Missionary Position (32 page)

“He what?”

“Who what?” Kai stood next to me, holding the handle of my largest suitcase.

“You?”

“Me what?”

“Are we playing a game of
Who’s on First
?” Gil grumbled. “You stay here. I’ll get the car.”

“I’ll come with you.” Maggie trotted after him.

“One. Eye. Open. Marrion,” I called out behind her.

“Someday you’ll thank me!”

I met Kai’s worried eyes. “You have a lot of explaining to do.”

“I do? Speak for yourself,” he scoffed.

I crossed my arms and glowered.

“Give me dirty looks all you want, but I didn’t fly across the country, lose sleep for over a week, spend hours coordinating phone calls on two continents, worry about you being sick, and cut short my visit with my daughter to make sure you had help collecting your baggage.” He sighed and mirrored my defensive position. “Will you listen to me now?”

“I’m not giving you dirty looks.” I huffed. “And I’ve always let you explain yourself.”

“Right. Like the time you broke up with me over the phone? And then hung up on me? Or those text messages you ignored? Like that?” His voice held an edge.

“Okay, bad examples, but to answer your question, yes.”

“Are you only saying yes because I’m standing in front of you right now?”

He was probably right, but it would be cruel to admit. “Maybe.”

His eyes squinted into tiny slits, and he exhaled through his nose.

I was mad at him, scared of him, and desperately wanted to crawl inside of him and never leave.

Instead, I stared at him.

Nothing says, “I love you and missed you more than air,” like a good, old-fashioned staring contest.

“Thank you,” I said.

“You’re welcome.” He gave me his signature shy smile and heaven help me, I smiled back. The dimple demanded submission. “We’re not finished with our conversation. Don’t think your thank you makes everything better.”

“I—”

Kai cut me off. “Gil and Maggie are outside.”

I wanted to apologize for being a bitch, but I wasn’t planning to do it in front of those two. While Gil drove us to my house, Kai sat with me, keeping to his side of the backseat, but sneaking glances in my direction. I knew he snuck glances, because I caught him when I did the same. We still hadn’t touched. Not a hug or a hand on the back or a brush of our thighs. Nothing.

It was maddening.

Maybe I repulsed him. I surreptitiously sniffed myself by turning toward the window and inhaling.

I smelled of plane and the smoky, spicy scent of Ghana.

Puddles of cold rain reflected Portland’s twinkling lights shimmering on the wet road. Foreign and overwhelming, home greeted me the best way possible—with rain and cold.

Everyone piled out of Gil’s car when we arrived at my darkened bungalow.

“What happened to Nicole?” Six months was a long time to be away and Nicole, a fellow professor, agreed to house sit. “She agreed to stay until Christmas break.”

“She and the husband reconciled,” Gil informed me. “When I called her last week to tell her you’d be coming home early, it wasn’t an issue for her to move out. Apparently, they’d returned her things to their house over Thanksgiving.”

The four of us walked up the steps to my front porch. I glanced around at my vintage patio set and porch swing—simultaneously familiar and unfamiliar. Everything looked exactly as it had when I left.

Everything was the same.

But I wasn’t.

I gave Kai sidelong looks while Gil opened the door to my house.

In what world would Kai Hendriks be walking into my little Craftsman bungalow?

Not any world I imagined. Or dared to let myself.

Standing a little bit to the side of the three of us crowded at the door, Kai shifted from foot to foot.

Maybe he needed to pee.

He caught me staring at him. “What?”

“Nothing.” I glanced away.

He sighed and straightened his shoulders. “I should go back to the hotel.”

“Nonsense,” Maggie said.

I shot her a look.

“Selah, invite him inside,” she encouraged.

“Kai, would you like to come inside?”

He arched his eyebrow. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.” He stared at me, his eyes a mix of emotions.

“Too late.”

“Selah!” Maggie scolded me.

“Kai, please come inside my house.” I sarcastically grinned at Maggie.

“Is rude behavior a side effect of malaria?” she asked Kai.

He chuckled and shook his head. “None I’ve ever seen.”

“Could it be a drug reaction?”

“Could, but I think it’s Selah being Selah.” He stepped away and smiled at me.

I sighed and ignored them, walking into my house. “When you two are done, wipe off your shoes before you come inside.”

“That’s what she said,” Gil joked, laughing at himself. Maggie rolled her eyes.

I groaned. “Seriously? Does anyone still say that?”

A pair of table lamps lit the space, giving my entry and living room a warm glow.

Hello, house.

Inhaling, I smelled the familiar scents of home, dusty books, and cleaning supplies. Everything smelled overly antiseptic. Yesterday I was in Ghana. Now the past six months felt like another life. Or a dream.

It wasn’t a dream because Kai stood in my living room, observing me and my life before him. Through an arch sat a brown leather couch where I graded papers and wrote under the patchwork throw laid on the arm. Bookshelves filled with art books and novels lined an entire wall opposite the couch. A mossy green upholstered chair sat by a bronze floor lamp in my reading nook.

Kai peered into the dining room and the kitchen beyond. My three small bedrooms were up the stairs behind me.

“Your home is lovely. Very you,” Kai politely complimented me.

“Thank you. I’d be polite,” I stared at Maggie, “and offer you something to drink, but I don’t know what I have. Tap water?”

“I’m fine.”

Gil cut through the awkward by asking Kai to help him with my luggage. After a discussion of where it would go—the guest room—and their schlepping everything upstairs, there wasn’t anything left to do but stand there and be uncomfortable.

