Chapter 3

When the front door opened, Kimber flashed him a smile. “You didn’t call.”

Jim looked great in worn faded jeans and nothing else, his sandy hair slightly mussed. She particularly liked the downy line of hair running from his navel into the waist of his jeans.

“It’s not even eight o’clock!” he pointed out, scratching his hair, and opening the door wider. “I haven’t had coffee.”

He turned and walked away, leaving the front door open. She entered, smiling with amusement.

“Would you have?”

“Have what?” he asked without turning around.

She followed him into the kitchen. “Called me.”

“I’ll tell you after I’ve had some coffee.” Without asking, he poured two mugs, the intense aroma filling the room.

Bypassing the kitchen table, she sat on a stool at the island counter. Jim slid a mug across to her, grabbed his own, leaned back against the sink and inhaled the aroma before sipping.

His light grey eyes finally focused on her. “How can you have so much energy after yesterday’s safari?”

“Safari, huh? Did you notice I didn’t buy anything? It wasn’t a safari. It was a scouting trip.”

He chuckled and scratched his hair again.

Kimber really enjoyed him. She couldn’t remember being so relaxed with anyone. In jest, she asked, “Where are you taking me today?”

“That again?”

She laughed. “Yes. That again! Yesterday was my day. Today it’s your turn.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled. “To the McEwans food store in Don Mills, the gym, and home to relax.”

“I can handle it. Sounds like fun. Or. We could laze around and order in.”

He laughed and shook his head. “I need to shower and brush my teeth.”

“Go ahead. I’ll be fine on my own.”

I FOUND MYSELF SMILING as I brushed my teeth; a strange situation. In the shower, scrubbing my body, I marveled at how things could change unexpectedly. Kimber had walked into my life and rocked the foundations through force of personality alone. She’d shaken me out of my pity zone and given me a glimpse of what happy felt like.

Why me? Why was she focused on me? A crush four-plus years ago when she was a child didn’t explain it. Was it sympathy? Or was she lonely?

I dressed in shorts and an old but favored olive green Tee, and headed back to the kitchen for more coffee. She wasn’t there. Her large yellow leather handbag hung from the back of a chair.

Pouring another mug of coffee, I called out, “Kimber?”

Slightly muffled, her voice floated back to me. “What the hell happened here?”

“Where?”

“Here.”

Grinning, I followed her voice down the hall. My grin faded. Kimber was standing in the doorway to the study, the door open. My good mood evaporated like a puff of smoke.

She glanced at me, questions in her eyes. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” I said.

“Nothing? This room’s a disaster zone.”

I glanced in before slowly closing the door. The room was as I’d left it four years ago. Furniture was splintered and broken, file cabinets were crushed, chairs in pieces, and the paneled walls were partially torn down. By the front window, the sledge hammer I’d used rested against the wall.

Kimber’s hand touched my forearm. “What happened?” she asked in a softer voice.

“Nothing. I lost my temper.”

I gave her credit for not probing. Then reconsidered it when I found myself needing to explain. Her not probing trick was a powerful weapon. I lasted through another mug of coffee before feeling the urge to explain.

“Addison was constantly after me to change the study. She knew I didn’t like the old oversized dark leather chairs and paneled walls. I kept putting it off. I procrastinated for no good reason.”

A momentary flash of me in that room passed through my mind; the absolute fury that drove me, the rage, the utter agony, destroying anything, everything; smashing my failures.

“After she ... passed away - it must have been a couple of days - I went into the study and it seemed to represent everything I’d done wrong. I hadn’t recognized her fatigue for what it was or her flu. Perhaps if I had ... If I’d...”

I couldn’t say it.

“Addison wanted to redecorate the study so I’d like it. She wanted to do it for me. Had she, it would have been like having a small part of her, a place to be with her. She never had time to give me that gift, but she would have if I’d listened to her. Knowing it, seeing the room after she’d gone, my failure hurt so much I lost my temper and demolished it.”

Kimber was quiet for a while. “And the door’s been closed ever since? I get it.”

Her eyes searched mine. “What about her bedroom? You have that, don’t you?”

I nodded.

Kimber’s eyes bore into me. “You’ve never gone into her bedroom since she passed?”

“Actually, I have. I put the suitcase from her hospital stay back in her room.”

“And since?”

My silence answered her.

Kimber surprised me. In a brisk tone, sitting up, she said, “Let’s go and clear your study out. I’ll help. It’s time for you heal that wound. I’ll even help you buy new furniture.”

She stood and headed out. I got up and followed her. “I’m not clearing her bedroom out,” I warned her.

“Nor should you. The study is a bad memory. Her room is a good memory. Entirely different. C’mon.”

We paused work for bologna and yellow mustard sandwiches at lunch.

By three, I was exhausted, hot, dirty and, strangely, feeling better. Broken furniture was piled at the end of the drive. The study was empty, swept and clean. Kimber was covered in dust. She looked satisfied and very cute, her emerald eyes sparkling and hair falling loose from where she’d pinned it up.

“Done!” she announced, brushing her hands. “Bet you feel better now.”

“If you mean tired, thirsty, and aching, then yes, I feel better.”

She laughed. “We need to clean up. I’ll head home for a shower.”

Without thinking, I said, “There are four and a half bathrooms here. Use one of them.”

Kimber’s eyes sparkled. Her smile broadened. “I need to change. We can’t go out dressed like this.”

“Go out?”

