by Selena Kitt
Trevor had come a long way this year—no thanks to his mother. He tied his own shoes now and zipped his own jacket and opened his own milk—skills I’d taught him when it was my turn in the lunchroom or on the playground. Sometimes he even stayed after and washed my dry erase board and liked helping me put up the new schedule every month. As his autonomy grew, his grades and attention span improved. There seemed to be a direct correlation.
But I’d received several calls from his mother about Trevor’s progress. According to Trevor, who told me at lunchtime, she wasn’t happy with “that meddling white do-gooder teacher of his.” Those were her words. I’d taught the eight year old to tie his own shoes, but that was “meddling.” Both his classroom teacher and the principal had supported Mrs. Gunderson, telling me to “stick to my subject.” Of course, the “damage” was already done. Trevor had gained a measure of independence—a taste of freedom—I hoped he never lost.
I had a feeling Mrs. Gunderson had her reasons for wanting to keep Trevor a baby, although I had no idea why. He was her only child and she had no husband, even though she asked to be called Mrs. Gunderson, so that might have had something to do with it. I looked over at her, seeing where Trevor got those big brown eyes, his wide, flat nose. The thick, wiry black hair she put in cornrows was cut short, almost to the scalp, on her son.
Rob glanced over at me, smiling and sliding his hand into mine. I loved how he constantly reached out to hold my hand. We’d held hands through the whole museum, always connected. I didn’t want to let go of him. That was the truth. I couldn’t help looking at him, checking to make sure he was really here, that he was real and I wasn’t dreaming this.
When the show was over and everyone stood and started putting on their coats, Rob helped me up from the floor—I was in tennis shoes and jeans and a t-shirt today, far more casual than high heels and fishnets—pulling me to him and surprising me by kissing me full on the mouth.
I wrapped my arms around his neck, breathing him in, not caring who was watching. When Rob kissed me, everything else disappeared. I lost myself in him completely. It was like we dissolved into each other, and it wasn’t just our mouths, but our selves entirely.
“Miss Taylor.”
It was Rob who broke the kiss—I couldn’t have. My eyes fluttered open to see him in his hat and sunglasses, but he was looking down at something else.
“Hi Miss Taylor!” It was Trevor. He’d recognized me and had come over to say hello.
And here I was kissing a man. Right in front of him.
“Oh, hi Trevor.” I smiled down at him, taking a step back from Rob, but he took my hand as we parted, making it clear we were a couple—as if the kiss hadn’t been proof enough. “Are you having fun?”
“Totally! I loved the puppet show!” He grinned, pushing his round, wire-rimmed glasses up his nose. His complexion was coffee with just a hint of cream and his face still had a little bit of baby roundness he would likely lose next year or maybe the year after.
“Me too,” Rob agreed.
“Who are you?” Trevor cocked his head, looking suspiciously at Rob’s sunglasses and red baseball cap. Inwardly, I groaned, praying Trevor wouldn’t recognize him, although I knew the odds.
“I’m Rob.”
Trevor nodded, a knowing look coming over his face, and I knew what was coming. I dreaded it, but there was no way to stop it.
“Rob Burns?”
“Uh… yes. I am.” Rob raised his eyebrows in surprise. “How’d you recognize me?”
“Those sunglasses and that hat don’t fool me.” Trevor laughed.
I hid a smile behind my hand.
“Besides, Miss Taylor talks about you all the time.”
Inwardly, I groaned, but I couldn’t do anything except stand there and smile like an idiot.
“She does?” Rob turned his head and lowered his sunglasses to look at me. “Really?”
“I think your Mom’s calling you, Trevor,” I lied, rocking back on my heels. She was on her phone, obviously momentarily distracted.
“Miss Taylor played us your songs,” Trevor explained. “She taught us how to count beats, one, two, three, four…”
Trevor stomped his foot on the floor, singing along to “You Can’t Break a Broken Heart.”
“Awesome!” Rob laughed, watching Trevor belt out the lyrics. Then he started stomping too, singing along. I watched, aghast, as Rob started from the beginning and the two of them sang a duet. Rob was too good not to draw a crowd and Trevor was a little ham, belting out the chorus so loud he wouldn’t have needed a microphone even if he was on stage.
Trevor’s mom was off the phone and stalking over as the song ended.
“Good job, little man!” Rob laughed, giving him a high five. “You rock!”
“Thanks, I know.” Trevor grinned.
“Come on, Trevor.” His mother stood a little back, looking askance at me. “It’s time to go.”
“See you tomorrow, Miss Taylor!” Trevor waved, heading toward his mother.
I was worried someone else would recognize Rob, especially after that performance, but the crowd broke up and no one even asked him for an autograph.
“
Maybe those sunglasses are magic,” I mused as Rob took my hand and we started out of the room.
“Music teacher?” Rob looked sideways at me, ignoring my teasing. “You’re a music teacher?”
“So?”
