Chapter 25 Kairo
KAIRO
I spent all night dreaming about what could have happened after that kiss if Devon’s mother hadn’t come looking for us.
In some fantasies, I press her up against the wall and gently ravish her until she’s so flushed the snow melts before it touches her skin.
In others, I sit and pull her into my lap, then taste and explore her slowly.
Each scenario is better than the rest and they taunt my dreams with the what-ifs while I toss and turn.
This kiss was different.
This one didn’t end with a warning that we shouldn’t proceed, or painful words that she’s not interested.
This one ended with a happy, flushed smile and a breathless Devon who made my stomach somersault.
I was grinning like a teen for the rest of the night.
While we spend the day texting one another, I don’t dare broach the topic of the kiss and neither does she.
It feels too impersonal to do it over text message so when she mentions the Christmas market in a throwaway text about how busy her day is, I immediately call Martin.
“You'd better have a good excuse for interrupting me.”
Frowning, I drum my fingers on my desk and gaze out my windows into a swirling white world of snow and low-hanging clouds.
“You’re literally downstairs. What am I interrupting?”
“I am spending some quality time with a goat’s cheese and prosciutto sandwich.”
Eyeing the clock, I scoff softly. “At three in the afternoon?”
“The help eat at different times, what can I say? What do you want?”
“We’re going out tonight.”
“Where?”
“I want to see Devon.”
Martin’s breath audibly catches. “Are you sure?”
“Do you think I should stay away?”
“I think canceling on your mom for a third time might have some unforeseen consequences.”
Leaning forward in my chair, I grab my mouse and search my calendar. “Shit. Dinner.”
“Mmhmm.”
“It’s fine. I can reschedule.”
“She’s going to cut your balls off.”
“Honestly?” There’s no contest between spending the night with my erratic mother and spending it with Devon. “Let her try.”
“I only speak from a place of concern, Kairo. You know that, right?”
“Even though you work for her?”
Martin scoffs. “I stopped working for her the first time I saw her hit you. So, what time do you want to see Devon?”
The Christmas market is held on the outskirts of town near the highway, featuring gigantic hand-painted signs that direct drivers to explore the variety of food and stalls on display.
It’s different from the fair and bake sale as there’s less confectionery and more food and drink to whet the appetite.
One stall is dedicated to beer, another is about sausages from all around the world, while a third showcases three different steaks of which none are beef.
I lose Martin there as he accepts the challenge to guess the meat while taking as many taste samplers as he can get away with.
Hank operates a woodworking stall with one of his friends and after a quick chat, he directs me toward the school where Devon is busy helping the children with some activities.
Burying my hands in my woolen coat, I trudge through streets swept free of snow until I find the school and spot Devon a few minutes later.
Her hair sticks out in the crowd like a warm beacon and my heart jumps at the sight of her.
She’s clapping her hands and stomping her feet while a gaggle of children running in circles around several snowmen, many of whom have multiple noses haphazardly shoved onto their faces.
As music plays, kids laugh and trip over one another while dancing and running.
Then the music stops.
Chaos ensues.
The children may as well have been running military drills from the way they tackle one another to get to the snowmen and thrust their carrots home into the faces of the snowmen.
Those who succeed cheer heartily, but those who miss, or whose carrots don’t have what it takes to stay attached to the snowmen, trudge back to their parents, utterly dejected.
“It’s a bloodbath,” I say quietly after approaching Devon from the rear.
She whirls around to face me, her lips breaking into a wide, warm smile as she laughs softly. “You should have seen them when they were dry ice fishing.”
“Ice fishing?” Stopping next to her, I make sure there’s some distance between us, but Devon closes it and bumps her shoulder into my arm.
“It’s basically bowls of icing sugar with candied fish hidden inside, and every kid gets a few seconds to dig around and see how many fish they can get. The more fish, the better the prize.”
“Wow. Who comes up with this kind of stuff?”
“I do,” Devon protests softly, chuckling. “Trust me, if you were six years old, this would be the best game you ever played.”
Watching the excited smiles, cheers, and even the smiling kids getting their eyes dried by their parents all seem to be having a blast. “I have no doubt,” I assure her.
“But you’re here!” She turns to face me, her eyes wide. “Why are you here?” There’s a note of worry in her tone that she fails to hide.
“I couldn’t stay away,” I reply honestly, hoping to soothe her. “Nothing bad has brought me here. Just you.”
Our eyes meet and her cheeks flush pink, but just as her lips part to speak, a child comes running up to her, sobbing while holding a snapped carrot.
That immediately catches her attention, and we don’t get a chance to talk again until the gaggle of kids, accompanied by parents, enter the Christmas maze set up by the townsfolk.
