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WE STEP THROUGH THE airport's exit doors to find Keni standing by her car with her arms waving in the air. As we approach, she points, “See, here they are, so get off my back. I told you I’d just be a minute. We’ll leave as soon as they are inside, safely buckled up.” The security guy shakes his head and turns away. I feel bad for them. It’s hard enough to work security, but to have to deal with loudmouth people like us Johnson sisters has got to be rough.
“Sorry, we’ll be quick.” I shove the carry-on into the trunk, Diesel does the same, and we climb into her car.
“So, how was it?” Keni starts in on the hundred and ten questions she probably has. “It was fun, exciting, different, and a learning experience.” I glance over my shoulder and throw Diesel a little wink. His head falls slightly, hiding the smile.
“Exhausting.” He answers, clearing his throat.
“Well, you guys need to get home, shower, and get to work. And I have to get to school, so Diesel, can you bring Nicki home?” She pulls out onto the parkway and looks in her rearview mirror.
“Yeah, I’ll bring her home.” is all he says, bringing another question to my mind, whose home would become our home? If we work this out and stay together, that is.
She pulls up to the house on Selvage Avenue, we grab our luggage, and she speeds away, already late for class. I follow him up the sidewalk, and when we reach the top of the stairs, he drops his bag, takes mine, and picks me up. “What the fuck are you doing?” I hold on as he gets his keys from his pocket.
Glancing around to see if anyone is watching, he quickly pushes the key into the lock and carries me over the threshold. “We may not have gotten married the traditional way, but I wanted one moment.” He steps into the foyer and lets my legs drop. “One hour at a time, we’ll figure it out. You promised.” He says and runs his finger along my face pushing my long locks behind my ear.
It was sweet and endearing. I couldn’t stop myself from leaning in for a kiss. It was just a peck, but the fire in his eyes told me he was holding back, and I respect him for giving me the space I so desperately need right now.
“Welcome home, Mrs. McCormick. You can take the downstairs shower. I’ll take you upstairs, and we can head into work together.” He walks back to the front stoop and grabs our bags.
“Diesel?” I feel I need to say something and admit that I do care about him. But is it love? Could it be?
He places my bag at my feet, “I know, Nicki. All in good time.” With that little comment, I feel relieved. There is no tension between us. As long as we stay honest and truthful, we’ll be okay.
