by Wendy Owens
I’m laughing now too. “All right, I deserved that.”
“Honestly, though, if anyone is scared of relationships it’s so you.”
“Is that a fact?” I ask, sharpening my glare.
“Anyone who dates a woman named Kitten is terrified of commitment,” she taunts. “That’s a fact.”
“I’m afraid of commitment, but you’re the one who flew halfway around the world to avoid an ex,” I point out, giving her a sideways glance. I wink at her to make sure she still knows I’m joking.
She’s staring at me, and I don’t look away. I don’t understand why I’ve been staring at her so much lately, but no matter how hard I try and stop myself, no matter how many times I remind myself I’m her employer, I find myself once again staring. I’m not this man. My father, now he was someone who would harass an employee with no regard for their comfort.
“You know I just like teasing you about Kitten, right?” Kenzie adds.
I nod. “You know she was just a girlfriend?”
She shakes her head. “What do you mean?”
“Only that she helped out as an assistant, but I never really even hired her. She liked to travel with me, so she designated herself as my assistant even though she didn’t do very much assisting.” Why do I feel the need to explain the dynamics of my past relationships? Why don’t I shut up?
She’s smiling at me. “Good to know, I guess. And just so you know, I really was in love with my ex,” she informs me.
You’re still staring.
She’s perfect.
How could someone ever let her go?
“I’m sorry, that was a pretty jerk comment for me to make,” I offer apologetically.
She cocks her head, and her mouth drops open, a look of shock spreading across her face. “Did you just admit you were wrong?”
“I never said I was wrong,” I clarify, grinning.
She laughs, shaking her head. “You don’t quit, do you?”
“Not if I can help it.”
Her smile lines turn downward, and concern grows across her face. Clenching my fingers tight into two fists, I realize my palms are sweating. Stretching my fingers back out, I wipe them across my pant legs. My chest begins to move in and out rapidly. Why am I so anxious? Swallowing hard, I ask, “Are you okay?”
She closes her eyes and after several moments releases a heavy sigh and looks back up at me, forcing a smile. “Fine.”
“You don’t seem fine,” I reply.
She opens her mouth, then snaps it shut, shaking her head. “You’re my boss. The last thing you want to hear about is my personal business.”
“No, please,” I insist. In my mind, I am screaming that I want to know everything about her, especially her personal business.
She glances at me, inspecting my face with a sincere intensity. “Can I be completely honest with you?”
“I prefer it,” I say, though I am not honest with her. I don’t tell her how I can feel myself being drawn to her. I don’t tell her that when I awoke in the middle of the night, I looked at her sleeping face for nearly an hour. I don’t tell her the truth about how she’s one of the kindest and most thoughtful people I’ve ever met in my life. And I certainly don’t tell her that the way she makes me feel scares the hell out of me.
“I loved Ben.”
“So you’ve said.”
“But…” she hesitates, glancing around nervously.
“Yes?” I press her, desperate to know what’s behind the “but.”
She licks her lips, breathes a shallow breath, searching in the darkness for her words. “You give yourself away. Everything you have, you give to this person. You love them deeper than you ever thought you were capable of, and for a while loving them is enough to make you happy. Ya know?”
I shake my head. “No, not really.”
“It feels good to love someone and be loved in return.”
“That makes sense, I guess. I think most of us as human beings are looking to be loved in one way or another,” I say though I’m not sure if that’s true for me. In fact, I’ve spent my life telling myself I don’t need to be loved.
“I don’t know when things changed with him. It snuck up on me. I went to visit my best friend for a few weeks, and when I came home, I realized something pretty jolting. I didn’t miss him.”
“Ben?”
She nods. “Despite how much we thought we cared for each other, it wasn’t what I wanted for my life.”
“What do you want?” The question slips desperately from my mouth.
She turns toward the Bushmen, who are engrossed in their trance dance, their clapping and chanting mimicking the heartbeat of the desert. She lifts the viewfinder to her eye and watches through the lens for a few moments, then drops her arms and looks back at me. “Do you ever feel like they’re chanting just for you?”
“It’s a healing dance they’re doing,” I explain. I’d seen it performed dozens of times. The Bushmen believe in order to enter the spirit world, a trance has to be initiated by a shaman. Men and women clap and dance rhythmically as they travel around the fire in a circle. Sometimes these dances last all night and in hopes that by communicating with the spirit world, they could cure a tribe member’s illness.
“I know, I can feel it.” She opens a hand, revealing an empty palm then closes it back into a fist. She’s fascinating.
“You never answered me,” I remind her.
She pauses, lowers her head and I wish I could see her expression so badly at this moment, it’s making my chest hurt. “I’m not sure I have an answer. I guess I just knew I wanted more than what I had with Ben.”
“You say all that, and you still think you loved him?” It feels like every time I talk to this woman I’m left struggling to make sense of her. It drives me crazy. So why do I keep asking?
“There was a time when all I wanted was him.”
“And what, now you want riches and success?”
She laughs, shaking her head.
“What?” I ask. “It’s an honest question.”
