Feelings? Urges? Desires?
“Chemistry,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “We’re both mature adults and we know this is inappropriate. Our jobs come first. And as a non-profit director, I have to be unimpeachable.”
I swallowed the rush of need that had nearly consumed me moments before. “I understand.”
She bit her bottom lip and looked down at her feet. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. You’re the one making the smart choices here.” I paused and raked my fingers through my hair. I didn’t know what I was doing. Why did I keep kissing this girl? Why did I keep trying to take something she couldn’t give me? “I’ll call Art and have him come pick you up and take you home. It’s late.”
“How are you going to get home?”
“I’ll walk to my office tower. It’s not too far from here.”
“That’s almost half an hour away. The clouds are coming in. It’s probably going to rain.”
“I like the rain,” I said as I lifted my phone to my ear. Art answered the call and I told him which cross streets in the park to meet us at. I hung up and forced myself to smile at Kayla. “Come on. I’ll walk you to him.”
Neither of us said a word for the rest of the walk. My mind raced with self-loathing thoughts. I never should have let my heart get ahead of my brain. Kayla had rejected me once before. Why had it seemed like a good idea to try to kiss her again?
The connection between us was something I could not ignore. I’d never felt this way about a woman before. It wasn’t like I hadn’t dated since my company went public, but those dates hadn’t felt like real dates at all. They’d been more like expedited hookups to fulfill my natural urges. If I was honest with myself, I knew I’d never had an interest in taking things any further with a woman because I figured all they wanted from me was my money.
But Kayla wasn’t like that, which only made me want her more.
She was the kindest person I knew. She would never use someone for their money, even though she of all people was in a position to use said money for good. She knew right from wrong and she would never cross that line.
Hence why she stopped the kiss when she did.
The brake lights of the Rover flashed red when Art pulled over up ahead. We turned from the path, crossed the grass, and approached the car just as the sky let loose the first couple drops of rain.
Kayla slid into the back seat and I held the door open for her.
“Are you sure you don’t want a ride back to your building?” she asked, eyes full of concern and guilt. “It’s going to start raining.”
“I want to walk. Might as well mess up the suit once and for all, right?”
She smiled, and I was glad for that. “Okay. We’ll talk soon?”
“Soon.” I closed the door and stepped back. The windows of the SUV were too tinted for me to see through, but I watched her pull away nonetheless.
Once the car was out of sight, I turned toward the downtown core and began my slow procession to my office tower, under which my Lykan was parked. All the while, I thought about Kayla, the kiss, and the soft sigh that had escaped her when I pulled her in close.
The sky was still heavy with clouds the following morning when I arrived at my mother’s assisted living home. There was a new plant in the lobby, a palm-leafed, tall thing that looked like it belonged in Los Angeles, not Seattle, and it was full of white twinkling lights. A card on the front of it had a note about which family had given it to the home as a gift. I didn’t bother going over to read it. Instead, I made my way to my mother’s room, where I found her cross-stitching.
She looked up when I entered and smiled, and I knew right away that this was a good day to visit.
She knew who I was.
She beamed. “Lukas, you’re all grown up.”
“I am,” I said as I pushed the door closed behind me. It clicked softly into place. “And you’re cross-stitching. I haven’t seen you do that in ages.” I moved across the room and sat down across from her on a chair drowning in pillows and knitted blankets. “What are you making?”
My mother held the small circular cross-stitched picture up. It was a bouquet of flowers against a white backdrop. One stem hung limp from the rest, its petals sad and wilted.
“It’s beautiful,” I told her.
“It’s a little messy. Could be better. Could be worse.” She put it down on the table beside an empty cup of tea. “How are you?”
“I’m good.”
“You have that look.”
“What look?”
“The look of a son who wants to talk to his mother about something important.”
How her mind could be ebbing away but still be so sharp, I would never know. I sighed. “Do you remember Kayla Goodfellow?”
“Lisa’s friend? Of course, I remember Kayla. Sweet girl. Charming girl. A girl who was most definitely going places. How is she?”
“She’s good,” I said.
My mother leaned forward. Her chair creaked. The shawl over her shoulders slipped away and settled behind her. “And who is she to you now?”
“A friend, Mom. Just a friend.”
“A mother always knows when her child isn’t being honest with her.”
My mouth twitched.
My mother pointed it out. “You see? I know you, Lukas. Now tell me what you came here to tell me. Go on. I’m listening.”
I took advantage of her day of clarity and came clean. I told her how Lisa had arranged for Kayla and me to work together, and I told her how I’d been growing