“Well …” I said.

“We should let you rest. It’s late. Or early for you. You must be exhausted,” Maggie said.

I had no idea if Kai was supposed to remain behind or would leave with them. I looked around at their faces, then yawned.

“We’ll let you sleep, love.” Perhaps afraid I’d spook and trample him, Kai approached me slowly, the same way we did with the elephants. My mind tried to argue, but my body leaned into his open arms and melted into his hug. “We’ll finish our earlier conversation tomorrow morning,” he said softly, barely above a whisper.

The house smelled unfamiliar, but Kai didn’t. His spicy warmth surrounded me and I inhaled deeply. His arms tightened around me for a brief second when he kissed my hair.

I stumbled, off balance and unsteady, when he pulled away.

I blamed the malaria and jet lag, but in reality, my body missed him.

My heart missed him more.

JET LAG SUCKED.

I fell asleep almost immediately after Kai and the Meddlers left. Thinking of climbing the stairs exhausted me, so I lay down on the couch to work up some energy.

Several hours later I awoke to the glow of the table lamps and smell of clean. It took a moment or two for my brain to process my location.

Home.

My clothes smelled of Ghana, but I was home in Portland.

Alone.

Maybe the whole thing had been a dream. Gil was the scarecrow. Maggie was the good witch. There was no heartless Tin Man or lying Wizard to be found.

I grabbed my purse and carried it upstairs. On the bench at the end of my bed, I dumped out its contents. After locating what I sought, I placed the little elephant on my nightstand.

I stripped out of my travel clothes, put on my favorite pajamas, and crawled under the duvet.

I could have slept for days, but knocking on my front door woke me only a short while later. Or maybe it had been hours. The gray sky outside concealed the time of day.

“Go away!” I shouted from my bedroom.

The knocking continued, and transformed into pounding.

I sighed and grabbed my favorite red silk robe. It smelled of soap and my old life.

“I’m coming,” I called from the stairs. The knocking ceased.

“If you’re a Jehovah’s Witness, leave now.” I peeped through the hole in the door.

There stood Kai, holding coffee cups and a paper bag.

“You’re very persistent,” I said after I opened the door.

He smiled in response. “Glad you’re beginning to pick up on that.”

I crossed my arms. “Why are you here so early?”

“It’s almost eleven. And I brought you coffee.” He held up one of the cups. “Large raspberry mocha.”

The cup almost fell to the floor with how quickly I grabbed it from his hands. “Gimme.”

He licked a spot of spilled foam from the side of his thumb. “And if you weren’t in the mood for sweet, there’s a large latte, extra shot, with skim milk.”

“Gimme.” I took that cup, too. “What’s in the bag?”

“Can I come inside?”

“If it’s food, yes.”

“It is, but I’m not telling you until I’m inside.”

“Fine.” I grinned at him. “Entré!” I swept my hand to the side.

“You look beautiful in red. You wore red the night we met.”

I blushed. “Thank you.” I looked down to make sure I wasn’t giving him a free show. Nope. My robe and pajamas covered me beyond modesty. Sexy? Not sexy.

I led the way into the kitchen and put the coffees on the table after sipping from both.

“Mmmm, good.” I licked some foam from the corner of my lips. “Explain to me how the land of cocoa and amazing chocolate doesn’t have decent coffee.”

“Blame the British and their tea.”

“I will. Think about the perfection of chocolate and coffee. They would rule the world.”

Kai sat in one of the kitchen chairs, completely comfortable.

He looked like he belonged at my table, in my kitchen, in my home—in my life.

Shaking away any images of him doing naughty things to me on said table, I reached for the bag filled with croissants and
pain au chocolat
. “Sweet heaven. What sort of evil are you conjuring?”

He laughed, then opened the lid of the latte and sipped. “No evil. I figured you would wake eventually and probably wouldn’t be able to function without coffee. You talked about it enough times when we were together, I knew your favorites. The pastries are only the beginning. I have groceries in the car.”

“Car?”

“I rented a car.”

“Groceries and a car? Do you plan to stay in Portland a while?” I asked, pretending my heart wasn’t pounding away in my chest.

“Maybe. Things aren’t one-hundred-percent right now, but I’m optimistic.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “Oh, really?”

He nodded and drank from his cup.

“Interesting. But just so you know, I plan on eating both the pain au chocolat.”

“I figured.” His dimple showed. “I ate mine on the drive.”

“Clever man,” I mumbled around the flaky, buttery mouthful of pastry.

After breakfast, I napped on the couch while Kai rummaged through my drawers. He said he put away groceries and then sat in the armchair and read the paper, but I didn’t believe him.

He didn’t leave.

I didn’t ask him to go.

AT SOME POINT in a relationship, if that was what this was, swooning and palpitations at the sight of each other turned to comfort and vague reminders of what once had been a throbbing desire.

Throbbing desire. I made a note to use it in my next book.

For me, swooning and palpitations could be blamed on malaria. Or at least the residual medications and “possible neurological complications”. Or so I told myself until Kai showed up Saturday for Maggie and Gil’s holiday party. Somewhere along the way, my friends had turned into
that
couple
who hosted themed parties. They insisted everyone dress in “festive wear” aka holiday sweaters. Not since Mark Darcy wore his reindeer jumper had my little black heart swooned over a man in ridiculous clothing.

Kai could wear wooden shoes, and I would probably swoon.