Her laughter trails off into a sigh. “I just think maybe if you stopped dating women named Kitten you’d have a less jaded view of the world. Money makes life easy, but it doesn’t guarantee you’ll be happy.”
“Fair enough, then what is it you want?” I’m fixated on her as if she’s about to give me all the answers to what the meaning of life is.
“I guess I’m just looking for a love that will never grow cold,” she says, her eyes wide. “I’d rather be alone than just going through the motions.”
“Ah,” I breathe.
“Uh-oh, is your intuitiveness kicking in again?” she asks, her expression daring me to not to laugh at myself.
“No, more of an observation. What you want doesn’t exist.”
“Is that a fact?” She crosses her arms, no longer finding the humor in what I’m saying.
I shrug. “Yeah, you have what I like to call The Princess Bride Syndrome.”
“It’s a syndrome?” she asks, fighting the corners of her lips that threaten to curl up into a smile.
I nod confidently. “Absolutely. You see, you have a perfectly good relationship, but that’s not what you really want. What you really want is a man slave, devoted to you, meeting all of your wishes, and as he does, telling you a tender, ‘as you wish.’”
She’s glaring at me, and I’m mentally kicking myself. “Just because a girl wants more doesn’t mean she wants a ‘man slave.’ If all I wanted was some pathetic puppy dog love where the guy just chased after me, there are plenty of men around for that.”
“Wow.” I’m laughing.
“What’s so funny?” She’s yelling now, and I wish I would shut up.
“You’re so humble,” I snark.
“Oh my God, one minute you tell me I’m confident, and now you’re telling me I’m conceited. You’re a real piece of work. You stroke a girl’s cheek with one hand while punching her in the gut with the other,” she snaps.<
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“Look, I didn’t mean to upset you,” I plead, trying to rein the conversation in, I reach for her arm, but she pulls away from me.
“You’re always sorry. Did you ever wonder why you have to apologize so much?”
“Because I’m a jerk,” I shrug.
“Admitting it doesn’t make it any better.” She turns to walk away.
“It’s like you’re stuck in the mud that you can’t get out of,” I say, with my heart racing.
She turns slowly, looking me in the eyes. “What did you say?”
I swallow hard, pushing the honesty up from the depths of my cynical gut, up my throat, and out of my mouth. “When you’re with the wrong person, you tell yourself things will be better tomorrow, but they never are. It’s like you’re stuck in mud, unable to move.”
“I thought you’d never been in love?” Her tone is soft again as she takes a step back toward me.
I shake my head. “I haven’t been, but I’ve been with the wrong person many times.” Silence begins to grow between us and the uncomfortable feeling creeps and crawls its way once again across my flesh. I must break the silence. “And you’re right, just because I can admit I’m being a jerk doesn’t mean I should continue being one. Don’t go. Please.”
I watch her, the hurt feelings scratching at the surface. “I’m not big on meaningless apologies.”
I can feel my barrier breaking, the tattered and worn being inside becoming more exposed. Part of me is desperate to hide from her prying eyes. This doesn’t happen to me, but being around her is like staring at the sun. It hurts, but I can’t seem to pull myself away from its magnificence.
“You’re right. I promise, only nice guy Aiden from here on out,” I say, even though my gut is telling me to push her away, I can’t stop myself from trying to keep her close.
I notice the tension in her body begins to ease. “Oh, I haven’t met him yet. That should be interesting.” She looks at me with a sly grin that makes my insides do a somersault.
I laugh, shaking my head. “I deserved that.”
She glides into the space next to me and starts to tell me all about her relationship with the car mechanic named Ben. They met in college, and he held countless firsts for her. Though I keep my tongue in check, I can’t seem to keep my emotions even. Is this jealousy? I’ve never even met the guy, but somehow he has a piece of Kenzie that I wish I had.
“You can seriously tell me to shut up at any point,” her statement breaks through my thoughts.
“What?” I ask.
“I’ve been going on all night about my ex-boyfriend. My problems must seem so small and insignificant to you.”
I cock my head, scratching my chin, before asking, “What would make you say that?”
“Are you kidding me? Jumanda told me how you helped the Bushmen.”
I laugh. “While I wish I could take credit, I was a college kid at the time. I had no idea what I was doing. It’s not like I ever thought anyone would listen to me.”
“But they did.”
“I wasn’t the only one trying to help them,” I insist. “And just because there are injustices in the world it doesn’t make matters of the heart unimportant.”
“No, but it puts things into perspective,” she says softly.
“I suppose.”
I stare at the ground. Her feet are next to mine. They fit next to me like they’ve always been there, walking next to me, sharing one life. I keep my eyes focused on the spot of dirt on my shoes, afraid if I look at her under the light of the stars I might try and kiss her.
A lump forms in my throat when I feel her hand take mine and pull me gently toward the fire. The dancing has ended at some point during our talk, and now friends are gathered around, laughing and speaking in a language that while neither of us understands, it’s still so clear. “Come on, I want to take some pictures.”
I follow, spending the rest of the night trying not to get caught while I sneak glances of her smile.
