Tempo of Love

by Kianna Alexander

  Twenty minutes later, she sat at the small table by her kitchen window. With her hot tea, a banana and an egg and cheese on an English muffin, she watched the sun rise. Sheba, having finished her kibble, lay quietly at Nona’s feet beneath the table.

  As she sipped from her mug, she thought back on the previous day’s disastrous interview with Ken Yamada. She could clearly recall her feelings the moment she’d first seen him: a mixture of irritation and attraction. She hadn’t been pleased with his tardiness, but she’d definitely been pleased with his looks. He was handsome in a way that couldn’t be ignored. He was well dressed, confident and had a killer smile. Not to mention he had a head full of raven-black hair and dark, mesmerizing eyes. She could easily have stared at him all day and never gotten tired of the view.

  Ken was unlike any other man she’d ever encountered, and that had turned out to be both good and bad. While she loved the way he looked and the subtle yet undeniable masculinity he exuded, she couldn’t figure out why he’d been so reluctant to share his past with her. The man was about as secretive as a government spy. She’d gone there hoping to learn something about who he was as a person, but he’d given her nothing. She’d never had an interview subject shut down on her that way.

  What Ken didn’t know was that his insistence on being evasive only fueled her curiosity. Their encounter had made her more determined than ever to find out what made him tick. It also made her think he had something to hide, something he didn’t want the public to know. Who or what was he protecting? Before their association ended, Nona was determined to discover the answers.

  Finishing up her breakfast, Nona straightened up and went to get dressed. She was grateful that she didn’t have to be in to the newspaper office until ten today. She’d still gotten up at her usual time because she planned to consult the internet to do a bit of digging. She wanted to see what she could find out about Ken’s life before she took Sheba out for a morning run.

  Once she’d dressed in her running shorts, tank and sneakers, she eased onto her couch with her laptop. Sheba took up residence on the empty cushion next to her with her furry face pressed against Nona’s thigh.

  Opening a browser window, Nona performed a basic search on Ken. That search pulled up very little, but the top two results were somewhat helpful. One was an inactive profile from one of those classmate connection websites, which listed Ken as a graduate of Independence High School. The other was an article on running in Charlotte from a fitness magazine. There was a photo of Ken along with a quote about how much he enjoyed running at Freedom Park. Nona made a mental note of those tidbits as well as the name and email of the writer of the article. Obviously that person had had some success with interviewing Ken and had even managed to get a photo out of him.

  In a separate window, she shot off a quick email to the writer, hoping to garner some tips on how to get Ken to open up. The running article was fairly recent, having been published in the past six months. That gave her hope that the writer would remember her interactions with Ken and be able to offer some insight. At this point, Nona would take whatever help she could get.

  Next she performed a search of Ken’s name in conjunction with Hiro Yamada. The way Ken had bristled at the mention of Hiro’s name let her know there was definitely a close association between them. Hiro had served as county commissioner during the late ’70s and early ’80s, so she checked the image search results to see what the former official had looked like during his tenure. When she placed the image of Hiro in the ’70s next to the photo of Ken from the fitness magazine, the resemblance immediately became apparent. Nona smiled.

  I’d bet my press pass that Hiro and Ken are father and son. There wasn’t any other logical conclusion. Ken was basically the identical twin of a young Hiro. That would also explain why Ken had become so agitated when she brought up Hiro’s name. Ken had been particularly unwilling to talk about his upbringing. What better way to get to the root of someone’s childhood experiences than to bring up their parent?

  Going a bit deeper into the image results, she came across a family portrait. It had been taken for the Observer as part of a profile on Hiro during the time he occupied the commissioner’s seat. It showed a young Hiro with his arms around a demurely dressed young woman, who in turn cradled a baby.

  The caption read: Commissioner Yamada with his wife and son. Nona knew the baby was probably Ken. But while her dash through the internet had revealed a few things to her, it also left her with so many more questions. Why had Ken tried to hide the fact that Hiro was his father? And why had he been so reluctant to talk about his childhood? The family photo seemed to show two loving parents doting over their precious infant. But she’d been around long enough to know that looks could be deceiving.

  Sheba began whimpering from her spot on the couch, a telltale sign of the pup’s restlessness. She nudged Nona’s thigh, further communicating her need to go outside.

  “All right. Let’s go run, girl.” She shut down the computer, slid it into a blue laptop sleeve and set it on the coffee table. Grabbing the leash, her house keys and her phone, she tucked them into the fanny pack she wore when she ran.

