by Siera London
She stopped short of the pharmacy. Maybe, she could toss out a phone a doctor lifeline and have him meet her at the Okoro family home tomorrow. With renewed hope, Zari pulled her cell from her purse, and then scrolled through her professional contacts. Finding the number she needed, she placed the phone to her ear, and pulled out her cheeriest voice. Was cheeriest a word? The line connected.
"Ethan, this is Zari Okoro, the kindergarten teacher you met at the student health fair. I know this is an unusual request, but I wanted to invite you to Christmas dinner. I'll send you a text with all the details. Merry Christmas, bye."
Ethan Kane was a new emergency room physician at Shell Cove Medical Center. Clasping her phone in both hands she blew a kiss into the wind. This might work. Zari's smile morphed into a grimace when Bishop came to an abrupt stop beside her. A wave of water overflowed the curb. The warm liquid drenched said designer shoes before bathing each of her toes and settling under the soles of her feet.
"Argh." Her feet were swimming in Mother Nature's organic soup. Gross. Zari looked at the water stained shoes, so much for being careful.
"Go on inside, Zari. The storm is moving fast. You won't make it home in time." Bishop said through the downed window.
The rain was coming down harder, blowing what felt like strings of wetness across her face, temporarily clouding her vision. The taste of the salty air burned her tongue.
"Thanks Bishop. I appreciate you watching out for me." At his doubtful expression, she offered a nod of appreciation, and then walked the three feet to Baker's Pharmacy.
"Good luck. Merry Christmas." What was that supposed to mean, but his face gave nothing away.
Zari curled her fingers around the door handle, pressing into the metal until it bit into her palm. Of all the stores in Old Towne, why did it have to be his store? To say she was nervous would be an understatement. Zari glanced at her reflection in the tinted glass out of habit. It shouldn't matter how she looked, considering the man that shattered her heart could be on the other side of the door. She squeezed her eyes shut, swallowed the ball of nerves in her throat, then she opened her eyes. Gasping in horror, she closed them again. She looked like Carrie, minus the bucket of blood, but drenched all the same. The WE'RE OPEN ticker tape trailed across her forehead like an ill placed prom queen sash.
A surge of anger and disappointment had her stiffening her spine. If he was beyond this door, a new woman would stand before him. Not the wounded Miss reeling from his betrayal. She pushed open the door. Please make everything all right she mouthed looking heavenward. Even a woman of strength knew to ask for help she reasoned before leaning her weight forward. A bell sounded three times as the door swung inward, and then the room was pitched into darkness.
* * *
Aron breathed a sigh of relief. The one person he'd been waiting for had arrived. Unfortunately, the absence of light would make completing a prescription precarious. Lucky for them both he was in a store stocked with the basic necessities. Aron knew the layout of Baker's better than his own kitchen pantry.
"Hello," came a soft-spoken, hesitant greeting.
Mr. Baker's friend was female? The lithe voice of a young woman piqued Aron's curiosity. Who was this woman?
"I'm in the back of the store," Aron called out. "Stay where you are, I'm coming to you." Aron felt his way down the aisle that housed the flashlights. Feeling for the metal hook protruding from the display shelf, he grabbed a mini MagLight package with batteries included. Making quick work of the cardboard backing, Aron palmed the contents.
"You can trust that I'll wait for you right here." Her response was louder than the greeting. Aron’s heart rate increased at the sugared accent he'd missed for months. What was the likelihood she'd walk into Baker's Pharmacy on Christmas Eve? For a second, he stood frozen, incapable of movement. Was it to presumptuous of him to believe his plea had been answered?
"Ah...are you okay?" The hint of concern in her voice was enough to disrupt his trance state and propel him forward.
"On my way." His voice sounded strained to his own ears. Fumbling with the batteries, he loaded them in the flashlight handle, just as the store entrance came into view. Casting the beam in the direction of the shadowed figure, he reminded himself to breathe when the light illuminated her sweetheart face.
"Zari," he questioned the vision before his eyes, praying that she was real, not a figment of his imagination. How many times had he prayed she'd walk through that door in the past year?
"Hello Aron."
His name on her lips was the sweetest caress to his ears. Clumps of hair clung heavily against her neck. Stringy ebony tresses were matted to her forehead, the bulky mass hung on her head like a wet rug dripping water onto her shoulders. Her skin was smoother than fresh ground cinnamon. The satiny red A-line dress clung to her body with the grace of a wet T-shirt. Smooth shaved legs with defined calves were on full display in the four-inch heels she wore. She was still the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes on.
They regarded one another in silence. Say something. Taking a step closer he inhaled her unique scent of warmed honey and vanilla. Like iron forged in fire, a familiar need started to take shape, his body in tune with this woman.
"I was expecting someone else." He heard her quick indrawn breath and he went rigid. Big brown eyes, stared back at him–stunned. Too late, he realized his mistake.
Chapter 3
Aron’s warm, woodsy scent was the first thing to assail Zari’s senses. Clean Georgia pine filled the space between them forming a bridge that she would have crawled across to reach him if he weren't waiting for someone else. Zari swallowed the bitter pill of hurt Aron's words had lodged in her throat. Another woman was out there traversing perilous roads to reach Aron, a woman that hadn't humiliated him.
