Real Regrets (Kensingtons Book 2)

I scroll through the notifications on the screen, pocketing my phone again when I see there’s nothing from Oliver. I called him earlier, as promised, and got his voicemail. And the dread I carried around all weekend has only grown with each minute that passes without a response, as I wonder why he didn’t answer and worry about what he’ll say when we talk.

My name gets called, so I walk up to the counter to pick up my sandwich. I grab the paper bag, turn toward the door, and freeze.

I haven’t seen Crew Kensington in nearly two years. And now he’s standing in my favorite lunch spot three days after I accidentally married his brother. Considering we parted under incredibly poor terms, awkward doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Before I can decide how to react, Crew glances over and spots me. We stare at each other for a few stunned seconds, before Crew says something to the man he’s with and heads in my direction.

My palms start to sweat as he approaches. He looks the same, as assured and attractive as the first time I met him. But it’s different. There’s no draw, no excitement. Just dread.

“Hi, Hannah.”

“Hi, Crew.” I’m grateful my voice sounds normal, at least.

He’s studying me cautiously. I’m probably looking at him the same way. I doubt Oliver told him what happened between us in Vegas, but I don’t know that for certain.

“Wasn’t expecting to see you here.” Crew chuckles uncomfortably, but there’s still an easiness to the sound. He has an innate confidence to him, which is part of what drew me in. It’s relaxing to be around, like coasting. And I can’t help but compare it to Oliver’s sharp edges. Everything he said at the bar reads differently now, in the context of knowing his last name.

“I live here.”

“Yeah, I know.” He clears his throat. “How’ve you been?”

“Fi-Good,” I reply. “I’m good.”

“That’s good.”

“You?”

He smiles. “I’m good too. Sleep-deprived, but good.”

I’m starting to lose circulation in my hand, with how tightly I’m clutching the bag’s handle. “I, uh, congratulations on the baby.”

Crew nods. “Thanks.”

I inhale. “I’m sorry, Crew. For what I said to you…and for what I said to Scarlett. It was way, way over the line.”

He nods again, this time slower. “I’m not going to lie; it pissed me off at the time. But, I’m sorry too. I know I said my life wouldn’t change after I got married. If it makes any difference, I thought me and Scarlett would just be on paper. Things changed.”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me. You never owed me any explanation.”

Crew studies me, but there’s nothing sexual about his appraisal. It feels more like he’s checking me over, making sure I’m okay. “Jeff and I just stopped here because it was on the way. Glad to know it’s endorsed by a local.” He nods toward the bag I’m holding.

“Yeah, the food here is great.”

I’m not sure what else to say to Crew now that I’ve apologized. There was never much substance between us. I don’t even know what kind of sandwich he’d order from a place like this.

“You’re here for work?”

The question has nothing to do with Crew. I’m fishing for information about Kensington Consolidated because of Oliver, curious about the company he’s so devoted to.

“Uh, yeah.” Suddenly, he looks a little uncomfortable. “Speaking of which, I’d better get back to Jeff. We’re on a tight timetable.” Crew pauses. “Take care, Hannah.”

“You too.”

We share a smile, and then Crew walks back over toward the man he walked in with.

I head out the door, turning the interaction over in my mind as I walk down the sidewalk toward the baby store down the street. It’s where I got the duckling onesie for Eddie and April’s baby, and where I’ll hopefully be able to find them a more original gift.

Seeing Crew was strange, and not just because of Oliver. It was a relief to apologize, although Scarlett is really who I owe one to. I’ve changed since the last time I saw him, and so has he. Any familiarity that existed between us was erased a long time ago.

It’s a relief to fully realize that, but impossible to forget everything that’s happened. I’m married to his brother, which tangles the past with the present.

I check my phone again. Still nothing from Oliver.

Both of the saleswomen in the baby store are busy helping other customers when I walk in, so I start browsing in the front. There’s a large selection of strollers. That wasn’t a shower gift, and I realize why when I check the price tag on one.

I move on to the toys section. There’s a plush duckling that would match the onesie I already gave them. And then practically every other animal is piled on the shelves as well. It’s an overwhelming selection.

I’m petting a stuffed pig when my phone rings. I lean against the display of pacifiers and pull it out of my pocket.

