by Lia London
“Aw, you’ve seen me eat.” He wagged a finger at her. “I chew at least four or five times before swallowing, and I only burp when—”
She put a hand on his arm to silence him. “I’m teasing you, Barth.”
Barth kept his eyes on the road, but his grin spread, and she noted the dimple in his cheek again. How could a big, athletic man have something as charming and cute as a dimple? Even in profile, he exuded a cheerful, innocent charm she found more endearing now that they sat alone in his pick-up truck.
“Are you holding on because you’re afraid I’m going to take the turns too tight?” He bobbed his elbow up and down, and she let out a sharp breath. Her hand still touched his arm.
“No, no. I’m sure you’re a safe driver.” Blushing, she opened the bag of food. “Did you want me to unwrap one of these for you?”
“Aw, that’d be nice. Thanks. I can do it myself, but then I make a mess.” He flashed her a smile. “I might not be on camera, but I gotta look good for you, right?”
Chieko rolled her eyes. The flirting. The endless flirting.
Yet something in his expression had changed. A touch of sincerity crowded out the routine bravado.
“You look good. Don’t worry.” Her ears registered what she’d said, and her cheeks flooded with heat. Busying herself with the task of readying his breakfast, she silently reprimanded herself. She couldn’t afford to give him the wrong signals. No self-respecting Sansei daughter would ever let her affections fall outside of the prescribed order. If she ever bothered to fall in love and get married, her family would expect her to bring forth more ivory-skinned academics destined to rule in the worlds of finance, technology, or medicine.
She stared at the bright colors in her hand where eggs, bacon, cheese, and peppers promised a flavorful mouthful. Why hadn’t her parents learned that colors of skin could mix as well?
How would they react if she ever fell in love with someone who didn’t fit their ideals?
Chieko sighed and dismissed that line of thinking before it depressed her. It wasn’t relevant anyway.
As she handed the burrito to Barth, her fingertips brushed his hand. The sparks didn’t come until he smiled and took a bite, a delayed reaction.
Chieko watched him in her peripheral vision as she unwrapped her own breakfast and processed the sensation of his touch and smile.
Delicious.
She took a bite of her burrito.
Two hours into the drive, it occurred to Barth he’d never been alone with a woman for so long. He’d always taken his dates to gatherings with family and friends.
Now, he glanced over at the dozing Chieko. She’d probably wake up when they stopped for gas, and then what would he do? He could only crack jokes and keep the banter light for so long before he ran out of things to say. Some girls liked to dig deep with personal questions, but Chieko didn’t seem the type to do that, and for that he gave a quick prayer of thanks. If she scratched too much beyond the surface, she’d see his scared soul worrying about the future.
Only MarLee glimpsed his insecurities since he’d lost the perks of athletic celebrity.
But Chieko, unlike MarLee, wouldn’t see past the happy face if he kept it on.
Besides, he’d rather focus on getting Chieko to lighten up. She leaned to the serious side of life, but when she chuckled, he loved the sound. It reminded him of foaming bubbles escaping over a glass when he poured the Pepsi too fast. Sweet. Light. A little out of control.
“Don’t you need to keep your eyes on the road?” asked Chieko.
Had he been staring at her?
“I’m a lineman. I’ve got eyes in the sides of my head.” Even so, he returned his focus to the white lines pacing past him.
“Where are we, anyway?” She stretched with her arms forward, reminding him of a cat waking from a nap.
“Outside of Olympia. I gotta stop for gas. You want to get out and shake a leg?”
“Olympia? Are we going to make it on time?”
He shrugged. “Traffic.”
The corner of her mouth twitched up. “You couldn’t break through the line with a touchdown run?”
“Do I look like a running back to you?”
“Um.”
Ouch. Didn’t she know the different builds of football positions? “Does my truck look like a running back to you?”
She leaned over to peer at the dashboard. “It looks like you finally need my gas money.”
