Right from the Start (3 page)

How could Will do any less for the woman who’d given him so
much, for all the families who relied on Angel House?

How could he do any less for Sam?

CHAPTER TWO

K
ENZIE
SAT
ON
the
bench across from the two-story building that occupied nearly the entire block
between South Main and West Orchard Streets.

She loved this building with its brick front and chipped
white-paned windows and faded blue canopies. A few coats of paint would restore
the windows to their former glory as easily as new fabric would replace faded
with bright.

Well worth the effort, Kenzie knew. No question. She’d loved
this building ever since first setting eyes on it as a child when her parents
had brought her to an open house to decide if she had any interest in dance
lessons.

She’d taken lessons from Madame Estelle and the other
professionally trained instructors in ballet, jazz, lyrical, tap and musical
theater. She’d competed and performed year after year and had even taught
classes during summer technique camps.

But that had all been before college graduation when she’d
struck out to establish her career, and gotten so busy that even squeezing in
dance classes as exercise proved a challenge. Before Madame Estelle had passed
away and her estate had sold the building to the city.

Once this former dance studio had symbolized dreams in Kenzie’s
young mind. Now she had fond memories and an appreciation for its killer
location in Hendersonville’s historic downtown.

Kenzie thought of all those long-ago afternoons getting lost in
Mast General Store with her friends, gathering at the soda shop after school
functions and enjoying the various music, art and food festivals that took place
in practically every season.

As far as Kenzie was concerned, Hendersonville was the model
for healthy family living, abounding with opportunities to engage in community
and outdoor activities and culture. Not too rural. Not too urban.
Perfect
. Which was why she’d chosen her hometown as
the base for her agency.

Because she liked living here.

The very thought of working in this beautiful building made her
breath catch, which is why she’d arrived a few minutes early to her appointment.
She needed to wrap her brain around this unexpected opportunity so she could
think clearly and weigh the offer with reason, not emotion.

The Family Foundations Project.

The certified letter had arrived just before the close of
yesterday’s business day with an invitation to participate in the project by
relocating her agency into this building. If she understood the letter
correctly, the city would cover the cost of renovations to meet her agency’s
specific requirements, and she’d contract for an extended period at a very
reasonable rent.

An opportunity of a lifetime?

She’d heard of the Family Foundations Project but was sketchy
on details. She didn’t care for walking into any meeting unprepared, but there
had simply been no time for research. By the time she’d gotten home from last
night’s class and finished prepping for today’s meetings, she’d barely been able
to keep her eyes open. So she’d jotted down a list of questions to ask the
mayoral representative. Lots and lots of questions.

Her cell phone beeped, and Kenzie glanced at the display. Time
to go. Would not do to keep the mayoral representative waiting. She’d barely
crossed the street and knocked when those glass-paned front doors flung wide and
a man appeared.

“Good morning, Ms. James.” His voice was rich-timbered and
male, a voice equally comfortable at hushed conversations by candlelight or
projecting over a crowd. And a bit throaty, too, as if he hadn’t been awake
long. “Thanks for coming today.”

Kenzie barely had time to shake off that ridiculously personal
thought before he extended his hand. “Will Russell.”

The first thing Kenzie noticed was how big his hands were,
long-fingered and strong with the rough skin of a hardworking man but a grip
unexpectedly gentle.

The second thing she noticed was that his name sounded
familiar. For a suspended instant, she racked her brain to remember why—an
effort because his fast smile blinded her.

Figuratively, of course, but she mentally shook herself. By the
time she’d slipped her hand from his and realized she hadn’t yet replied because
she was too busy staring, she belatedly said, “Kenzie James.”

He motioned her inside, and she stepped past him into the
once-familiar reception area. “You’re the mayoral representative for Family
Foundations?”

“I am.” He shut the door and beelined to the refreshments set
up in the former reception window.

Kenzie stared at the neat line of Will’s business haircut. He
was a big man, physical in an earthy, I-work-with-my-hands sort of way. Not so
much crazy tall or overly muscular, just a bit off scale. Athletic,
broad-shouldered. Larger than life in a way that made her think of old movie
stars like Clark Gable, debonair and charming.

“I know it’s early,” he said genially. “But with the short
notice I was afraid I wouldn’t make it on to your schedule, so I brought
coffee.”

He seemed so eager to make up for the perceived inconvenience
that Kenzie didn’t have the heart to decline. Particularly since he looked as if
he could use a cup himself.

“Black, thank you.”

While she waited, marveling over her remarkable awareness of
this man, Kenzie remembered why Will Russell was familiar.

A man for the people
.

She could practically see his face on the campaign propaganda
that had arrived in her mailbox during the last municipal election. His
expressions had ranged from smiling to thoughtful to somber, depending on the
issue.

He’d campaigned on his blue-collar roots because he hadn’t had
political experience. A local business owner, if memory served. He’d won his
seat. Coming face-to-face with that blinding smile and those dimples suggested a
reason why.

Even so, Kenzie hadn’t voted for him.

Well, weren’t they off to an interesting start? Will probably
had no clue that this process would have been so much simpler had the mayor pro
tempore or any of the other council members shown up.

Someone who hadn’t already crossed Kenzie’s path.

Did Will even know his ex-wife—his
last
ex-wife—had consulted with Positive Partings during their
divorce?

The man certainly didn’t act as if he knew. He seemed perfectly
cordial as he offered her the first cup before pouring one for himself and
taking a sip.

“Why don’t we look around, Kenzie?” he suggested. “I’ll tell
you about the council’s offer then address your questions. Sound good?”

She nodded and placed a firm lid on her reaction. She didn’t
know Will personally, so judging him based on one side of a story wouldn’t be
kind or fair. If the mayor sent him to represent her, then Kenzie needed to give
him a chance. She had a high regard for the mayor—Hendersonville’s first female
mayor—who was as laid-back and delightful to be around as she was politically
effective.