“So why didn’t you pursue your real talent?”
“My real talent?” I blinked at him.
“Oh come on, Sabrina.” Rob swung my hand as we neared the front of the museum. The ceilings were high, one whole wall painted with the Detroit Industry Mural by Diego Rivera. We’d stopped at it in the start, taking it in from beginning to end, and then from a distance. It was magnificent.
“Okay, so I can sing.” I shrugged. “A lot of people can sing. But you know, very few people get to the level you are. Not everyone can be a star.”
“But you could be.”
“I don’t think so.” I laughed, blushing, shaking my head as we neared the front entrance. “Hey, where are we going?”
“I’m hungry.” He rubbed his stomach under his denim jacket. I was still shocked he was wearing denim in the middle of February but he didn’t seem to get cold. “Let’s go eat.”
“Okay,” I agreed. I was still kind of full from breakfast, but that had been hours ago. We walked to the car and I thought he’d dropped it, but as soon as I was driving, he asked again.
“So why didn’t you ever pursue music… for real?”
“Teaching music isn’t for real?” I rolled my eyes, giving the car some gas as the light turned green. “Someone has to teach the future stars.”
“Come on, Sabrina.” His hand moved through my hair. He not only had magical sunglasses, he apparently had magical fingers. Every time he touched me, I melted.
“Let’s just say I had very practical parents and I was an only child.” I rounded the corner, not looking over at him, but I felt his gaze on me. And his hand, still stroking my hair.
“Huh.” He slipped his fingers under the collar of my jacket, seeking skin, his hand cradling the back of my neck. “It’s a good thing I never had those.”
“What’s that mean?” I did look at him then, as I pulled into the parking lot and started digging quarters out of the Kia’s drink holder.
“So where are we now?” Rob got out, watching me feed the parking meter.
“I hope you like Thai food,” I said, as he took my hand, swinging it as we walked around the side of the building.
“I love Thai food!”
“This is the best Thai food you’ll ever have, anywhere.” I boasted, opening the door of Bangkok Café for him. The smells instantly made me salivate, although I could have sworn a moment before I wasn’t hungry. It was sweet, sour and spice, mixed with an undertone of hot oil.
“That’s a very bold claim, Ms. Taylor.” Rob glanced around, seeing how small it w
as—it held maybe thirty people, tops—and took off his sunglasses, tucking them into his jacket pocket.
“Come on, it’s seat yourself.” I nodded at the sign, leading him toward one of the intricately carved wooden booths.
That was my second favorite part of this place—after the food. The booths were wide and roomy and had three sides and a wooden, slatted canopy top, You stepped up to get into one so you felt like you were entering your own little world, even though you could see through to the booths in front and behind. There were six of them against one wall, and tables and chairs on the other side.
“This is cool.” Rob looked around at the Thai decorations, the framed print from the Detroit Metro Times giving the restaurant “Best Thai Restaurant of the Year” four years running. “But the best Thai food I’ve ever eaten? You do realize I’ve eaten Thai food in Thailand?”
“I’ll stand by it, a hundred percent,” I said firmly as the waitress came over to our booth. They were all Asian and barely spoke English but most of them were very sweet and tried very hard. I usually just ended up pointing to the number on the menu, if I went in to eat, but most of the time I just got take-out.
The girl who brought our waters and our menus was one of the best English-speakers and she smiled at us and asked if we needed a minute. Rob told her we did, picking up the one-page menu and looking it over with skeptical eyes. I sipped my water because I already knew exactly what I was going to order, looking around, wondering if any of these customers would stampede us on the way out.
I hoped not.
“So what’s good?” He put the menu on the table, taking a sip of water.
“I get the pad thai,” I said. “And you have to get the hot and sour soup. It’s my all-time favorite food.”
“Even better than stuffed French toast?”
“Yep.”
“That’s saying something.”
“You didn’t even taste the French toast.”
“I was too busy writing autographs.”
“Touché.”
“Are you ready to order?” Our waitress appeared, a tiny young woman, probably not quite five-foot, notepad in hand. They all wore an oriental smock and had their hair pulled back and adorned with chopsticks. I always watched them, amazed how easily they weaved in and out of tables in the small space with trays balanced perfectly.
I ordered my usual—hot and sour soup and a fresh roll to start and pad thai for my entrée.
“I’ll have what she’s having,” Rob said.
“Make it two?” the waitress asked, still writing.
“Yep, make it two.” He gave her a wink and she blushed, smiling back at him. Not that I blamed her. A wink from Rob Burns did something to the female psyche. He got under your skin and he didn’t even have to try.
“Flirt,” I teased when she was gone.
“I’ve only got eyes for you, sweetheart.” His hand brushed mine, twining our fingers together. I noticed, for the first time, that he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. There wasn’t even a tan line where it had been.
“Why?” I asked softly, looking at the calluses on his fingers from years of playing guitar.
“Why what?”