  Just as she started to zip the pack, her phone buzzed. Checking it, she saw that the writer from the fitness magazine had replied to her message. Thankful that the reporter had gotten back to her so quickly, she clicked the leash buckle to Sheba’s collar, then opened the email.

  Good morning.

  Just saw your message. Yes, I remember Mr. Yamada. He’s a hard nut to crack. The best way to get him to talk is to run with him. That’s what I had to do. It seems to relax him and gets him to open up. You mentioned he’s very evasive, and he was initially the same way with me. Even if you’re not a runner, if you don’t get out on the trail with him, expect more of the same.

  Best of luck,

  M. Hargrove

  Smiling, Nona tucked the phone away. Now she had what she needed to get Ken to tell his story. Luckily, she happened to be a frequent runner and was in very good shape. Since she and Ken were close in height, she was sure she could keep up with him on the trail.

  As she headed out the door with Sheba, she started planning how to make this run with Ken happen.

  * * *

  The interior of the kendo room at Satori Martial Arts was filled with the sounds of shouting, feet stamping and wood striking wood. The noises echoed in Ken’s ears, partly because he was making some of them as he and Marco moved around the wooden floor, sparring. Their bare feet made a shushing sound as they slid over the floor’s surface, then a boom as they stomped in time with the thrusts of their bamboo swords.

  Their bodies were encased in traditional practice clothes. The outfit worn frequently by students and those who sparred casually consisted of loose-fitting white jackets and trousers. Because they were friends and didn’t spar for competition, they generally didn’t wear the full kendo armor.

  When the match ended, and both men bowed to each other, Marco groaned. “You know, I’m tired of coming here to spar with you and getting beat every time.”

  Ken shrugged as the two of them left the sparring floor. “I told you to practice more often. How do you expect to improve without practice?”

  They entered the locker room, where Marco shrugged out of his sweaty shirt. “I don’t have time. And now that I’m married, I have even less time.”

  With a shake of his head, Ken stuffed his own damp clothes into his gym bag. “It’s about commitment. You’re not committed.”

  “You should be committed. My loyalty is to Joi.” Marco pulled a towel and his shower caddy from his locker and started moving toward the showers. “It’s strange that everything that excites you involves wooden sticks. You work with a pencil, play drums for the band and then come here and swing a bamboo sword for kicks.”

  “What can I say? I’m a steady guy.” Ken chuckled and
punched Marco in the shoulder as he walked by.

  After the men had showered and changed, they moved to the snack bar. Seated at a small table with two protein shakes, they continued their conversation.

  “Are you ever going to get serious about kendo?”

  “No.” Marco didn’t hesitate with his answer. “To be honest, I don’t know how I let you talk me into coming here in the first place. We both know I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

  Ken laughed. “Based on how much you suck at this, I’d have to agree.”

  Taking a drink of his shake, Marco frowned. “You know what? I’m not coming back here. When I was single and had free time to kill, that was one thing. But now that I’m married, I see no reason to leave my beautiful wife just to come here and be insulted by the likes of you.”

  Ken shook his head. “Do you even know what kendo means? What it’s all about?”

  “I don’t, but I’m sure you’ll enlighten me.”

  “Yeah, I will. Kendo means ‘the way of the sword.’ It has its basis in the time-honored tradition of Japanese swordsmanship. It builds character, increases physical strength and...”

  “Blah, blah, blah.” Marco rolled his eyes. “You know what else builds my character and increases my physical strength? Being home with my wife.”

  Ken could see he was losing this battle. “I get it, Marco. I won’t be upset if you decide not to come back to the dojo.”

  “Good, because I’m not,” he said as he finished up his smoothie. “What’s going on with you and the newspaper reporter, by the way? Told her your life story yet?”

  “Actually I haven’t told her much of anything.” He leaned back in his chair, remembering how irritated Nona had looked when she’d left the coffee shop that day. “Trust me, it wasn’t due to lack of effort on her part.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I understand that she’s trying to collect information and that it’s part of her job. But she comes across as a little...pushy.”

  Marco shrugged. “What did you expect? Like you said, she has a job to do. Why do you insist on making it hard for her?”

  Ken looked past Marco, through the window. Outside, the sun was setting, and the city lights that illuminated the streets of the Queen City by night were starting to appear. He thought of his past and his present. Even though he considered Marco his closest friend, there were many things about Ken’s life that Marco didn’t know. “I have my reasons.”

