Chapter 4
LANDON
Let the record show that I wasn’t a stalker.
I couldn’t help that I happened to run into Kira on this street last Sunday morning right before she went into the Community Connections Center. I also couldn’t help that the center was right down the street from the diner.
Sure, I technically did follow her down the street to the double glass doors of the center. But a real stalker would have followed her inside the building. Instead, I watched her go inside and then I left.
Unfortunately, that part of the argument was about to be moot, considering I was entering those same doors right now.
But other than sliding into her DMs, this was the only way to talk to Kira.
It might be pathetic—I probably was pathetic—but once I got it into my head that Kira might be unhappy, the thought wouldn’t leave me.
Fuck, was it a bad idea showing up like this? Josh had tried to convince me it was creepy, but I dismissed the idea. Now, entering the lobby, I worried he was right.
The sound of laughter and the lively chatter of kids greeted me.
A large bulletin board above the front desk showcased upcoming events, community programs, and cheerful artwork created by local children.
The lobby was warm, with bright murals of Chicago’s skyline painted on the walls.
Its high ceilings allowed natural light to flood the space through large windows, making me feel much smaller than I was.
A kind-looking woman approached me, clipboard in her hand. “How may I help you?”
She carried herself with the posture of someone who knew this place inside and out. If I had to guess, she either worked here full-time or she was a knowledgeable volunteer who started the position after retiring. Either way, she smiled at me with bright pink lips.
“Good morning.” I smiled back. “I’m looking for Kira Park.”
Her eyes widened as she exclaimed, “Oh! She found you.”
Huh?
Well, technically, she did find me. Kira and her keen eyes spotted me before I saw her across the street last week. The pathetic part of me took that as a thread of hope. Even after all these years, we were still drawn to each other like magnets.
“Yeah,” I said slowly. “She did find me.”
I wasn’t sure what Kira’s and my relationship had to do with this older woman, but she seemed so happy to see me.
“This is great news.” The woman patted me on the shoulder, like a kind grandmother thanking you for mowing the lawn. “Let me show you to the classroom.”
Classroom?
I needed to repair this misunderstanding, which was difficult, considering I had no idea what was going on. “Actually, I was hoping to meet Kira out here.”
She glanced at her watch. “She’ll be here in a few minutes. She’ll join you in the classroom, and I’m sure she’ll show you all the ropes. I’m happy to give you a quick tour of the CCC first.”
Scratch that. I loved misunderstandings.
I couldn’t help the grin that appeared on my face when I said, “I would love that. Thank you.”
The woman, who introduced herself as Mary, showed me the major facilities of the CCC.
From the tour, I learned that 75 percent of the center’s resources went to programs for children for things like after-school care, tutoring, and creativity classes on the weekends.
The other 25 percent went to adult classes for skills like résumé writing, interviewing, and GED courses.
The center and all of its employees were amazing. They did a lot of important work for the community.
Mary printed my badge and pinned it to my blue T-shirt. I knew this was just a badge for volunteers, but I felt a little like I was receiving an award.
She glanced over my shoulders—a feat, considering I was a head taller than her—and said, “Good work, Kira! Only you could find an amazing volunteer in one week.”
I held my breath, counted to three, and turned around. Kira’s eyes met mine and her jaw dropped for half a second before she frantically pulled it up.
Kira’s anger, albeit rare, was a sight to behold. It emphasized every beautiful part of her: her cheeks grew rosy, her brows lifted, and she shook her head enough that her high ponytail swung in circles. “What?”
“Landon seems like the perfect fit to volunteer with you in the art classroom,” said Mary, gleefully unaware she was only egging Kira along. “I’m glad you were able to find him.”
And just like that, the jig was up. Kira would correct Mary, and she would revoke my badge. A shame, considering it had just warmed against my chest.
“No, I didn’t—” Something hit Kira then, freezing her in place. Her face resettled, and she said, “I didn’t know he would be here so early. Thanks for showing him around.”
The words sounded painful for her to say, but Mary didn’t notice. “Of course, dear. You two best head along before the kids are sent in.”
Mary patted my shoulder once more before disappearing with her clipboard, leaving me and Kira alone. Tension snaked between us, so tangible I felt its tightening around my chest. I ached to wrap a hand around it and yank it from my insides.
