Page 9 of Mr. Kelly

Worried, I look around to ensure that I haven’t made a huge mess. There are a few dishes, but everything is still intact.

“Thank you.”

I don’t know why I feel out of place and feel the need to fidget with the dish towel in my hands as we stand there in silence. I’m relieved that the timer takes that moment to sound. Turning, I retrieve the fish from the oven, noting that it looks to me like a culinary masterpiece.

Mr. Kelly, who’s now wearing oven mitts, takes the dish from me and places it on a heat protecting rack on the table.

“Hungry?” I offer, since it’s his home and groceries.

He glances at the table and probably sees that I didn’t make single servings. I don’t know how to cook for one. If anything, I know that I’ll have a few days of leftovers.

“If you don’t mind,” he answers after what seems like an internal debate. His eyes are back on me for a beat. “Can I touch your hair?”

“Ah, yeah, um, sure.” I fumble my words because it’s such an unexpected question.

“I know to leave a black woman’s hair alone, but it looks soft…” he trails off as he runs his fingers through it. “It’s as silky as it looks. I bet it took hours.”

I suppress a shiver, then chastise myself when I realize there are two causes for my reaction. I’ve never been this close to him on purpose, and I’m starting to notice things like how good he smells. Plus, flashes of my memory remind me just what’s under the tux. I dip my head to hide any reaction but he’s already retreating to the table.

“Yeah, straightening my hair without chemicals is time consuming.” I sit down across from him with the plates and shrug self-consciously. “But I seem to have plenty of time right now.” He starts serving himself with a nod.

“Andrea will get to the bottom of it.”

My laugh is nervous and sounds foreign to my ears. “I’m sure he will.”

Mr. Kelly has his plate full but doesn’t reach for a fork. He frowns as if he wants to say something but isn’t sure if it’ll offend me.

“I know women change their hair a lot, but I like the puffy style as well.” His eyes find mine again as he gives me a serious look. “Just make sure you do your hair the way you want, never because someone expects you to change it.”

I’d be confused if I didn’t know his wife is mixed with black and the hair issue may come up a lot.

“I like it puffy too,” I assure him. “I only do this to check the length and trim my ends. It’s nice to change it up a little, but the other way is my default setting.”

“Good.”

He flashes me the first genuine smile he’s ever given me, and it alarms me. Dropping my eyes, I start making my plate to take my attention away from him and his older model looks. It may be a deterrent of other thirty-year-olds, but I have a soft spot for the salt-and-pepper look. I need to go back to Atlanta.

“So are you going to your wife’s show after this?”

That’s it, bring it back to his life.

My question appears to stress him out. “No. I’d gotten dressed…but no.” I nod, thinking he’ll drop it, but he continues. “We’re not doing that well and I don’t know why. It seems very one-sided, me rushing to what’s important for her, but I'm not getting that same…energy.”

“Well, I know all about being left hanging.” I slide the joke in there to lighten the mood. His eyes crinkle with his smile. I hate that I like it.

“Literally. Yeah, I think my absence can speak louder than my words. I’ve loved her so much, but my one desire doesn’t seem to matter. I’ve asked her plenty of times to talk to me.” He takes a bite of the salmon and nods with a surprised hum. “This is very good, River.”

It’s weird seeing such a formidable man opening up about his relationship woes. I can see that he loves her. I’d pay to have a man look at me the way I’ve seen him look at Helena. I can imagine how that’d go to her head. I want to ask him what it is, but he’s already shared too much.

“Don’t look so surprised,” I joke. “I know how to cook a few things.”

He holds up a fork that’s loaded with one bite of each item. “This proves it.” His heavy sigh warns me that his purge isn’t over. I’m sure he’s talked about it with Andrea, but a woman always provides a different perspective. “I’ve wanted to be a dad longer than I can remember.” He looks off into space as he thinks about it. “I want to continue my lineage and have heirs to share my legacy.”

“Welp, this is usually the other way around. I will say that.”

He nods with a smile. “Yeah, men are usually the ones pushing away from it, yet I happen to fall for one of the resistant women.”

“Maybe it’s because of the career span for a ballerina,” I add. “It’s a very short-lived career. Motherhood will definitely make it shorter.”

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