.” She tapped her pencil on her notepad, her smile growing wider by the second. “Can I interest you in something to drink?”
“I’ll have a beer.”
“Great. I’ll be right back.”
Kenyon returned his attention to Ms. Stevens. He had never had a teacher that fine. Despite her low-key appearance and the air of timidity surrounding her, she was stunning. Her hair was pulled back, her makeup simple and her jewelry tasteful. The navy, slim-fitted cardigan, straight black skirt and sensible, round-toe shoes fit the bill for a first-grade teacher, but Kenyon had a feeling beneath all those stuffy clothes was one very sexy woman.
It wasn’t just her beauty he was drawn to. There was an innocence about her that appealed to him. “Here, let me.” Kenyon stood, pulled out her chair and waited until she was comfortable before returning to his seat.
“Thank you.” Makayla picked up the menu.
“See anything you like?”
“The spinach salad looks good.”
“Salad? You’ve got to be hungrier than that.” Kenyon helped himself to a roll from the wicker basket. “Don’t be shy. Order anything you’d like. It’s on me.”
Makayla downed her water in two quick gulps. “I’m not that hungry. I, uh, had a big lunch.”
An amused expression clouded Kenyon’s face. A big lunch? It was eight-thirty. Unless she’d eaten a buffet with all the trimmings, she was probably starving. Beckoning the happy-go-lucky waitress back over to their table, he said, “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.”
While Kenyon placed their orders, Makayla secretly watched him. This was all too much to take in. She was having dinner with her first crush. The only guy she ever loved. Or, thought she loved. At thirty-three, Kenyon was a husband and a father. How had that happened? Back in high school, Makayla had never pictured him the marrying type. Passing him in the congested halls of Lincoln High, surrounded by a bevy of perky cheerleaders, she had been convinced the all-star athlete would end up a life-long bachelor with children sprinkled all across the east coast.
“How is Terrance doing?” Kenyon asked once the waitress departed.
“Mr. Blake—”
“Call me Kenyon. The only person who goes by Mr. Blake is my pops.”
“Okay.” It took Makayla several seconds to organize her words. Labeling Terrance a nuisance would undoubtedly get their conversation off on the wrong foot and she needed Kenyon’s support to turn things around. “Terrance is a strong student. He excels in math and science, he’s reading at grade level and he has a vivid imagination. However, his behavior has