Barth’s tongue went heavy in his mouth at the press of her body against his arm. Rushes of adrenaline went up and down his right side, and before he knew it, he’d zoomed past two semi trucks and onto the exit ramp.
“Uh-oh.”
Red and blue lights flickered in his rearview mirror. His heart sank. Of all the luck. He’d been careful during the entire drive, and the one time he went over the speed limit, the cops stood by ready to nab him.
Barth pulled over to the side of the exit and stopped the car, closing his eyes in supplication. He had no outstanding tickets for moving violations. There shouldn’t be a problem.
Chieko snapped her head back and groaned. “Were you speeding?”
“Just that last bit. Of course.” He pulled out his wallet and placed it on the dashboard, rolled down his window, and then placed his hands on the wheel in plain sight. No need to give anyone reason to be scared of the big African-American man.
The wiry, olive-skinned Washington State trooper bent down and peered into the cab. “Good morning. Can I see your license and registration, please?” Despite the man’s pleasant tone, Barth’s pulse quickened.
“Yes, sir.” Barth quickly delivered the ID, reaching past Chieko’s knees for the registration in the glove box. Already embarrassed, he flushed hotter when she snickered at the chaos inside the compartment. “Guess I forgot to clean that part.”
“Officer, what seems to be the problem?” asked Chieko, leaning close enough for Barth to smell her shampoo. “Do we have a brake light out or something?”
The trooper’s bald spot glistened with the misty rain as he examined Barth’s license. “You were taking the exit ramp kind of fast. I clocked you at 52, and it’s 35.” He lifted the license. “I just need to run a check.”
“Seriously?” Chieko’s sharp tone put Barth on edge.
“Guess I didn’t hit the brakes fast enough to slow down in time,” said Barth.
“I’ll run your license and be right back.”
As the officer retreated to his car, Barth gritted his teeth and pounded on the dashboard. “I can’t afford a speeding ticket right now. This sucks.”
“I forgot to warn you Washington has speed traps everywhere. They must fund a space exploration program with the money from tickets or something.”
Barth gave a strained smile. Three-digit speeding fines did not fit in his budget.
“I got an idea,” said Chieko, unclicking her belt. She opened her door, and Barth reached after her.
“What are you doing?” His voice pitched higher. “Don’t yell at him. I don’t need mad cops staring down my black self. You don’t know how it is.”
“Trust me.” She closed the door and minced towards the officer.
Barth sank lower in his seat, straining to hear their exchange.
“Miss, please return to your car.”
“Officer, I’m so sorry. It’s my fault if he was speeding. I really have to pee, and he was trying to get us to a gas station fast.”
“I’m sorry. You’ll have to wait.”
“I get that, but I’m still going to have to pee. Do you think I can duck behind those shrubs over there?”
Barth stifled a laugh and tilted his rearview mirror to watch.
Chieko held her hands up in an appeasing gesture.
The cop stuttered. “Um. I … Miss, please get back in the car.”
“I’m not peeing in my co-worker’s car. The office gossip is going to be bad enough as it is.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “O
ffice co-worker?”
Straightening, Chieko held out her hand. “Chieko Makiguchi, KGW Portland weekend anchor. He’s my cameraman. I’m on assignment, but right now I’m on a mission to find a bathroom, organic or manmade.”
The officer gave a nervous laugh, glancing past her to the row of gas stations and fast food restaurants less than 300 yards away. “You know what? Go. Get in the truck and get to a gas station. Just mind your speeds on the off-ramps next time. Go.”
“Thank you!” she oozed.
In the truck, Barth pumped the air with his fists.
Chieko jogged back to the truck, but as she opened the door, Barth called, “License!”
“License!” echoed Chieko, holding up a finger and jogging back to the cop. She returned a moment later, gasping for breath, and locked herself in. “Hurry up. I really do have to pee now. I can’t believe I did that.”
Barth eased carefully onto the exit, staying below the limit and pulling into the first gas station they came to. “Go,” he said. “And thanks.”
She opened the door and jumped out, reaching back to hand him the money. “I’ll be right back.”
