by Rica Grayson
Shy, Hina looks away and puts her arms out to Kiara, wanting to be carried. Kiara takes her into her arms, making soothing cooing sounds. Reo helps us with the luggage. I insist on helping, too, but Ryan carries my second bag without another word.
A few abstract paintings line the walls. They made the most out of their modest space— a tall folding mirror, corner shelves, and sliding doors that afford privacy. Warm tones. Things that speak of comfort in simple things.
A small and furry white dog’s paws are on the ground as she watches us before pouncing playfully. She follows us, taking a sniff.
“Hey, Aki,” Ryan says, leaning down to rub the white fur of her back. Then she jumps up, her tiny paws trying to reach me. I can’t help but giggle. I bend down and rub along her side. Her tongue comes out, and she almost looks like she’s smiling. Charmed, I laugh as she licks my finger.
“You guys should have dinner,” Kiara says cheerily.
It’s only then that I notice the food on the table. They spent their time and effort into making us feel welcome. “Oh wow, you didn’t have to cook for us.”
“Kiara, it looks amazing,” Ryan comments from behind me.
“It’s no trouble,” Kiara replies easily.
I hadn’t had a proper meal on the plane and the hot pot of pork and mushrooms look delicious. I tell them so. The dishes are colorful and vibrant. There’s miso soup and what looks like beef and vegetables in a honey-colored sauce, and it makes me excited to dig in.
Reo laughs easily—a big, hearty laugh that’s infectious. He tries to speak to us in English, in an effort to make us feel comfortable. I appreciate it a lot. Kiara translates some of what he’s saying for us.
I pick up the chopsticks. I’ve never really used them before. Ryan demonstrates the proper way to hold them.
I fumble with the chopsticks but carry on, determined to make it work. Finally, after a couple of attempts, I hold a piece of meat… only for it to slip from my grasp.
I notice Ryan’s looking right at me, clearly amused. “I can get you a fork,” he offers.
Not wanting to give up just yet, “I’d like to give it a bit of a try first, please,” I reply, trying to imitate how Ryan held them in his hand. Kiara and Reo give me a few pointers.
Moments later, Ryan slips a fork and knife beside my plate. “In case,” he murmurs low.
Warmth fills me at his consideration. “Thanks.”
I get the hang of it soon enough. I’m able to rest the chopstick on one finger, enough for it to stop flip-flopping. I let out a sound of victory and find Ryan grinning at my success.
“So,” Kiara says brightly, “how long have you two been together?”
I cough, immediately taking a gulp of water from my glass.
“You okay?” Ryan asks, laughter in his eyes.
“He’s a friend,” I correct her.
“Oh! I’m sorry. I thought maybe…” She trails off, wearing a skeptical look. She translates it to her husband, who looks at both of us with a frown.
Her husband tells her something in Japanese. She tries to bite back a laugh. She turns to us.
“He says both of you look good together,” she reveals. She studies us, weighing her next words. “The last time you were here, you were saying something about relationships being hard.”
“She made me change my mind,” Ryan explains smoothly. My cheeks flush at the implication. It’s all an act.
“How’s your leg?” Reo asks.
“Healed now.” As Ryan talks more about his last trip fondly and how they went to ski, I can’t help but feel a little out of place. I try to brush off the feeling.
“Nearly forgot.” Ryan takes some gift bags out. “Lio asked if I could give you these. And these are from me.”
“Wow, you didn’t have to,” she exclaims, thrilled. “Thank you!”
He hands gift bags to Reo and Hina, too. He compliments their home. It hits me with a pang—he was never this nice to me. He is now, for whatever reason, but he hasn’t always been. I’ve nearly forgotten that. Why the sudden change? Because of our agreement? I was occasionally the target of his silly pranks, and many times it felt like he singled me out. My nails bite into my palm. Maybe he felt sorry for me, because I’ve liked him for so long, and it’s his roundabout way of apologizing. My stomach churns at the thought.