HIS EYES CLOSE TIGHTLY, HIS head jerking toward the driver’s side window. He hasn’t said a word since he got behind the wheel. I try to remember what he said this morning. It shouldn’t be hard since it was only a handful of words. Last night he seemed so warm and welcoming, but today he’s the same distant and cold Aiden.
I look at him, desperate to fill the silence. “So will we see Jumanda again?” I ask, surprised he wasn’t joining us on the trip back to the city.
“Huh?” he breathes, shaking his head as if he were shaking off some sort of fuzziness. “Oh, maybe. I guess we’ll see after we comb through the images we got.”
“What about the SUV?” I ask, searching for anything to keep the conversation going.
He narrows his gaze on the road in front of us. “What? This isn’t Jumanda’s.” he laughs at the idea. “I rented it, and he just picked it up for me.”
“Oh.” My answer is short. What else can I say? It’s obvious he’s not interested in anything I have to say. Perhaps I was caught up in the excitement of the dancing last night, but I could have sworn he was watching me. I roll back into the bucket seat, dropping my hand to my side. My breath catches in my throat when I realize his hand is already there. Our skin connects. I don’t pull away, but neither does he. Instead, we both look at anything, but each other, hands touching.
What does this mean?
I feel his warmth. He must know we’re touching.
Does this mean anything?
Do I want it to mean something?
Me: I’m still waiting for you to call me, where are you???
I send the text, waiting impatiently for Annabelle’s reply.
Minutes pass.
Me: ???
Annabelle: Putting baby down for nap, call you in just a second.
I wait for what seems like the longest two minutes of my life until the phone finally rings. Swiping my finger across the glass face of the device, the words begin to spill out of my mouth.
“Tell me I’m crazy. Tell me this is just the rebound rollercoaster I’m feeling. I mean it can’t be anything real, right?”
“Whoa,” Annabelle starts. “Slow down. Take a breath and tell me what’s going on.”
I collapse onto the hotel bed, inhale a deep breath as she instructed me to, and push it out with my eyes closed. “I must be crazy.” I nearly whisper.
“Let me guess, Aiden?” she asks.
“One minute he’s a complete douche-canoe to me and the next he’s the sweetest guy. And I mean really, I don’t even know this guy, why on earth would I care if he’s a jerk, right?”
Annabelle laughs softly through the phone. “Because you like him.”
I shake my head even though she can’t see me. “No, I can’t. I just broke up with Ben. It’s impossible for me to like someone else.”
“Like how it was impossible for me to feel something for Holden?”
“No, that’s not even the same,” I insist. “He was like freaking prince charming. Aiden is Mr. Socially Awkward. Oh God, but then he will say things that make me think he sees the world the way I wish I could.”
“Did he kiss you?” she asks eagerly.
“What? No!” I exclaim. “I mean, I kind of thought at one point last night he might try.”
“Would you let him if he did?”
“God, no!” I gasp. “I mean … I don’t know, maybe.”
Slamming a hand against the mattress, I moan in frustration.
“Do you enjoy being around him?” She asks me.
“I do,” I admit reluctantly.
“Then I say get to know him more,” Annabelle’s advice shocks me.
“What about Ben?”
“You said you were done with him. Are you?” she presses.
“Of course, I am, but isn’t it a little soon?” I ask, part of me hoping for her approval.
“I’m not saying run away and get married, just spend some more time with the guy and see what happens.”
I squeal. She laughs.
“I love you,” I manage to squeak out.
“Is there anything else exciting happening?”
“Oh hell, I was freaking out so much about Aiden I almost forgot to tell you. I took a bunch of pictures and Aiden said he would take a look at them and let me know what he thinks,” I add.
“Wait, what?”
“Yeah, I don’t know what got into me. I just grabbed one of the spare cameras and started snapping away. You know, I think I might be pretty good at this. I got some great pictures of some of the locals. It was amazing. I wish you could see some of them.”
“Send them when you can, okay?” she requests.
There’s a knock on the door. I jump upright just in time to hear Aiden’s voice.
“Oh crap, it’s him at the door!” I exclaim in a loud whisper.
She’s laughing again. “Well, answer it Miss Photographer!”
“I’ll call you later,” I offer.
“You better,” she replies before we hang up.
I open the door, and his blue eyes flicker at me. This isn’t the cool and distant Aiden; this is the one I got to have a meaningful conversation with just last night. He drags a hand through his hair before smiling at me. “I’m sorry, were you busy?”
He’s looking over my shoulder as if he’s expecting to see someone. Realizing he must have heard me talking to Anna, I giggle.
“Nope, just got off the phone.”
“Oh,” he breathes, his chest deflating as his smile disappears.
“It was the friend from England I told you about,” I add.
“Anna, right?” he asks, seeming to perk back up.
It feels awkward standing in the door opening, but I can’t help feeling it would only be more uncomfortable if I were to invite him into my room. “So, you were listening last night?”
“To every single word,” he confirms. “Is she okay?”
I find it curious that he would assume people only call when something is wrong. I nod. “She’s just checking in to make sure my new boss wasn’t some sort of international serial killer, preparing to chop my body up.”
“I wait until at least the third gig before expanding your job description to include murder and mayhem,” he jokes.