As the gas gurgled into his tank, he cleaned out debris and wrappers from the glove compartment and replaced his registration paperwork. He didn’t know if the cop let him off because Chieko was a cute woman, a model minority, or a minor celebrity, but he thanked heaven she could think on her feet. Somehow, he’d find a way to make it up to her.
“It feels weird going into this shoot without a prepared script. The format for these features is so different.”
“Well, for one, you’re not trying to pack it all into a two-minute segment,” agreed Barth. “Won’t that make it easier? More relaxed?”
She nodded, appreciative of his understanding. “Right. We have all the time in the world, sort of.” Wringing her hands, she came over to help him lift the last of the gear out. “What should we do first?”
Barth placed a hand on her shoulder. “Meet the little old ladies. I bet we’ll get clear ideas after we see what they’re like.”
“Yeah. Right.” Had her arm gone numb, or was it shivering with unexpected pleasure? “Here we go.” She drew a deep breath and summoned her reporter mask.
“Chieko.” His hand shifted to the small of her back, and his lips came close to her ear. “Relax. This is a conversation, remember? We’re here to create moments with amazing people. That’s what Parker said. You don’t have to make this bigger than it is. It’s already great.”
She stared up into his solemn eyes, stunned by his calm composure and warmth. Nodding, she dipped to pick up one of the black cases and gestured. “After you.”
A few minutes later, Chieko found her mouth flopping open as she stared at rows and rows of gaping jaws on brightly painted and carved nutcrackers. Their hosts, Amelia and Martha, recounted the origins of the world class collection. Barth hovered nearby, filming the white-haired women in Bavarian garb and peppering them with questions as they moved through the museum.
Only when they fell silent and Barth cleared his throat did Chieko realize she’d been remiss in her duties. With a jolt, she shifted into professional mode and asked about the primary reason for their feature: the annual nutcracker making contest for children. “Do they really get that into it?” she pressed.
“Oh my, yes!” exclaimed Amelia.
Martha nodded so hard, her white wings of hair flapped. “Everyone loves a good cracking sound!”
“And how has this impacted the community? The children?” Chieko knew she could hide her skepticism behind a veneer of placid interest, but really, what was the point of this feature? Perhaps it would be used seasonally in late December as part of a Christmas theme.
“Oh, it’s a big deal all right,” said Amelia, gesturing for Barth to follow her to another area of displays. “It brings together creativity, history, nutrition, science, art, woodworking, engineering—all kinds of stuff. Kids from all the neighboring towns participate. Even some from the bigger cities.”
“Seattle?” asked Chieko, raising a brow.
“You bet.” Amelia launched into an animated discussion about the children and their expanding interests, and Martha punctuated now and then with funny cracking noises.
After a few of Martha’s percussive outbursts, an unwelcome fit of giggles poked at Chieko’s ribs. She cast Barth a desperate look.
“She’s a regular beatbox,” he said with a wink.
Chieko’s laugh came out like cymbals clapping.
Barth smoothly kept the old ladies moving along, asking more questions and changing angles. Chieko couldn’t fathom how the final product would look, but he was certainly gathering plenty of good footage. After a while, Chieko stopped worrying about coming up with questions and let the ladies share stories of the various museum pieces and the children who touched their lives.
Trusting Barth to keep things interesting, she stole a glance out the window. The museum stretched atop the second floor of some smaller businesses beneath, like a magical toy shop, even though not all the nutcrackers resembled dolls.
The elevator arrived with a ding, and Chieko saw a crowd of children pour out. Their eyes lit up in immediate wonder, and she smiled at their simple joy.
Glancing up, she saw Barth standing on the other side of the stream of children as they passed. He grinned at her. Still gripping the photography gear and light umbrella under his arms, he managed to pantomime calling out across a broad expanse. When the last straggler wandered by with the adult chaperone, he shuffled over to her. “Is this place great, or what?”
“Really? You?” She reached for the light umbrella. “What does a football player find to love in a place like this?”