“Blaire,” Ryan says, noticing that I’ve picked up my plate. “Going to bed?”
I nod, my smile brittle. I turn to our gracious hosts. “Thank you so much for the meal. It was delicious,” I say earnestly. It really was. Maybe I can search how to make these dishes when we get back. I’m not great at cooking, but I can follow a recipe.
A little tired from travel and not liking where my thoughts are spiralling towards, I say, “Good night.”
No way.
I stare after I enter the room Kiara pointed towards earlier. I backtrack and try to see if there’s some sort of mistake. As I do so, my back hits a hard body and I tense.
“Something wrong?” Ryan asks. Feeling the rumble of his chest and his hands on my waist, catching me, I forget his question. They carried the bags to the room earlier so I didn’t get to check the rooms out. I was too busy admiring the rest of their house and playing with Aki.
I whip around to face Ryan, eyes wide. Did he know?
We’re in one room, our futons next to each other. Unaffected, he fights a smile. “You did prefer this over the hotel,” he drawls.
He’s right. This over any hotel. I can share a room with him. I think. “Left or right?” I ask. We should probably get this over with.
He shrugs. “Either.”
Okay, then. That makes things easier. I pick left—the one closer to the window. I move my stuff to my side, then I grab my towel and clothes and I’m out of the room again. The more space between us, the more I can collect my thoughts.
After a shower and a fresh change of clothes, I decide to head to bed… and catch the hint of abs as Ryan pulls down his shirt. I notice his hair’s damp, and it curls a little at the edges.
Our gazes collide, tension thick in the room. His eyes run over me like a physical touch as I walk in. I pat my hair dry with a towel, averting my gaze. Having us together in one small room wearing less layers leaves me feeling too exposed.
“Sorry,” I mutter. Next time, try knocking, I tell myself.
“No problem.” He smirks, seeing my reaction. He totally knows his effect on me, and it grates on my nerves.
Quickly hanging my towel to dry, I return to the room and head to bed. I’m a side sleeper, and I turn away from his attractive ass to face the wall.
“What do you think of them?” he asks. “Kiara and Reo?”
He’s asking about what I think, like my answer is important to him.
I shift to face him, giving it some thought. “They’re good people. Warm and welcoming… I didn’t expect that,” I answer truthfully.
“They are. I think it’s just their nature.” His quiet voice is soothing, I find, and it’s the oddest feeling, but I draw comfort from it. “The last time I came, they didn’t even have Aki yet.”
When I close my eyes, I try not to think. To clear my mind of everything. But still, I wonder why he brought me here. I know I told him that I wanted to see cherry blossoms when he came over that night, but I didn’t think the crazy guy actually would. Maybe we’re both crazy. It’s the only thing that makes sense.
“Blaire?” His voice wraps all over me, all nice and pleasant, it brings my defenses on alert.
“Mm,” I acknowledge quietly, still comfy under my blanket and refusing to move an inch.
“Our second date? It’s tomorrow.”
What? No. Damn him.
But he’s not done. He dims the light and teases, “Sweet dreams, Red.”
Sweet dreams, my ass.
Chapter 13
Ryan
“You look ridiculous.” Blaire tries to keep herself from smiling wide and failing. “Do you really think t
hat will work?”
I’m wearing a mask that covers my nose and mouth and a cap pulled down so it covers most of my face. “People wear these around here, Kiara told me,” I reply. At least, when they were sick. “It’s a damn good solution. Solves my problem.”
She shakes her head, clearly amused. “Are these really necessary?” She asks, a finger tapping on the tip of my cap.
“Yes. Tried going without once,” I answer. Big fucking mistake. I couldn’t enjoy the trip with my mom and Natalie because people recognized me in a mere instant. And while I get that some are fans, some people just don’t respect privacy enough. “Not taking any chances.”
“That bad?” she asks. Her eyes soften and she lays a hand on my shoulder in sympathy.