My stomach twists itself into a knot as Oliver Kensington flashes across the screen.

“Hi,” I answer. “Can I give you a call back in like fifteen minutes? I’m shopping for baby stuff.”

“Baby stuff?”

My body reacts to the sound of his deep voice in a way I resent. I know I’m attracted to Oliver. But it wasn’t supposed to be this lasting, overwhelming interest that fills my stomach with butterflies.

“Yeah. My sister-in-law is pregnant, and my shower gift was lame. I’m trying to find something better for when the baby is actually born.”

There’s a long pause. Then, “Do they have any nursery rockers?”

“What?”

“An elephant or a giraffe. Maybe a hippo?”

I spin in a circle, scanning the store. “Um, they have a lamb? Or a unicorn.”

“Do they know what they’re having?”

It takes me too long to answer, totally thrown by the direction of our conversation. “No.”

“I’d get the lamb, then. Not all boys love unicorns.”

“But all babies like rockers?”

Another pause. “Lili did. She still tries to sit on it, even though she’s getting too big.”

“Oh.” That’s my brilliant response to learning Oliver bought his niece a rocker. Based on everything that’s been said and I surmised, I thought he had no relationship with Scarlett and Crew’s daughter.

“Call me back when you can,” he says, then hangs up.

I stand and listen to dead air until the sales associate approaches me. “Can I help you with anything, miss?”

“Yes. I’ll take the lamb rocker.”

She blinks at me, appearing taken aback by my surety. “All right. I’ll get it packed up for you.”

“Great. Thank you.”

I pay for the rocker, load the oversized box into the back of my SUV, and then call Oliver back.

He answers on the second ring this time. “Hi, Hannah.”

“Hi.”

Hearing him say my name twists my stomach into knots. It’s so unexpected. Unfamiliar. We know too much about each other…and nothing at all.

Oliver clears his throat. “How have you been?”

I smile. “We can skip the small talk, you know. I called you because I said I would. I haven’t had time to find an attorney.”

“Just to go shopping for baby gifts?”

I’m silent, not sure if he’s judging or joking.

“I haven’t gotten an attorney yet, either” he says, after a beat of strained silence.

“Really?” I’m surprised, and it fills my voice. I was certain he’d be on the phone with a hotshot lawyer before my plane left Las Vegas.

“Really,” he confirms, but there’s a note of hesitance in his voice. Like he’s unsure if that’s an admission he should have made.

“I’m planning to make some calls this afternoon.”

“Good luck. I’ve heard divorce attorneys are hard to find in Los Angeles.”

A joke, I realize. He just made a joke.

Too late, I laugh.

“Um, yeah. I’ll send you the name of my attorney in the next few days,” I say. “Once you’ve decided who’s representing you, it will probably be best to let them handle all the communication going forward.”

Oliver doesn’t reply right away. I’m not sure how, but I can feel the surprise in his silence. Did he think I’d ask for money? Expect daily calls?

“You’re right,” he finally responds. “That will probably be best.”

“Great. Goodbye, Oliver.”

“Goodbye, Hannah.”

There’s another awkward moment when neither of us hang up right away. But there’s nothing else to say, so I do, dropping my phone in the cupholder.

I know I’ll probably have to talk to Oliver again. But the chances of it being face to face are low. You can sign and mail anything these days.

I’ll be divorced before I’m thirty, and it feels anticlimactic. I don’t remember my wedding and I’ll be divorced as soon as possible, likely without ever seeing the man I’m married to again.

All of it is just…weird.

I shift into drive and pull out of the parking lot. In addition to a regular workday, I have the dinner with my dad and Logan Cassidy tonight.

And now, I also have to find an attorney in the next couple of days.

“I’m so sorry, ma’am. The table isn’t quite ready yet. If you’d like to take a seat at the bar, one of the wait staff will let you know when it’s ready.”

The maître de eyes me warily, like a ticking bomb. The last time I was here, I saw a man make a scene about the size of his ice cubes, so I understand her apprehension. Perch wouldn’t be my first choice of restaurant, but I’m not surprised it’s where my father chose. It has a formal, sleek atmosphere that works well for an evening business meeting.