“Well, for one, did you see this?” He jerked his head towards a display case in the corner. “Lookie there. It’s a legit China Doll.” He pointed to a nutcracker carved and painted to look like Mao Tse Tung.
A surprised bark of laughter escaped her lips, and Barth’s shoulders wagged in response. “See? I thought you’d like that one.” He gestured with his chin. “They got a Japanese girl in a kimono over there.”
Chieko shifted to admire the silk embroidered detail work on the tiny nutcracker. “Gosh, it’d be a shame to get nut shells all over that. It’s too pretty.” She met his eyes, aware of how close he stood, watching her reaction. “Thanks for showing me those.”
His gaze flitted across her face before he smiled shyly, releasing the power of his dimples on her. “Let’s drive the speed limit to a restaurant, and I’ll get you something to eat.”
She chuckled. “Sure. We’re not in a hurry now. We can take our time.”
Chapter 5 ~ Thumb Wrestling
Barth and Chieko settled into a booth at the Ellensburg IHOP restaurant while two servers busily exchanged their table’s Halloween decorations of ghost cut-outs for a wicker cornucopia filled with plastic corn and mini pumpkins.
“International House of Pancakes,” said Barth, flipping open his laminated menu with a flourish. “Carbo-loading time!”
“No kidding.”
“Do they have pancakes in Japan?”
Chieko scrunched her face at him. “You know I’m not from Japan, right? Born and raised in Oregon. My grandparents were the first to come here, back in the late sixties.”
“Oh, right. Yeah, my great, great, greats times ten came here in the sixties, too. The 1760’s.”
Chieko grimaced. “Yeah, sorry about that.”
“Not your fault.”
“Gosh, that makes your heritage more American than almost everyone. You were here before it was America.”
“How old do you think I am?” he asked, a glimmer of mischief in his eye.
“You know what I mean.”
An awkward silence fell, and Barth scanned the fruity and savory options before him in the glossy photos. “I think I’ll get one of those omelets with everything in it and a pile of flapjacks.”
She peered at him over the top o
f her menu. “You can eat that much in one sitting?”
Ready to make a joke about his athletic metabolism, Barth moved his hand to his stomach. “Hmmm.” He hesitated. The middle was a little mushier than it should be. “Three months of Grammy MarLee’s cooking and no daily doubles to burn it back off. Maybe only half to two-thirds.” He frowned. “But I can’t decide which.”
“Why don’t we order both and then share? We can ask for extra plates.”
Barth grinned at the idea. “You are the smart one in this outfit.”
“Does that make you the beautiful one?” Her sassy lilt surprised him until she snickered into the menu.
Did she not find him attractive at all?
“We can thumb wrestle for that one,” he teased, holding out his hand.
She turned the joke back on him by grasping the offered hand and squishing his thumb before he could register the happy zing that shot up his arm at her touch.
“Gotcha.” Her smug grin charmed him.
“How’d you do that? Let’s try again.”
“Oh no. I need the element of surprise, or I don’t stand a chance.”
“So, you’re a little ninja.” He nodded. “Those are Japanese, right?”
“Yep.” She set the menu down and rested her elbows on the table. “What’s your fascination with my Japanese heritage?”
“I don’t know. You’ve got a name like Chieko Makiguchi. Sounds exotic.”
“What would you say if I told you my middle name was Becky?”
“I’d say that’s weird.”
She tossed her hair back over her shoulder. “Good because it’s not Becky. I was named after both my grandmothers. Chieko Ryoko Makiguchi.”
“Lots of K’s and O’s, huh?”
Chieko shrugged. “And you’re Bartholomew What Jefferson?”
“Ervin.”
“Like your dad.”
Barth sat taller. “How’d you know that?”
“I met him at your Grammy’s house, remember? The same day you made me swing dance.”
“And your remembered?” Barth inflated with happiness at the thought. “Either you are super smart, or you remembered because you were paying attention to all the details surrounding Bartholomew Jefferson.”