I nod in answer. She tosses her hair back and flashes me a vexing smile. “It’s okay, you can cry on my shoulder if it gets to be too much.”
She thinks the more she teases, the more I’ll pull back. Hasn’t she learned by now? She pulls me in like a damn magnet.
Not one to back away, she lets out a small sound of surprise when, gently, I tip her head up and whisper, “I’ll hold you to it, Red.”
I’ve been to Tokyo six times. Not all of them were during spring, but a few of them were. I didn’t get much of a chance to take it all in. With her, it’s like seeing it with new eyes. Yet even when we pass the cherry blossoms flanking the walkway in The Imperial Palace gardens, I don’t watch the view—I watch her. You learn a lot about people just listening. Just watching.
She chattered a lot—I noticed this since we’d gotten off the plane and in our room last night. She laughed more. I flustered her earlier, but now she’s grinning from ear to ear like all her worries have taken a backseat. She stands under the giant cherry blossom tree, staring at it in wonder. She snaps a few photos and holds a hand out to catch a petal that has fallen free, and she closes her hand.
She looks up at me like she’s just been handed the world. And it feels fucking good to know that I put that wonder there.
So this is how it feels to not have her hate me. What it should have been between us all this time.
Our shoulders brush as we walk beside each other. But she doesn’t pull away, like I expect her to.
She looks around and stops when she sees Lance and Orion behind us, a short distance away. They’re giving us our privacy but still keeping an eye on us.
She frowns in thought, but she doesn’t say anything. Her lips purse and I can almost feel her thinking. She sneaks another look behind her, but her eyes are distant.
“You can ask,” I say.
“I’m wondering how it feels to have bodyguards around you all the time.”
“You get used to it,” I answer gruffly.
“One of those feelings that dulls over time?”
My lips quirk up. “Something like that.”
She looks at me as though seeing me in a new light. I like that. We’ve spent so much time keeping away from each other that we’re stripping away what we know—and I like what I see.
We decide to visit the shrines not long after. The chilly air is long gone, chased away by the blistering heat of the afternoon sun. She perks up when we come across a small ice cream shop.
She emerges from the shop holding two cones of ice cream. “Got us a little something.”
Cheese-flavored ice cream. Why am I not surprised?
She pushes my hand away when I try to reach for some money. “No. It’s my treat.”
I recognize that look. She can be as obstinate as I can, one of the reasons we clashed often.
“My first from you.”
She rolls her eyes. “You keep giving me things. And you’re my friend. Why can’t I do the same?”
I’ll allow her this—friendship. For now. We’ve never really had that. “Two weeks ago, you’d call me your enemy. Now I’m your friend.” Progress.
As if just occurring to her, too, she dips her head, embarrassed. “If you don’t like it, I can—”
I take the ice cream from her, muttering a quick thanks. Thrilled, she bumps her ice cream cone on mine, like a toast. Looking up at her in confusion, a laugh threatening to spill, she says, “Cheers.”
Soon, we line up on a stall that sells various multi-colored charms. She buys what she claims are a few charms. For Shelly, apparently, for her aunt Renee, and one for a niece I try to summon a face for in my mind, but fail. Before we leave, she spots a yellow charm in the display. “Oh, this is cute.” She eyes the other charms but catches her bottom lip in indecision. Grabbing her wallet, she peeks and snaps it shut. Her expression falls, but she quickly composes herself. She looks around and spots something from afar. She pulls me with her. “I like the temple ritual.”
Hmm. I follow behind her, but not before taking note of the charm she was eyeing.
Before long, we reach a crowd of people in an area where people check their fortunes. She shakes a box until a stick falls out. Checking the number that came out, Blaire takes the piece of paper from the drawer containing her fortune. “Oh, God.”
“Bad fortune?”
She reads out the description and pouts. “It’s the worst one there is.”
“I think we’re meant to tie it here,” I point out. There’s an area to the side where a lot of people have tied their fortunes to get rid of their bad luck. She watches the person before her and does the same.