So Kenzie followed Will through a doorway and stepped inside an
open room that looked exactly as she remembered. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors made
up the rear wall with a ballet barre running the length.

“Great light and lots of space,” Will said. “Building was
outfitted with central heat and air-conditioning a good twenty-five years ago,
judging from the system. It’ll get new units and ductwork once we confirm how to
parcel up the square footage. Place needs updates, but the building is
structurally sound.”

Kenzie took in the windows at intervals along the one wall,
allowing light in. The early-morning sun illuminated dust motes of a building
too long unused, wistful from the memories of the bright lights and all the
activity of her memories.

“Have you heard anything about the Family Foundations Project?”
he asked.

Kenzie sipped the coffee then admitted, “Not much, I’m afraid.
Family Foundations was an issue during the last election. The project addresses
some areas targeted for renewal by the mayor.”

“That’s actually more than most people know. Unfortunately,
turnout for local elections is dismal. Easy to get the impression no one cares.
Glad that’s not the case.”

“It’s a challenge to keep up with the issues,” she said. “I
don’t come close, but I do make a point of attempting to catch up before I head
into my precinct to vote.”

“Did you vote for me?” He flashed that smile, blinding her with
the glare.

What was up with her and this man’s smile? “I did not.”

“I’m crushed.” Humor showed deep in his striking eyes, gray and
so clear they seemed to sparkle. “May I ask why? Just generally. Was it district
or about a specific issue? The council is nonpartisan, so accountability?
Availability? I’m guessing it wasn’t about political experience because the guy
I ran against had less than I did, which is saying something.”

Did he grill every voter? She supposed it was a natural
politician question, but he surprised her with his candor. She sidestepped
answering by asking a question of her own. “I was unaware of your
experience.”

“A three-year term on the Historic Preservation Commission.
That’s why I know so much about the Main Street Advisory Board. They’ve been
working on revitalization of the downtown district since long before I came on
board. It’s largely because of the new historic status of the area that we’ve
been able to get funding. We’re improving the infrastructure trying to grow
tourism and new business. All good stuff. You’re invited to be a part.”

“First question.”

“Shoot.”

“Why me?” Her agency hadn’t yet celebrated its second
anniversary, and one typically had to be involved in government bureaucracy to
even know Positive Partings existed.

Or be familiar with the divorce process.

Which Will Russell was, with not one but two divorces behind
him. And he couldn’t be much older than she was. Thirty-ish? He’d never attended
her classes. Of that she was certain. There was simply no overlooking this
man.

Idly sliding a hand along the barre, he gave an occasional tug
as if testing the stability. Then he met her gaze in the mirror, addressing her
question with his undivided attention.

“Family Foundations targets public services, downtown
revitalization, economic growth, infrastructure and family support. You’re a
locally based agency doing public service work for our community that’s directly
related to families.

“This building sits on the outer boundary of the Main Street
Historic District, so it qualifies for renovation funds. But we can’t allocate
those funds until we have tenants to provide steady revenue and, because we’re
using the city’s money, there are guidelines for tenancy.”

Kenzie was suddenly glad for the coffee, which provided a
chance to glance at her cup and avoid the intensity of his gaze. “The letter
mentioned sharing the space.”

“The other tenant will be Angel House. It’s a local resource
center for families and a preschool for exceptional students.”

Sipping her coffee, she kept her gaze fixed on her cup and
asked, “What sort of exceptionalities?”

“Primarily autism but other pervasive developmental disorders
along the spectrum like Asperger’s.”

Kenzie considered that. “Two local businesses that serve the
community through family support. Divorce and special needs. One provides
services through the public court. The other through private education. One
business deals exclusively with adults, while the other deals with children.
Family Foundations is covering all the bases, isn’t it?”

He raised his cup in a mock toast. “Very good. People may not
always agree on the issues, but everyone wants their tax dollars at work where
they can see it. We’re trying to hit as many demographics as possible.”

Kenzie could practically feel approval radiating off him. This
man wore his heart on his sleeve. She had no idea why, but his inner child was
instigating her inner child in a big way. She could feel his intensity straight
to her toes.

Chemistry.
Honestly.

Running a hand along a windowpane, she glanced out at South
Main Street, at the traffic rolling past, at the people on the street even this
early in the day. Such an incredible location. “So who decides how space will be
allocated? Preschoolers need room to run around.”

“This is a big building. A former dance studio.” He pulled on
the barre to emphasize his point. “There’s a recital hall in the back. When you
count the parking lot, this place encompasses an entire city block. We’ll create
two separate facilities. The exact square footage will depend on your
needs.”

“Who gets the parking lot?” The lot was to the side of the
building, cleverly accessible from West Orchard Street rather than Main, which
could have created difficult traffic situations or limited accessibility during
rush hour.

And there was usually plenty of activity on the street, so
Kenzie wouldn’t feel so isolated getting to her car after night classes. A
definite minus for her current location.

Most folks were pleasant enough, usually inconvenienced to
attend court-ordered classes and wanting to get in and out as fast as possible
more than anything else. But her career hadn’t been free of stressful incidents.
Such was the nature of dealing with the adversarial divorce process.

“The lot will be accessible to both tenants,” he reassured her.
“There’s plenty of room even for the school staff, and, if for some reason you
need overflow, there are the metered lots nearby.” He covered the distance
between them with a few long strides. Then he was so close she had to tip her
head to meet his gaze.

She resisted the urge to step away.

He gazed out the window toward the parking lot in question,
which was barely visible from this vantage. The morning sun backlit his profile,
cast his expression in shadow.