It covers the entire field I had my helicopter land in not long ago, and while I’d be content to remain outside, Devon has other ideas.
She takes my hand and soon, we’re neck deep in the maze, as lost as everyone else.
“Why did you come?” Devon asks softly as we walk hand in hand over snow-covered ground, surrounded by bundles of twigs and hay piled high enough that even I can’t peek over the edge.
“Because of you, Devon,” I reply softly, gazing at her.
She doesn’t look at me.
Her attention is fixed on the path in front of us, but her hand remains locked in mine.
“I’m not here to play games with you.
Other than this,” I say with a light laugh. “But you kissed me yesterday. And after telling me you didn’t have feelings for me, after making me think the previous moments of weakness were just that, weakness, I feel like you weren’t completely honest with me.”
Her fingers flex in my grip.
“I’m not accusing you of anything.”
We take two lefts and the next part of the maze looks identical to the part we just left. “I want to spend time with you. It’s mostly all I can think about. It’s not my intention to make you feel pressured or obligated or anything like that, but I like you, Devon. I like you a lot.”
As honest as these words are, they’re almost a disservice to the depths of my feelings that have grown for this woman. “And I think you like me.”
We turn another corner and pause as two children sprint past us, laughing and giggling.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Devon says quietly as we resume walking.
“I could say the same thing.”
“What if…” She shakes her head, causing her curls to bounce softly. “You could learn things and it could change everything.”
“I won’t say I doubt that because in the end, neither of us knows how the other will react to things they don’t know.”
I squeeze her hand comfortingly. “But I’m willing to try. I want to. More than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. After you secure everything with the bakery later this week, I want to keep seeing you, Devon. If you want to keep seeing me.”
“I want to.”
Another turn and the exit to the maze appears before us like the walls shifted at exactly the right moment.
Devon stops walking, and I halt in front of her. Finally, she looks at me and the apprehension is painfully evident in her mind.
I can’t fathom how much trust this is taking for her.
Over the past few weeks, I’ve observed the subtle, soft signs of her walls coming down around me.
She touches me of her own choice, she doesn’t pull away and happily exists in my space without obvious tension.
And I know that came from somewhere.
Someone caused this.
Just like someone caused the scars I glimpsed on her back.
All I can do is openly show her I’m not like that and wait for her to take a chance on me.
I’m not without my own scars.
“The bakery,” she says after a moment, then her eyes narrow playfully.
“You know, these past two weeks, we’ve had an influx of orders from the city. Way more than usual, even for this time of year. You wouldn’t have anything to do with that, would you?”
I shrug, unable to keep the knowing smile from my face.
“People talk. Everyone wants recommendations at this time of year. Good tarts. Great cakes. It just happens, y’know?”
“And it has nothing to do with how good sales and activity from rich, upstanding people help bolster my case?”
My smile remains innocent.
Devon sighs dramatically and resumes walking toward the exit, so I follow.
“I would like to keep seeing you,” she says softly. “But admitting it out loud almost feels like I’m setting myself up for failure.”
“What are you scared of?” I ask softly as we reach the exit and are greeted by several green trees wrapped up in pink and gold lights.
“The past,” Devon murmurs. “And you’re from a different world entirely, y’know? I just—”
An obnoxious jingle rises from my pocket, cutting Devon off, and my irritation swells as I pull out my phone and see my mother.
I’m about to hang up on her, but she won’t stop, so reluctantly, I answer.
“Hello?”
“Oh, so you’re not dead,” she snaps. “Could have fooled me.”
“What do you want?”
“Is that any way to speak to your mother?”
Tension bleeds through me but before it reaches my heart with the painfully familiar barbs, Devon’s thumb runs over my knuckles and I’m soothed.
“I already told you I can’t make dinner. Anything else can wait until morning.”
“This can’t,” she replies shortly. “If you’d come to dinner, then I would have told you in person, but the board decided you should give a speech on Saturday.”
“Saturday?”
“Yes! The Christmas gala? Our yearly tradition? The highlight of my festive calendar? Don’t tell me you forgot!”
Her exasperation grates on me and I wince.
“I didn’t forget,” I assure her with a half-lie. “This month has just been going so quickly that I thought it was still weeks away.”
“Hmm. Well, your suit fitting is tomorrow. Don’t be late.” She hangs up and Devon’s head tilts, observing me with curiosity.
Her words, as cut off as they were, swirl in my mind.
She’s right.
We are from different worlds and this entire time, I’ve been keeping her a secret.
But she has a meeting about the bakery on Thursday, which will end this dilemma once and for all, and the gala is on Saturday.
My smile widens. “Want to come to a party?”
Her eyes light up. “Like a fancy party?”
“Mmhmm.”
“Yes, please.”