“That’s fine,” I say. The maître de’s shoulders visibly relax before I head toward the bar.

Several stools are open. Not only is it on the early side for dinner, but not many people come here to eat at the bar.

I slide onto one of the stools, the cool metal uncomfortable against my bare legs. I cross them, suppressing a shiver, as I set my clutch down on the quartz counter. One finger traces a darker vein in the rock, marveling at the sleek finish. Maybe I should renovate my kitchen again.

“Can I get you anything, miss?”

I glance up at the bartender. He’s smiling, and it’s an interested one that should elicit some reaction in me. But I feel empty instead of giddy.

“Just a sparkling water, please. With lime.”

He nods, his friendly smile turning forced. I watch as he fills a glass with ice and then opens a green bottle. The contents hiss as he pours the bubbly liquid over the ice, then flips open a container and adds a wedge of lime. It’s served with a napkin emblazoned with the restaurant’s logo.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Then he’s gone, moving down the line of few customers.

I stare down at the bubbles rising to the surface of my water. The last time I was in a bar setting was the night I met Oliver, and it’s an uncomfortable memory to revisit.

I didn’t feel empty when he looked at me. I felt like my drink—fizzy and sparkling and effervescent.

With a scoff, I shake my head and take a sip. I pull my phone out of my clutch and glance at the screen. I’m early, but my father usually is too. He must have hit some of LA’s infamous traffic. It never bends to anyone’s schedule.

I don’t have any new texts or missed calls. Just five emails, all follow-ups from attorneys I contacted earlier.

“You know, I swore off blondes, but for you I’d make an exception.”

The dark-haired man smirks when I look over at him, sliding a step closer. He’s attractive—tall, built, and muscular. Obviously practiced at picking up women. But I’m more fascinated by the agitated energy emanating from him. His fingers tap against the stone surface restlessly, even as his eyes focus on my face.

“How romantic,” I say, picking up my water and taking another sip. “Unfortunately, I like my men principled. If you swear something off, you should follow through.”

“I’m plenty principled,” he replies, then grins.

I half-smile in response to his boyish one. He’s charming, I’ll give him that. And not easily dissuaded, unlike the bartender. Immediately interested, unlike Oliver.

But comparing other guys to Oliver is not something I should be doing. And neither is flirting. I’m here for work. As a possible momentous step into a career I haven’t fully decided I want.

My phone buzzes with an incoming message. I grab it immediately, expecting it to be my father.

It’s not.

Oliver Kensington: Text me the name of your attorney once you’ve settled on one.

I make a face, sourness swirling in my stomach. I already told him I would let him know as soon as I decided. He doesn’t need to remind me like I’m a child. I’m not going to forget about needing a divorce.

And what bothers me even more is the detached tone. He didn’t even bother with a Hi. I stare at the message, debating how to respond.

“Everything okay?”

I shut off my phone. “Great.”

“Ex?”

“Husband,” I mutter, glaring at the glass of water.

“You’re married?”

I glance up, almost wanting to smile at the guy’s crestfallen expression. It’s flattering. And also the perfect out.

“Yes.”

“Dammit.”

I do smile this time. “On the bright side, you didn’t break your rule.”

“Miss? Your table is ready.”

I glance over at the uniformed waitress and nod, grabbing my clutch and water. “Have a good night,” I tell him before following the waitress toward the back of the restaurant.

The table is empty, and I experience a trickle of worry. It’s not like my dad to be late. He’s lived in LA for four decades; he knows what a realistic driving time is. And for this meeting in particular, I would have expected him to plan ahead.

I butter a piece of bread while looking over the menu, hoping it’ll appease my growling stomach. I only picked at my sandwich at lunchtime, still processing my conversations with both Kensington men.

Five minutes later, I’m still sitting alone. A few of the other diners are casting me pitying looks. At least this isn’t a table for two. It looks like I was stood up by a group, not on a date. Which is slightly better. I think.

Finally, I spot my father. Hastily, I swallow the last bite of the bread. Take a sip of water and wipe my mouth, careful not to smudge my lipstick.

“Sorry, Hannah,” he says, straightening his tie. “There was an accident on the 405. And I was on the phone with Tracy, talking through a contract issue, so I couldn’t call.”