He cleared his throat. "What I meant to say is, there's a customer on her way here."
"Of course. I'll wait by the door for the storm to past." Zari replied coolly. She regarded the man in front of her. Six feet of milk chocolate muscle, with hazel eyes and envy worthy lashes. He wore a light gray button down shirt, with charcoal slacks, and dark suede oxfords. Midnight black hair cut with enough waves for the babes at the temple and a little curl for the girls on the top. The low light gave his angular face a stern quality that she knew was the opposite of his personality. He'd been attentive and patient when they'd dated.
"No, you won't," he said, determination in his voice.
"Excuse me?" Zari wanted to avoid a confrontation, needed to avoid confrontation with this man. Her relationship with Aron had ended, yet self-righteous anger compelled her to engage him.
"I won't do that either. You'll come to the back of the store with me. Away from the windows, where it's safe."
Aron held out his hand to her. Images of him holding her with those hands, in comfort, in love, flooded her mind. One touch and she would weaken. He knew it. She felt it.
Shooing his hand away, "You go ahead. The storm should break soon." Ha, Zari hadn't a clue if that were true. But if she touched him, all the emotional barricades she had in place that kept her from returning his calls or showing up at his job would come crashing down.
"You should be home, Zari." His deep, pure masculine voice reached in her touching a place in her soul unfathomable by any other man. For a brief moment she allowed his bass to surround her, dance across her skin only to dissipate on a long fluid note. His voice soothed all the hurts between them, aloe on a fresh sunburn.
Zari squeezed the edge of the clutch tucked under her arm bolstering her resolve. Curse Tropical Storm Sebastian for trapping her within his reach. Destructive forces should be called Fury, Wrath, Destructor, not Sebastian. One of her friends had a kitten name Sebastian.
"It's not safe to be on the road," he chastised.
"If I had a choice, I'd be anywhere other than here," she said, in a sharp tone. Here at this crossroad, here in the rain trolling for a man, here without him in her life. He needed to understand she w
as not here by choice. Zari would have chosen Florida quicksand over this juncture in her life or entering this particular pharmacy.
"The roads between Old Towne and my place are flooded." Realizing she was under his scrutiny she stiffened her stance. "I can't double back." A ray of what looked like hope flashed in his eyes. "Bishop is patrolling to ensure everyone is off the road." she said in a cool tone. Give a man a badge and squad car and you've created a megalomaniac.
"I see," his words delivered with a clipped edge. "It's Christmas Eve. You look rather formal for an evening with family."
She bristled at his none to subtle probing. Family had everything to do with her standing before the one man she could never be with again. The only man she wanted.
"How I spend my holiday is no longer your concern."
Her voice climbed an octave with each word. "You're snapping at me, Zari. What's wrong?"
This whole scenario was so familiar, his uncanny ability to read her. There was no way for her to accept his help. Another virgin birth would be recorded before Zari considered taking Aron to her family home. Penetrating coffee color eyes bore into hers. His masculine features hardened when she didn't respond. He never did suffer intentional silence well.
"I'm not your problem," she hissed, angry that he would offer his assistance if she asked. More anger stirred inside her, knowing she could not accept.
"True, you've gone to great lengths to ensure you are no longer my problem."
She gave a stiff nod of agreement. They were on the same page. Waiting out the storm together should be a walk in the park moving forward. So pleased with her negotiating abilities, she gasped when he invaded her personal space. Their bodies as close as possible without touching.
"What if I said you are the solution to everything that ails me?"
She swallowed…gulped for air in reality.
He was doing it again. Scrambling with her head. Making her fantasize a future that was impossible.
"I would say, you should stop self diagnosing and go see a doctor. Something is seriously wrong if I'm your problem solver."
In reality, Zari never imagined the barrage of problems Aron’s affection for her had created. Her failure to recognize the effect on those around her was equal measure immaturity and inattention. And the consequences had been devastating.
She had to do something to restore the distance between them. "While I'm here, there's some business we should address," she said, clearing her throat. Without breaking eye contact, Zari pulled her purse from beneath her arm, reached inside, and then held the package out toward him. "I would like a refund for these."
Zari watched as Aron’s gaze moved from her face to the contents of her hand. A feral growl erupted from his throat. She jumped back, the water logged shoe inserts squishing between her toes.
"Why would you have these?"
She ignored his question, which earned her a fierce scowl.
"The box is open," he gritted out, his eyes wildly searching hers for answers.
"Open box items are still accepted here," she supplied in a business like tone. His lips thinned in displeasure.
"There's one missing, Zari."
Menace flashed in his eyes. The question he dare not ask her was on the threshold of his usually full lips.
How should she navigate this fork in the conversation, with Jean Gray polish and finesse or the purely instinctual Phoenix, armed and ready to annihilate everything in sight?
