The Husband List. Cindy Kirk
done little to deserve such loyalty. “If you need anything, anything at all—”
“You’ve done enough already.” Keenan clasped a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “But thanks. I appreciate the offer.”
They talked for another minute before Travis left to answer a catering question. It wasn’t until after he disappeared into the crowd that Keenan turned back to Mitzi, who’d been messing with her smartphone while undoubtedly listening to every word. “Satisfied?”
Instead of looking abashed, she grinned. “You were right.”
“About being me?”
“I had my doubts.” Mitzi looked him up and down, sizing him up. “You and Betsy don’t really look alike.”
Before he could respond, she spun on her heel. “I’m getting something to eat. Perhaps snag more champagne. I’m not on call so I’m allowing myself two glasses this evening.”
Keenan used to drink, quite a bit during high school and even more during the following years. Then he quit. Not because alcohol was a problem for him, but because he didn’t want it to become one.
He watched the pretty doctor saunter off and felt a stab of disappointment. Hanging out with her had been fun...while it lasted.
“Hey.” Mitzi turned, cast a challenging glance over her shoulder. “Aren’t you coming?”
* * *
Growing up in East Los Angeles, Mitzi had plenty of experience with convicts. Her mother had dated many and had even lived with a few of them. Her sister had married one. Or was it two? Such relationships never ended well. Mitzi, who’d been determined to get out of that life and never look back, had never been remotely attracted to someone who’d had trouble with the law.
Of course, Keenan had been sent to prison for a crime he hadn’t committed. That still didn’t mean he was the kind of man she’d be interested in dating.
She wanted a successful man, someone with a lot of drive and ambition. From what she’d heard, Keenan had been living a hedonistic lifestyle before he landed in jail. Still, she enjoyed talking with him. What would be the harm in chatting a little while longer over a crab cake or two?
“Did I offend you with the convict comment?” she asked when he joined her.
“I am a convict.” Keenan shrugged. “I spent time in prison. Granted, I didn’t kill the guy, but I was still convicted and sent away.”
“True.”
On their way to the buffet table, they were stopped every few feet by someone wanting to hug Keenan or offer congratulations.
He handled the attention well, Mitzi noticed. Keenan had an easy charm and a ready smile, but she could feel the tension in the arm she held and knew this light mood wasn’t as effortless for him as it appeared.
“This must be difficult,” she said, when they finally reached the table.
“I’m not used to the social thing anymore,” Keenan said with a slightly abashed look. “But it’s nice knowing so many people care.”
Mitzi wondered if she’d inspire such loyalty, then shoved the thought aside. She had more important things on her mind right now. She slanted a sideways glance at Keenan. “Do you like crab cakes?”
He tilted his head. “Is that a trick question?”
“I want a bite of one but not the whole thing.”
“You could, I don’t know, leave the part you don’t want on your plate.”
Mitzi had spent many years in a household without enough to eat. She could be wasteful in a lot of areas of her life, but food wasn’t one of them. Wrinkling her nose, she shook her head.
His lips twitched. “Since that obviously isn’t an acceptable option, I’ll be a gentleman and help you out.”
With a satisfied smirk, Mitzi dropped a crab cake on the plate. “If you only want a bite of something, I’ll do the same.”
“I’m not a guy who does things halfway.”
Something told her he wasn’t joking.
When he reached for his own plate, she put a hand on his arm, shook her head. “We’ll share.”
Amusement flickered in his eyes. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re bossy?”
“All the time.” She snatched a deep-fried ball of something from a tray and popped it into her mouth.
Rolling his eyes, he did the same. Chewed. Swallowed. “Tasty.”
“Better than prison food?”
“Much better,” he agreed.
They made their way down the long table, her pointing to something and him shaking his head, then repeating the process with him doing the pointing. By the time they finished, the plate was full.
Though Mitzi had just met Keenan, conversation flowed freely. They didn’t talk about medicine or theater events or fancy wines, but about food and now, cats.
“Mr. Tubs wasn’t anything special.” Keenan finished off the crab cake Mitzi had sliced in half with surgical precision. “But he was a good mouser and smart as a whip. Betsy and I even taught him tricks. Believe me, that wasn’t easy to do.”
Mitzi heard the affection, knew the animal had been special. “I had a cat, Oreo. I found her abandoned in a Dumpster. Like your Tubs, she earned a place in the household by keeping the mice population down.”
“What happened to her?”
Mitzi lifted one shoulder. “She got old. One day we opened the door and she slipped out. I read cats often go away to die. I like to think that’s what happened to her.”
Keenan nodded, lifted a mozzarella stick from the plate.
“What happened to Tubs?”
His lips tightened. “My mother sold him.”
Just the way he said mother told Mitzi there wasn’t any love between them.
“Why did she do that?”
“Like I said, he could do tricks.” Keenan looked down at the mozzarella stick as if trying to figure out what was in his hand. “She needed money for booze. We came home from school and Tubs was gone. She didn’t remember—she said—who bought him. It was...difficult. Betsy was devastated.”
From the look in Keenan’s eyes, his sister hadn’t been the only one. Mitzi took the mozzarella stick from his hand, dropped it onto the plate then set it aside. “Let’s take a walk.”
When they got to the back of the house, he reached around her to open the French doors leading to a deck festively lit with party lights. Couples stood in small, intimate groups talking and laughing under the golden glow from a full moon. The crisp scent of dried leaves mingled with the pungent aroma of evergreen.
After speaking briefly with several friends and getting hugs from a few more, Keenan moved to the rail and inhaled deeply. “So many times I wondered if I’d ever have this again.”
“Well, now you’re back.”
“And starting over.” He paused, shook his head as if clearing it. “That’s inaccurate. I’m beginning the next phase in my life. Out with the old. In with the new.”
That’s exactly how Mitzi had felt when she’d gone to college. Moving on. Leaving the past behind. Except she’d discovered the past often came with you, even without a proper invitation.
“What is that?” Keenan’s question pulled her from her reverie.
Mitzi turned, caught her breath at his nearness. With great effort she forced her attention to where he pointed. Someone had tied a sprig of berries