“We’re celebrating. I’ll be back in an hour.”

“No. I’ll pick you up. Today’s my day, remember?”

With a bright laugh, she headed inside to fetch her handbag, saying, “Give me two hours.”

True to my word, I waited two hours later at her condo. She emerged. In cream slacks and a teal silk blouse, her wavy mahogany hair falling naturally on one side, she looked damned elegant. Her heeled, open-toed shoes made her appear ever more svelte.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked, slipping into the passenger seat.

“You look great,” I observed.

She studied my simple pants and button-down shirt. “You’re looking pretty great, too. Where are you taking me?”

“North 44. Drinks and dinner.”

“Nice. Hold on. I’ve got to get something.”

She was gone before I could ask. Five minutes later, she returned.

“What did you forget?” I asked, driving away.

“My fake I.D. If we’re going to drink I’ll need it. By the way, I’m twenty-two tonight.”

Her comment reminded me she was still in her teens. She acted so mature, it was easy to forget.

As it turned out, no one asked for her I.D. We had several cocktails, a stunning dinner with wine, and there wasn’t a pause in the conversation. It was late when I dropped her off.

Kimber slipped her arm through mine as we meandered through the St. Lawrence Market, studying the selection of meats, incredible seafood, and tantalizing selection of cheeses from around the world. The aroma of fresh baked bread battled with the scent of Canadian peameal bacon sandwiches.

She looked very young in yoga pants and an oversized top that slipped off one shoulder, and still startlingly beautiful.

For two weeks, at some point, we’d spent every day together, occasionally connecting for coffee, often venturing out to explore the city, and once attending some society do for the “in” crowd.

As we strolled, I asked, “Why are you spending so much time with me? I’m not complaining,” I added hastily.

She leaned against me, laughed softly. “We’re not spending time together. We’re dating.”

“Dating?”

“Yes. Dating. And one of these days you’re going to kiss me.”

I glanced at her. Her emerald eyes twinkled. She smiled; so unbelievably beautiful. And in the middle of the market, with people walking around us, I stopped and drew her close, slipping my arms around her narrow waist. With heels, she was only three inches shorter than me. Kimber’s eyes were liquid and endlessly deep.

I kissed her softly. The impact was huge.

Walking again, looking for dinner inspiration, Kimber commented, “You give new meaning to the word slow.”

I chuckled. Stupid me. It hadn’t crossed my mind we were in a relationship. I’d been too focused on simply feeling better. I hadn’t even held her hand!

I took her hand. Kimber turned hers and our fingers intertwined. Like an adolescent, to me it held greater significance than just holding her hand. I gave it a gentle squeeze and smiled when she returned it.

We decided on blackened, seared Ahi tuna steaks with a fresh lemon linguini for dinner. She insisted on cooking, which was a smart choice given my ongoing culinary challenges. I could nail fried eggs, but seared fish?

Back at her condo, I wandered around, sipping a crisp Australian Chardonnay while she cooked. Her condo was small: one bedroom, a bathroom, closets - one with a laundry washer and dryer combo, an open living room/kitchen with a dining table for two, and a balcony. Her taste was exquisite. She’d chosen subtle neutral colours for the furniture and added bright spots of colour with throw pillows, colourful accessories, and fascinating paintings on the walls. An arrangement of exotic blooms in a simple glass vase added elegance.

I was out on the balcony when she called, “Dinner’s ready.”

She’d set the small table, plates laid, and added a small side salad of Boston lettuce, arugula, and radicchio.

Dinner was delectable. Conversation flowed from serious to silly. Kimber was a remarkable young lady. Her interests were far ranging, her knowledge impressive, and she was so confident it was hard to believe she was so young.

Outside, dusk arrived. After dinner, we took the last of the wine to the balcony and enjoyed the view.

There was electricity between us, an almost physical attraction. Small actions were full of meaning; the way she touched my arm when making a point, the way she moved close to me, her hip touching my side.

Turning toward her, leaning on the balcony railing, I studied her face. She had the greenest, most intense eyes I’d ever seen, mesmerizing and gorgeous. A small smile curled the corners of her mouth, a smile that told she could see right through me. There was a pregnant moment, the cusp of something either wonderful or supremely stupid.

And I gave in to the desire I felt and kissed her. Her lips were warm, soft, and tasted of wine. Her eyes winked out, her head tilting just so, and she moved into me pressing herself against me. Lips moved. A fleeting touch of her tongue on my lips seemed to cause dizziness, and then she opened her mouth to me and the kiss became passionate, intimate, fiercely arousing.

My heart was thumping when the kiss ended. Kimber’s eyes twinkled. She smiled. Desire I hadn’t felt in years welled inside.

“Perhaps I should go,” I suggested.

“Perhaps you should stay,” she countered, and kissed me again.

The kiss was fantastic, passionate, her tongue caressing mine, and extraordinarily arousing.

Maybe she saw the hesitation in my eyes. Her look grew intense and she said, “I’m an adult, Jim. I choose what I want and, right now, I choose you.”

She didn’t wait for my answer, kissing me again with more intensity - a wonderful kiss. When it was over, her eyes twinkled with amusement. She said, “You’ve been on my bucket list for a while.”

With a chuckle, I observed, “That’s all I am? A bucket list item? My ego is bruised. How many items are on this list?”

Her expression turned to coyness in the blink of an eye. “One, and it’s been on my bucket list for a long time.”