* * *
Aron narrowed his eyes on the woman made to be his. His. Then he scowled at the busted, water-logged, faded lettering, his fingers the only thing holding the package together, open box of condoms Zari had given him. He saw beyond red. He saw orange, as in a jumpsuit with numbers across his back. Whoever the guy was, he wouldn't live to see Christmas day.
Taking in her attire, the contents of his hand, and her appearance his brain short-circuited at the implication. Zari was involved with someone new. He felt the tightening of his jaw at the idea of Zari giving her attention to another man. Touching another man. She'd promised that he would be the first and only man to ever touch her. True, it was the profession of a twenty year-old woman-child, but he believed every word. Unfortunately for him, the sentiment was not mutual. He was a man accused in her eyes. Her trust in him and faith in their love was absent when he needed them most.
"No refund on products that have been partially consumed," he said through clenched teeth.
Zari jutted her chin forward, looking him squarely in the eye. She had to know he was boiling inside. The inferno inside him raged out of control. If anything came within an inch of Aron’s body, it would catch fire.
"I haven't consumed anything."
"You doling out condoms for your Christmas wish list, Zari? Give me the name of the man that gave you cause to buy these." Was it someone he knew? When she gave him a name Shell Cove would be mourning the loss of one of their native sons.
"His name escapes me."
Aron studied Zari. There was truth reflected in her eyes. Which made no sense at all. She had condoms in her purse for a man she’d never met? On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me…rainy day condoms. Aron glanced beyond her shoulder where weighted raindrops pounded everything he could see with Mother Nature’s tears. Today it poured, similar to the pain in his chest.
"What were your plans for this evening, Zari? You bought these for," he thrust the contents of his hand in her direction, "for a man you met tonight."
She broke eye contact, gazing at her feet.
"You've conveniently forgotten your lover’s name?"
Did she remember the feel of Aron’s touch on her body? Whoever this man was, today was the last day she would ever see him again.
“Zari?” He tried to keep his voice level, while his insides tossed like plastic balls in a hot air machine.
She glanced up, eyes fiery with indignation. "Tabia bought them for me, from this store. End of story, you happy now?," she railed at him.
All the liquid in Aron’s veins vaporized to steam at the mention of her sister's name. "Nowhere near it. Are condoms the trendy gift this season? You rip open the box and tear one off the roll for show and tell on Christmas morning. Who is he, Zari?" Demand steeled every word. Aron clenched his jaw, forcing himself to wait for Zari’s response before he spoke. They stood in a face off, both their exhales harsh in the stillness.
When Zari cupped her left breast in her left hand and inserted the right hand into her bodice Aron felt all the muscles below his belt contract. He glued his eyes to the swell of her breast as it ebbed and flowed with the increase in shifting pressure. His mouth watered at the thought of tasting her brand of chocolate. What started out sexy went south on a gasoline pole when she trapped something against her stomach and started contorting her body at odd angles. The circus contortion act ended when a square, gold tone foil pack emerged over her right breast.
"I don't need condoms, ever–thanks to–,"
Her tirade came to an abrupt halt. Aron breathed in a deep breath as Zari peeled the packet off her skin and dropped it in his still open palm.
"Finish the sentence, Z."
"Just refund the money, please." She huffed.
Aron gave Zari an incredulous stare. Either she'd gone crazy in their year apart or she was having a really bad day. A cleavage condom. Seriously. She had been prepared to have sex tonight. And not with him. He took a step toward her. She held out a hand to halt his advance.
"I still want his name." He stood legs spread wide with his arms crossed over his chest.
"It's been a crappy night. I am in no mood for an ABW moment. There's your product," she pointed to the trashed box and damp condom wrappers in his hand. "Give me my eight dollars and forty-nine cents and I'll be on my way ASAP."
She wasn't leaving him again especially if Tabia had set her up with some guy expecting a horizontal date. Aron was prepared to keep Zari with him all night...storm or no storm.
"ABW?
Did you just call me an angry black woman?" He watched as her mouth twisted in outrage.
"No. You've been fuming since I dumped that box in your hands. I called you an angry butt wipe."
This was good, Aron thought. They were talking. Well, she was yelling, but it was more than she'd said to him in over nine months.
"Calm down, Zari. Let's talk because this conversation is long overdue." She had never given Aron the opportunity to explain what had happened all those months ago. Tonight, Tropical Storm Sebastian had given him an opportunity. He planned to take full advantage.
"I was calm until I came in here," Zari snapped.
"Why am I a butt wipe?" he queried. All the muscles in his abdomen went taunt, prepared for the blow. But nothing could shield him from the hurt laced with venom in her voice.
"Because only a butt wipe would kiss his girlfriend's sister! Correction, his ex-girlfriend's sister," her chest heaved with each word, "on Christmas Eve. During the city’s caroling concert." She shook her head from side to side as if warding off an evil spirit. "In front of everybody," she said on a whisper.
Aron didn’t flinch. One year ago, the insinuation that he was capable of such an action coupled with Zari’s wounded expression would have brought him to his knees. Not any more. The time for patience and waiting in tortured silence had come to an end. It was time for Aron to act. Now that Zari had ripped the lid off Pandora's Box, how would he close it once and for all?
