CHAPTER THIRTEEN

 

“THAT DESERVES a gyros,” Keir encouraged once they stood outside.

Myah’s breathless smile said it all as she dusted off her thighs and buttocks. He’d learned his lesson. Keep away from games of poise. Check. At first he’d regretted taking her into the house, then ended up proud of her. He’d never seen anyone come out with such a great attitude where others might be embarrassed.

That didn’t mean he’d want her to experience it again.

“Lead the way, surf man.”

His hand snaked out in an awkward back and forth, before he opted to rest in the comfort of the small of her back. He liked the cozy-up feel of her but hoped she wouldn’t notice.

He looked around for the food stands, and they wandered in that direction. Both of them hesitated in front of the falafel booth. One playful pout from her, and he couldn’t resist.

“I think Dylan has some influence over you,” he teased as he came behind her to steer her into the line.

After they ordered, Myah reached into her pocket and pulled out a tiny change purse.

“You’re something else. Put your money away.”

“Well, let me go next door, I thought you needed tea.”

“Only when I have a headache.”

She frowned and looked around at the festivities. After they found seats, she clasped his offered hand while he gave thanks for the food, only to quickly pull away when rowdy high school kids passed their table.

Still under a frown, she started on her food and looked across the table at him. “All of this doesn’t give you a headache?”

He eyed the crowds. “It’s not caused by noise.”

“Stress?”

“It’s—yeah. How’d you know?”

She shrugged but her head tilted. “Stress will do that to a person. But you don’t fit the bill, you’re always relaxed to me.”

He chuckled and picked at his food, a little shy that she’d pinned a bit of his behavior. Meeting her eyes, he thought she looked adorable chewing her food and peering back as though genuine with concern to hear about his problem. He watched her lips move and took a bite of his delicious falafel before she hacked and choked and glanced away.

When he rose to pat her back, she flashed him off and coughed out in no uncertain terms that she was all right. He sat down before she eventually calmed and they settled into companionable silence.

Myah looked like she wanted to keep up a stream of words, but held back. Keir maintained a watchful eye on her between mouthfuls and checking out the surroundings. He didn’t know what made him want to get in her space. With a leg stretched to the side of the table, he leaned back to give her deep study. Bubbly, talkative, mother.

Not. My. Type. That’s what it spelled, pure and simple.

He needed to nip this in the bud, because how bad off could he be if he thought she’d make a cool friend and him not become interested? Again, bubbly…talkative…mother. Black. This spelled disaster.

As he’d balanced above her in that shifting, moving room, his friendship rule had waved adios. Beneath him, fingers tight in his hair, Myah had laughed until she’d glowed.

He’d wanted to strike hard and fast, but kept his head. He wouldn’t dare risk a kiss on those lips without first being reasonably sure of her reaction.

Besides, he liked brunettes. Caucasian brunettes. Miss Myah Blake and him? Turned too many heads. Too many black men seemed to think it was their business to remind him he was white. At least they did with the one black girl he dated eight years ago.

Keir scouted mixed and neutral stares now, and leaned forward to hunch over the table.

The men back then had given him an extra-long look, flirted with his girlfriend right in front of him, and—admittedly—he’d been intimidated by their loud and boisterous carryings on. Why’d they have to be extra about it? It was either that or whisper behind his back. Older white folk looked down on him like trash getting a fix. No matter how much he’d matured over the years, to have a stranger nitpick his private life remained something he wasn’t sure he wanted to live with.

Single mother plus black woman issues were bound to get to him at some point and he wouldn’t be prepared.

But she’d called him relaxed. Him? Well, he really hadn’t had a skull cracking headache all day.

“The pain I get, it’s psychological,” he confessed. He waited until her eyes told him she understood he spoke of his headaches. “From the crash. My doc says there’s nothing wrong, but my mind doesn’t care.”

“From the…?” She grew still. “You were in the car?”

He found a spot over her shoulder to avoid any look of pity now that she put it together. There were things only his family, his associate pastor, and his doctors knew. Things no one had the right or the stomach to hear; like what his broken bones and his mind endured in over a year’s recovery.