“Well, at least it was a cool attempt. Can’t go any worse from here, can it?”
Optimistic. “One way of looking at it.”
“Are you sure you don’t want one?” she asks.
“Already tried it.” I don’t say that it’s more fun to watch her.
A woman, hair cut to her shoulders, sees me from the other end of the table and her mouth gapes open. She recognizes me. She scoots over to our side, and timidly, she asks for a picture. Blaire snaps a few shots of us in a secluded area to the side. I press a finger to my lips as a way to tell her to keep it a secret. She nods enthusiastically, beaming at me. She keeps looking back at me even as she walks away, as if she can’t quite believe that I’m real.
“She’s going to trip that way,” Blaire says. The woman looks back at me one more time. Blaire flinches when she trips and actually crashes into another man, making her prediction come true. “No way…”
Interest flares in his eyes and they begin to talk. Isn’t that interesting?
“Ryan Carson, heartbreaker. Matchmaker,” Blaire declares, breaking into a snicker.
“Poetic.”
“That’s me.”
“You should write a song about it.”
“Don’t tempt me. I just might,” she responds, deadpan.
I burst out laughing.
Before leaving for a late lunch, I tell her to go to the car before me. “Back soon. Going to get something,” I say, keeping my voice low.
I see the question in her gaze, but she doesn’t ask. She simply nods.
Once I’ve bought what I meant to, I keep my head down as a precaution, in case anyone might recognize me. I meet her back at the car without incident.
She sees the small, white paper bag I’m holding, folded in half.
“Hey. You got some thing for your sister?” she asks curiously.
“No.” I place it on her lap. “Got something for you.”
The car starts moving, taking us to our next destination. A nice couple owned a little restaurant I’m almost sure she’ll love.
“Huh?” She opens the bag and takes a peek inside. I hear the sharp intake of her breath and she looks up at me. “It’s the good luck charm,” is all she says, dazed.
Emotions flit across her face, stunned surprise making her fall silent. I struck her speechless. Good.
“It’s yours,” I declare. “Saw you looking at it earlier, and I—”
“Why?” she blurts out, her voice wavering. But she stands her ground and meets my gaze evenly.
Does she always have to question everything I give her? “I’
m not sure I get what you’re asking,” I answer carefully. Because I don’t think we’re talking about the charm anymore.
“Why all this?” she gestures around her, looking oddly vulnerable. It grips my heart like a fist. She never allowed herself to be that way in front of me. Always a struggle with her. Always a fight.
Had I hurt her that deeply?
I didn’t have to search long for the answer. I see her guarded look, the firm line of her lips, and I know. Yes, I did. The undoing is going to take a while, but I’m not going anywhere.
“Going here at all, and showing me around, and letting me stay at Kiara’s place, too,” she goes on. Emotion clouds her eyes. “And don’t tell me it’s about you owing me one. I accepted this. It was stupid, but the choice was mine.” She’s not backing down, eyes fierce.
“This is what it should’ve been…” I answer.
She blinks, disbelief painted all over her face as if she has difficulty accepting my response. “What?”
“…if you didn’t run away from me then,” I finish.
“Run away?” She snorts and mutters something under her breath. She leans back, her head on the headrest as she looks out the window. Her hair falls back, brushing over her cheeks. I resist the urge to touch her. “You’re awfully presumptive.”
“And persuasive.”
“Arrogant, too.” She crosses her arms, a flash of her skin peeking from a cropped top that hugs her snugly, ending before the curves began. She’s wearing a wooly, black cardigan over it, keeping her warm.
Still not satisfied with my answers, she bursts out, “But why me? I still don’t understand… You can choose anyone.”
“No, I can’t.” She still doesn’t get it.
Her eyes focus on the distance. I want to yank her out of her own thoughts, so determined to keep me at arm’s length.
“Stop,” she breathes out. “If this is your way to fix things because you feel sorry for me, please just stop.”
This makes me go still. “Why the hell would I feel sorry for you?”