“Why me?” I glanced up, meeting his gaze. His eyes were soft and so was his smile. “Why not Katie? Or any of the other girls who wanted you last night? Was it because you felt bad? About this?”
I touched my forehead. It was healing—the goose egg was almost gone—and my hair covered most of it now.
“Are we heading down the lawsuit road again?” Rob rolled his eyes, tossing his baseball hat on the bench seat beside him and running a hand through the mess of his hair. Even with hat-head he was the sexiest man alive.
I blushed, still embarrassed I’d said that. Twice.
“Last night didn’t convince you how much I want you?” His expression was more smirk than smile and the look in his eyes made me remember everything—his hands, his mouth, the steel heat of him as he slipped inside of me…
“Well… yeah…” I felt my cheeks growing even redder, but I had to ask. Something in me insisted on pursuing this line of questioning. “But… why?”
“Why me?” he countered.
I laughed, sputtering, “You—you’re Rob Burns!”
“And you…” He lifted my hand, opening it, kissing each fingertip gently and then trailing his soft, sweet lips down to my palm, planting another kiss there. “Are Sabrina Taylor.”
“I know, but…” I watched his mouth caress the inside of my wrist, feeling it instantly somewhere else, an aching throb between my thighs. “I’m nobody. I’m not famous. You didn’t even know who Sabrina Taylor was before last night.”
“That’s okay.” He wasn’t just kissing my inner wrist now, he was licking it, using just the skilled tip of his tongue, reminding me just how good he was with it. “You didn’t know Rob Burns either.”
“Touché.” I smiled, feeling the sensation all the way down to my pelvis and beyond. The man made my toes curl!
“It’s true.” He gave me one last, long, lingering kiss on my inner wrist before letting me go. The waitress was coming with our fresh rolls and soup. “I don’t usually talk to people like this. Like we have today. When you’re famous, you kind of learn to keep things to yourself. But with you… I don’t know what it is about you. Those gorgeous green eyes. That little lopsided smile. The dimple you’ve got. Right. There.”
It only appeared when I smiled and he reached over and touched his finger to it, briefly.
“Or the way you lit up when you were singing with me last night, or how you got so jealous of that stupid waitress—”
“I wasn’t—” I protested, but he just laughed.
“Or how fucking hot you were when you got me up to dance with you.” He lowered his voice, the waitress drawing near. “I wanted to fuck you right there in front of everyone.”
Oh. Emm. Gee.
If I’d been looking for some sort of reassurance—and of course I had—I’d been thoroughly rewarded. That heat was in his eyes again as he looked at me, a slow burning smolder as he sat back, arms stretched out on either side of him while the waitress put down our food.
“Thanks,” I murmured, hiding my flushed cheeks with a curtain of hair as I took a cooling sip of water. It was suddenly a thousand degrees in the little restaurant.
“There isn’t just something about you.” When the waitress was gone, Rob leaned forward, tilting my chin up so I was forced to meet his hot, dark eyes. “It’s everything about you. I can’t get enough of it. I keep trying not to think about this day ending because I don’t want it ever to end.”
I swallowed and nodded, blinking back silly, girlish tears.
“Is that enough?” he whispered, thumbing away one of my tears in time, but the other dropped into my soup, adding salt. “To convince you?”
“Yes.” I turned my head and pressed his hand to my cheek, kissing his palm this time.
He tucked my hair behind my ear, a simple, sweet gesture that just made me want to cry more but I blinked them back, smiling at him, determined to make this the best, most amazing day ever, like we’d intended.
“Let’s see what you think of my favorite soup.” I picked up a spoon, the scent of sweet spice reaching my nose, making my stomach grumble in protest.
Rob ate his fresh roll first and I watched him, taking slow, decadent sips of soup. The stuff was the nectar of the gods. I had no idea what they put in it—I’d asked for the recipe on several occasions but they were tight-lipped about it—but whatever it was, it went somehow beyond the chicken and tomatoes and onions and mushrooms floating in a clear, spicy broth that tickled my taste buds like nothing else.
“Good?” I asked when he’d finished his fresh roll.
“Mmm.” He agreed, nodding, mouth still full. The fresh rolls were good—fresh and light, and the sauce was sweet. But he hadn’t tried the soup yet. I waited for him to pick up his spoon, wondering if it was just me, or if he would find it
as delicious as I did.
“Oh my God!” Rob’s eyes widened and he blinked in surprise after his first bite. “You weren’t kidding!”
“I told you.” I smiled, satisfied, looking down at my bowl and already lamenting it was half-gone. If I could pick an endless bowl of anything, it would be this soup.
“This is…” He put his spoon down with a clatter, sitting back in shock, just staring at the bowl.
“I know.” I hid a smile in a spoon full of delicious.
Rob picked up his spoon and devoured his bowl of soup. They weren’t big—maybe a cup or cup and a half of liquid, but it was gone before I could blink again. He signaled to the waitress, calling her over.