He shared scraps of it—over a falafel and orange soda of all things. Myah made strangled noises and tapped his arm a few times, but otherwise didn’t stare at him in pithy pity or emit drawn out whines.

The fear of large vehicles, save his trusted Ram, would stay his for now.

They spent the next two hours experimenting on different games and rides. Each time he saw her laugh or smile or prattle on in excited conversation, he failed to find any pretense that he’d deterred her with his phantom headache confession.

Soon, he sought out those perfectly shaped lips for a different reason than to gauge any delayed reaction. He got up close when she cuddled a baby goat but hung back when she got cozy with a noisy piglet. Her laughs and constant commentaries kept him trained to hear what she had to say next. By the time they finished a few more rides and food, he’d found a fun and daring side he’d never imagined.

On the way back to the truck, he held Myah’s hand and pretended to help her over the dirt mounds. She went along with it. She didn’t have soft hands, but a strong grip, which reminded him of the son she must hold on to. He liked that she wasn’t one eager to get away from him and his violent mind’s aberrations. She didn’t make a move to let go until he helped her inside.

As he drove back to Chicago, he enjoyed the conversations that sprouted at regular intervals. He hated the sense of loss when he pulled in behind her car and shoved the truck into park. Myah looked at him, gazed out to her car, then her lap.

Her lips parted, but whatever she was about to say, he didn’t want it to be good night. “I’ll follow you home to make sure you’re safe.” The words blurted out too loud.

Myah looked at him. Her surprised eyes made him pick at the leather-clad steering wheel and find interest in whatever non-happenings went on outside his windshield.

“If you don’t mind,” he added. He peeked over to see her nod and a slight smile, then she slid out of the truck before he wondered if he should have been there to open the door.

During a five minute drive, the self-centered haze lifted. They’d spent nearly seven hours together, more than enough time for a first date, and plenty enough that she’d be ready to get rid of him and enjoy her rare evening home alone.

He followed her to the single-car driveway and saw her park under the awning. She’d jumped out of her car in the short time it took him to pull in and brake. Her eyes surveyed his truck as she walked toward his side. He had the door ajar before he read her tentative face, which said she’d thought about that evening home alone. He stayed put but, instead, slid the window all the way down.

Myah’s fingers brushed her cheek as her eyes skimmed the street and dodged his gaze. “Everything was fabulous today, Keir. Thank you.”

“We should do it again sometime.”

“Yep.” She rocked on her heels and clasped her hands. “I suppose this is where I ask you in and serve that hideous black tea you love so much.”

With no eye contact, he settled into his seat and secured the door after him. “I’ll let you go. We’ve had a long day and you’re probably tired. I shouldn’t stay.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh. You’re sure?”

Did she want him to go or not? “If that’s what you want.”

“Yes. Of course.”

“Okay. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

She looked stumped.

“Thanks for today, Myah. I had fun.”

“Fun. Right.” She hummed a sigh. “Okay, I’ll see you.”

“See ya.”

He hesitated when Myah’s hands flapped to her thighs and she turned to the house. She glared back a couple of times. He waited until she gathered her things from the car and wandered to the front door. When she closed it behind her, he drove away.

At the end of the block, he paused at the stop sighed and sighed as he shook his head and rolled his eyes. Smooth as gravel, guy. Keir drove on with only shreds of anticipation for tomorrow. Maybe he’d regain his dignity and call her in the morning to wish her a happy Easter.

Man, he wished he’d kissed her. Would she have let him? “I think so,” he mumbled. It wouldn’t have been her after-date polite protocol to offer either. Not like the Courteous Myah invitation to—

Truck tires squealed as he slammed the brakes.

“Brain dead!” Did he just miss that for real? Myah, self-proclaimed hater of black tea had his brand waiting for him inside?

Keir glanced around at the early evening streets. How long since he left? A return trip… He gripped the steering wheel and shook himself. Argh! He couldn’t go back.

But she’d bought black tea.

Keir croaked and beat himself for missing the obvious. No way could he see her now. But tomorrow… He did a U-turn and raced toward her borough.