6. Kendall
CHAPTER SIX
Kendall
THEN
“Thoughts?”
I let the fusion mix of raspberry and chai settle on my tongue, the flavors going through different phases on my taste buds. First warm and cozy then sweet then…is that paprika? “I think it’s going to take some getting used to.”
James’s brow quirks, a straw hanging from the corner of his mouth. He takes a long, quiet sip, causing his chest to rise with the heavy inhale. “That’s better than ‘blech, this is disgusting.’”
I purse my lips, attempting to hide the smile forcing its way out.
I shake my cup, the ice clattering inside, and take another sip, observing James from across the round wrought-iron table.
It’s sunny outside, and despite the usually humid summer air, it’s crisp today.
The clouds drift calmly above in the slightly chilly air.
There’s an ease to him I can’t quite place.
It could be the dark set of Ray-Bans perched on his nose or the way his coiffed hair seems to have a mind of its own, interfacing with the breeze to sweep across his forehead in flawlessly timed beats.
But I feel like I could sit here and talk to him all day, peculiar-tasting chai lattes and all.
His elbows are resting on the table, the sleeves of his long-sleeve shirt rolled about halfway up his forearms, and I can’t help but get distracted every time his muscles flex.
Especially when he brings his straw to his lips.
Another set of distractions I don’t even want to get into.
“Have I offended you?”
His mouth twists. “How?”
“Because I didn’t fall to my knees at—” I look up at the storefront. “The Tickle Tea.” I smirk.
“Well, now I’m offended,” he responds with faux offense. “Is there a problem with the name?”
“No, no,” I answer with a sarcastic undertone. “It’s…clever. Not cheesy at all.” Another sip. Choppy, hollow sounds rattle from my straw through my now-empty cup.
The string of text messages filled with vague, enigmatic questions and non-answer answers led to this.
An afternoon coffee “date.” We decided not to call it a date, precluding all the official labels we’re both obviously avoiding, but this feels like a date.
Because a date would carry this kind of energy.
This crackle that seems to zap between us whenever our eyes meet for longer than three seconds.
Or when he holds the door open for me or pays for my drink.
“Date” things. I bet Sylvia’s at home laughing an evil cackle as she watches her plans unfold.
“Do you come here often?” I didn’t mean for it to come off as a pickup line. It came out as a question of genuine curiosity, but he sets down his cup and bites his lip, the energy shifting between us.
“I used to. Not so much anymore now that I don’t need daily caffeine fixes.”
I gesture a finger at the energy drink concoction he ordered. “Late nights?”
“Grad school,” he explains vaguely.
“What did you study?”
“Computer science.”
“And you enjoy it? This…computer science?”
He shrugs. “It’s okay. Do you enjoy teaching?”
It’s purposeful and deliberate, the way he swings the attention back to me.
Like he did when he sat at the edge of his seat, waiting for my nondescript three-point-five-star rating.
It’s hard to give a raspberry chai latte a glowing five-star review.
Half a point was taken off just for the creepily drawn teacup being tickled by what I assume is a tea leaf on the side of the cup.
Another half point for…cloves? Ginger? No, definitely paprika.
“I do.”
“And you always wanted to be a teacher?”
I nod. “For most of my childhood. Though ballerina was thrown into the mix at some point.”
He points his hand to his chest. “Spider-Man. Or Batman. I wasn’t picky.”
“What made you settle for a future in computer science?”
“More practical,” he answers matter-of-factly. “And I wasn’t too sure about wearing my underwear over my pants.”
“There’s also the matter of finding a radioactive spider.”
“Or inheriting a manor with a loyal butler.”
My head tilts, and he mirrors the movement, like he finds something about me endearing or cute. He runs his hand through his hair, and a long wisp of it curls under his ear. He probably needs a haircut. Though I hope he waits a little longer to get one.
“Sylvia said you were looking for someone to show you around?”
“You two talk an awful lot about me.”
“She talks,” he clarifies. “I listen.”
“And when she talks, what does she say?”
He grunts a low, noncommittal hum. “That you like chai lattes, and that you moved here over the summer to take on a long-term subbing job. And that you needed a dentist, someone close—”
“Jeez,” I interrupt. “Leave something to the imagination.”
“And that you might need someone to show you around,” he adds. “Hence the Tickled Tea.”
“Wow, so you pulled out the big guns.”
His tongue bulges out from the inside of his cheek. “Is there something you’d like to see? Somewhere you haven’t had the chance to visit yet?”
I consider his question, wiping the remaining bits of condensation off my cup. “I haven’t been to the beach.”
Disapproval twists his face. “You haven’t been?”
I shake my head. It isn’t on purpose. I don’t have some personal strife with salt water and palm trees.
In fact, I particularly enjoy beachside activities such as volleyball or building sandcastles.
Especially reading a good book with an umbrella hovering over me.
I just haven’t really had an occasion to bring me to the beach.
A part of me is thinking maybe James is going to make that kind of occasion happen for me.
“How long have you been here?”
“About a month. Give or take a few days.”
“You spent the hottest parts of the summer in San Diego, and you haven’t been to the beach.”
“No willing tour guide to show me.” I smile and almost wink but stop myself. That’s a risky step into flirting territory.
The sound of metal grating across concrete cuts into the air and leaves me speechless. James stands from his seat and walks both of our empty cups to the trash. “Let’s go.”
Cold, rough water flows between my toes and bits of grainy sand sprinkle over my feet.
The edge of the foamy water hits the hem of my skirt, and the sopping fabric slaps against my calves in wet whips.
It’s cold, and a smattering of goose bumps scatter over my arms. Though I don’t know if it’s because of the cold or just James’s mere presence.
His intense, profound presence. My hair, wind-swept with salt air, blows out of control at the same time James brushes a lock off my cheek.
More goose bumps, but this time, they ripple up my spine.
“What do you think?”
“About what?” I ask, my words breathy and light.
I don’t know where it comes from, this sudden weightlessness.
Especially after I’ve attempted to tie two sacks of figurative sandbags to my ankles, but it’s there.
A helium balloon with James’s smile stretching the latex wide and thin, ready to pop at any given second.
“The beach,” he elaborates. His knuckles brush down my arm. “Everything you hoped for and more?”
“We have beaches back home.”
His fingertips explore my palm. “In Tacoma.”
My eyes narrow.
“Sylvia likes to talk,” he reminds me.
“And you like to listen.”
He nods. He’s not wearing his sunglasses anymore.
He ditched them in his car. I can see his eyes, bits of honey mixing with the chocolaty brown.
Smile lines fan his eyes, and I can see the small smattering of freckles sprinkled over the bridge of his nose.
A by-product of living in a city that gets sun about eighty percent of the year, I assume.
If I were to look back on this moment, most likely when we’re telling our kids the story of how we met, I’m sure I’ll blend the truth with small white lies.
Like who made the first move. I’ll tell them Daddy, like a gentleman, asked Mommy if he could kiss her, and he did so with a small peck.
Swift and innocent. We won’t mention that it was in fact Mommy who made the first move, my hand fisting at his collar with urgency and desperation.
And we definitely won’t talk about how it was more than just a half-second kiss.
It was hips and tongues and moans. It was incessant and lacking at the same time. Too much and not enough.
Pop. I’m left a pliant, rubbery mess.
“Welcome to the neighborhood.”
A half-chuckle, half-eye roll turns my face. He forces me back to him, a hand curled around my neck. And this. His lips and hands, warm and soft and perfectly forceful, will never be enough.