Kira grabbed a fistful of my shirt and pulled me into the nearest classroom. Her five-foot-five stature shouldn’t be this capable of dragging my six-foot mess like that, but here we were.
She shut the door behind us, leaning against it as she crossed her arms. “What the hell are you doing here? Why are you here? How are you here?” She breathed out each question so fast, then turned, making a point to bang her head against the door.
A few words in Korean escaped her. I had no idea what they meant, but I assumed from her tone they weren’t compliments.
It suddenly occurred to me that I should have prepared a speech. Some note cards, at the very least. All I had with me was honesty, and I didn’t know how much that meant to Kira anymore.
My words died on my tongue when she turned back and I saw her expression. How exasperated and tired she looked. Nothing like the tiredness she felt after pulling an all-nighter before a big exam. No, this was bone-deep exhaustion.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
She snorted. “Please refer to all the questions I just asked you.”
“I’m volunteering with you because you need help, and I walked inside,” I said, counting each answer with my fingers.
“Those are half answers at best.”
Her shoulder brushed mine as she reached for the dry-erase marker, then wrote the date on the board in cursive. A smile tugged on my lips despite the severity of the situation. Only Kira would write in beautiful cursive for a group of children who wouldn’t appreciate it.
Marker in hand, she asked tightly, “Why did you really come home?”
“My mom asked me to.”
Kira laughed, but there was nothing sweet to the sound. “So, what, if I ever wanted you to come home, all I had to do was ask?”
No matter where I went or how many people I met, Kira was the one constant in my life.
The person who my brain resorted to remembering when I was stressed or sad.
The one who taunted my dreams. The one who my brain created fake scenarios around when I couldn’t sleep, like I was a ten-year-old girl playing with Barbies.
If I had ever thought she wanted me with her, nothing could have kept me away.
“Did you ever want me to come home?”
She froze. “Maybe, until I realized that would be a bad idea.”
I bit the inside of my cheek and looked away. A stack of paper sat on the desk.
“Do you need me to pass those out?” I asked, nodding toward the sheets.
“Yes, thanks.” Kira capped her pen and stepped aside, watching casually as I dropped a sheet in front of each flimsy plastic seat. “How’d you end up in this volunteer role, anyway?”
I exhaled, knowing I couldn’t spin this into something noble. “To address the elephant in the room—yeah, I saw you coming here. I needed to talk to you. Just once. When Mary assumed I was here to volunteer…” I gave a sheepish shrug. “Couldn’t say no.”
“Well, you’re very good at not saying anything,” she muttered under her breath.
I felt a flicker of old frustration, maybe even hurt. I’d poured my heart into a letter years ago. One she never answered. Excuse me for not wanting to try again.
Silence stretched between us, thick and familiar. I glanced at the wall clock. The minute hand ticked so slowly, like it was mocking me. Any second now, a herd of sugar-rushed children would storm the room with glitter and pipe cleaners.
I half expected Kira to say something to cut the tension. She always did. She had this guilt reflex, like her sass came with a built-in apology timer. I used to joke that she had a lifetime supply of sass passes and still only used one a week.
“Mason must be elated that you’re home,” she said, eyes darting toward the check-in sheet on the desk.
She doesn’t know.
The numbness hit first. It always did. Like my body had rehearsed this moment, this sentence, this tone.
I leaned against the edge of the desk, the cold metal pressing into my palms. The surface was cluttered with mismatched supplies, including purple gel pens, safety scissors, and a stack of faded volunteer badges. “Dad died two years ago.”
Kira froze. “Oh my God.” Her voice cracked with the kind of shock that couldn’t be faked. “Why didn’t you tell—” She stopped herself. “I’m so sorry, Landon. Mason was a good man.”
I swallowed hard, the words tasting bitter. “Yeah. The best.”
Her eyes searched mine, quietly bracing for more.
“How…” she started but didn’t finish.
“It was the cancer.”
Kira had been there for the diagnosis and early stages.
“He fought it for a long time.”
Kira nodded sympathetically. “He was always a fighter. I remember he used to show up to the diner every day, even when the chemo made him so tired he had to sit down every five minutes.”
Desperate for a distraction, I thumbed through the badges on the desk. I wondered if the previous volunteer’s badge was in this pile, or if he had taken it with him as a memento. “I can’t believe your old partner left you alone here. Your job probably depends on this.”