Chapter 4

IT TOOK ME THREE bus changes to get to Keira's house. Not being in charge of a moving vehicle allowed me to observe San Diego as it passed by and contemplate how excited I was at the prospect of spending time with Keira. She'd occupied my mind and I'd wrestled with the morality of contacting her. She was just so young. Yet the power of my attraction couldn't be ignored. A mental contract with myself to just have her as a friend in my life, nothing more, released me enough to find her cell phone number and call her. Talking to her on the phone brought visions of pale red hair, soft brown eyes, freckles and dimples and a bright wit. Just talking to her had brought a smile to my face. Very few people were capable of that feat.

As I stepped off the bus I checked my watch, eleven forty-five. Perfect. Glancing around I oriented myself and started walking. Somewhere on the right was Fisher Lane. The air was comfortably warm.

Ten minutes later I was standing in front of a two story mock Tudor home, the front lawn lush and green and well tended. A red Dodge Caravan sat in the drive. Feeling only slightly nervous, I made for the front door.

It opened as I climbed the steps, Keira emerging with a bright smile on her face. Her impact was the same; I only had eyes for her. Nothing else interested me. She wore a black camisole under a white cotton button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up. The shirt was tucked into narrow-leg jeans, simple white sneakers on her feet. It was a simple outfit but in my opinion it was lovely.

The outfit reinforced her slender youth. Now I looked closely I could see she had an almost delicate body. Did she dance? A purple-cased iPhone stuck out of one jean pocket. Several different colored bands festooned her wrists along with a purple watch on her right wrist. She must be a lefty.

"Hi," she said brightly giving me one of her wonderful smiles.

"Hi. Ready to go?" I asked.

"Yup. Where are we going?"

"To lunch," I informed her with a grin.

Keira laughed brightly, turned, and stuck her head inside the front door. "I'm leaving, Mom!" she yelled, closing the door without waiting for an answer. "Let's go," she suggested, heading down the drive.

Walking down the street, the warm air moving just enough to cool, Keira asked, "Really, where are you taking me?"

"To MIHO's," I told her.

"Never heard of it. Where is it?"

"It's at Bird Park. 28th and Thorn."

Keira looked puzzled. A short silence followed. "I don't remember any restaurant at Bird Park," she finally said. "It's just office buildings, isn't it?"

Forty minutes later Keira laughed. "This wasn't what I had in mind." She took a large bite of her Chicken Tostada, a concoction, according to MIHO's menu, of free range chicken, chipotle, shredded cabbage, refried black beans, Juanatio, and crema fresco in a fried tostada. "Mmmm," she murmured, chewing and swallowing.

We sat side by side on white stone seating that curved through the small business park. At the curb the MIHO food truck was doing a roaring business, deservedly, too. My Jerk Burger of grass fed beef (how exactly did one feed grass to beef? Shouldn't it be beef from grass fed cows?), persimmon chutney, jerk aioli, goat cheese, arugula, and house cured bacon on a brioche bun was a fiesta of spicy flavors, truly delicious. I watched Keira eat, saw the pleasure in her eyes and loved her company. She was so comfortable to be with.

Time passed too fast. Conversation with her was too easy. And she was way too attractive to me. It was far too soon when I escorted her to her front door and thanked her for the wonderful company. The bus ride back to my apartment was lonely. Without her things seemed slightly more dull. I felt a bit more isolated from other people around me. Keira was a force, of that there was no doubt.

It was later that evening, sitting in the living room sipping an Alexander Keith's Pale Ale, with the large television's volume on low just for company, that I reached an unfortunate realization. Keira was, to me, a potential distraction of monumental proportions. She was too young even though she'd told me she'd be fifteen in a couple of months, too attractive, too smart, and way too charming. Realizing that, the truth was even more shocking when I admitted I didn't care. I wanted more of her presence. Would she want to see me again?