“It’s fine, Dad.”

“David, this is my daughter, Hannah. Hannah, this is David McKenna, who coaches the Bobcats.”

I shake the hand David offers. He’s about a decade younger than my father, gray creeping from his temples and wrinkles webbing from his eyes, probably from squinting at a field. “Nice to meet you, David.”

“Likewise.” He’s no-nonsense and respectful. I like him immediately.

“And this is Logan Cassidy.”

I turn toward the other man with my father, surprise and dread warring for space.

Logan looks just as shocked. He didn’t know who I was at the bar. He’s probably worried hitting on me might affect his chances of representation.

And I…I’ve told exactly one person about my marriage since I woke up in Vegas. One stupid, offhand comment to a man I thought I’d never see again.

Logan looks away from me, at my father. “I just want to clear the air, sir.”

My stomach sinks as blood whooshes in my ears. It feels like everything is sped up and slowing down at the same time. Like I’m watching a vase fall from across the room, knowing I’ll never be able to reach it in time and that it’s going to break.

I know exactly what is about to happen and have no clue how to stop it.

“I had no idea who Hannah was when I approached her at the bar, and I just want to make it clear that I would never flirt with a married woman. I know your company is known for valuing character, and I just—”

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding, son,” my father says. He chuckles, and my eyes drift shut slowly, wishing I could shut the rest of the world out for good. “Hannah isn’t married.”

When I blink, Logan’s confused expression comes into focus. He’s staring at me expectantly, waiting for me to correct my father. Then my father is looking at me too, waiting for me to correct Logan. The only unbothered person in our group is David McKenna.

“Could I talk to you outside for a moment, Dad?” I ask, standing and walking toward the door before he has a chance to answer.

Whether or not he follows, I desperately need some fresh air.

He does follow, appearing on the sidewalk just a few seconds after I’ve inhaled my first lungful of clean oxygen. As soon as I get a glimpse of his expression, I start to wish he stayed inside.

“What is going on, Hannah? Did Cassidy say or do something inappropriate? I’ll make sure—”

“No. This has nothing to do with Logan.” I cross my arms, rubbing my bare skin. The sun is sinking, taking warmth with it. “I, um…”

It’s hard to force the words out. I’ve done plenty of stupid things, but I’ve never admitted most of them to my parents. And marrying Oliver is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.

Concern creases my father’s forehead. “Hannah—”

“I am married. I did get married. In Vegas, last weekend.”

My father’s expression literally freezes, nothing but shock visible. “I… I didn’t even know you were dating anyone.”

“I wasn’t dating him.”

His face manages to look more stunned. And worse, there’s a flash of disappointment.

“For very long,” I add hastily. “I wasn’t dating him for very long. He was there for a bachelor party. We had too much to drink, and it was a stupid mistake. We’re getting divorced. I didn’t want you and mom to know.”

My father exhales, long and rattled. “I…wow. I don’t know quite what to say, Hannah.”

“Logan was flirting with me, which is why I told him about the marriage. But he was completely respectful. We should go back inside.”

My dad is blinking rapidly, still looking shocked. Eddie dated April for eight years before proposing to her. They were engaged for two years before they got married.

In contrast, my marriage and divorce are a whirlwind.

I can only imagine how fast he would be blinking if he knew I’d only known Oliver for a few hours before marrying him. A vague we hadn’t been dating for long isn’t much of an improvement, but it’s something.

“Do you need an attorney?”

“I contacted some today. I have calls lined up for tomorrow morning.”

He nods. “Send me the names. I might have some insight.”

“Okay.”

As much as I hate that my father knows—especially how he found out—it’s a relief that he does. For the first time since I saw that piece of paper next to the bed, it feels like I can see past this mistake. Like it’s a manageable one.

“You’re okay, Hannah?”

“Yeah.” I nod, twice. “I’m good.”

“I can handle the meeting, if you want.”

“I want to stay.”

A proud smile spreads across my dad’s face, and the rush of relief is forceful. I was worried he’d want me to leave after making a mess of things with Logan. And I was terrified he’d think less of me for using such horrible judgment.

“Then let’s go,” he says.

And we head back inside.