  Groaning, Marco got up from his seat. “If you say so. At any rate, she seems like the type who isn’t going to give up. If you want to get her out of your hair, you’re going to have to answer some questions.”

  As vexing as it was, Ken knew Marco was right. Nona Gregory did not strike him as a woman who’d be content with failure. She didn’t even seem like the type who’d be satisfied with knowing him on the surface level, either. No, she was going to keep digging and digging until she hit pay dirt.

  That dogged determination to know everything about him was what worried him the most.

  “Listen. I need to get home to Joi. She’s making my favorite dessert tonight.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Whipped cream.”

  “What?” He couldn’t make any sense of his friend’s answer.

  Marco winked. “Strategically placed whipped cream. Get yourself a good woman and you too can enjoy this decadent treat.”

  Shaking his head, Ken grabbed their empty cups. “Get out of here, Marco.”

  “With pleasure.”

  Ken tossed the cups in the trash as Marco made his way out the door.

  Chapter 4

  As dawn painted the sky on Thursday morning, Nona stood by a bench in Freedom Park. Dressed in her close-fitting running pants and a black tee, she stretched by lifting first one ankle, then the other, behind her bottom. Sheba sat dutifully at Nona’s feet with her leash looped around the bench armrest. The dog’s steady breathing was the only sound that competed with the chirping of birds and the soft morning breeze rustling the grass and trees.

  The bench Nona had staked out was strategically located near the only entry point to the park’s running trail. As she stood, bouncing in place to prime her muscles for the upcoming run, she smiled.

  He’ll be here any minute.

  She’d spoken with Ken briefly by phone Wednesday evening and had asked if she could accompany him on his morning run in order to chat with him. To her surprise, he’d agreed right away. Now all that was left was to keep up with him, but she didn’t have any worries about that. She was in incredible shape due to her own running and other fitness habits.

  The sound of an engine pulled her attention toward the nearby parking lot. The two-door coupe slipped into a spot a few places down from her car, and the driver cut the engine.

  When Ken stepped out of the car, Nona’s gaze fixed on him.

  He looked somewhat different in the early morning light, dressed in his running clothes. He wore a sleeveless white shirt and a pair of dark blue running shorts, which left the muscled expanse of his arms and legs visible. As he walked her way, the muscles flexed in time with his movements.

  Her heart began to pound in her ears. When she’d met him a few days ago in his business casual dress, she would never have imagined he was built so solidly. She swallowed to empty her mouth, which suddenly watered. Reaching to her waist, she pulled the water bottle from her pack and took a quick swig.

  Entering her space with an easy smile, he spoke. “Good morning.”

  “Morning,” she managed.

  He stooped down to give Sheba’s head a rub. “Cute pup. You two ready?”

  She smiled. Sheba hadn’t backed away from him to indicate any dislike. That was a good sign. “Yes, we’re ready.”

  They walked to the trail ahead as Nona held the end of Sheba’s leash.

  “I see you’re on time today,” Nona teased.

  “I’m never late for my runs.” Ken squatted to tie his shoelace, moving fluidly into the runner’s mark stance. “I suppose you have more questions about my life?”

  She shrugged. “Of course I do. You didn’t give me anything last time.”

  “You knew I run here.”

  “I found that out on my own.”

  He chuckled. “Beat me back to the trailhead, and we’ll talk.”

  Her face scrunched into a frown. “You didn’t say that on the phone.”

  “Those are my terms.” He raised his hips, indicating his impending start.

  Matching him, Nona drew a deep breath.

  He took off like a shot, his powerful legs propelling him forward.

  She followed a second later and soon matched his pace.

  Sheba kept up with both of them, allowing her youthful energy to have its head.

  While Nona ran, cutting through the humid morning air like a knife, she thought about his trickery. In his overconfidence, he obviously thought he’d beat her in this impromptu footrace and then be released from any obligation to speak to her. She had no intention of letting him off the hook, so she made sure to keep her strides long.

  When he glanced to his left and saw her easily keeping pace with him, a flicker of worry crossed his face. It was only there for a moment before he kicked into second gear and picked up his pace.

  With a smile, Nona sped up as well. The wind whipped her ponytail as Sheba ran alongside her. She felt powerful, exhilarated. There was nothing like a morning run to get the blood pumping and the gears turning.

  Sheba reached the trailhead first, followed closely by her mistress.

  When Ken got there, he leaned over, placing his large hands on his knees as he caught his breath.

  Nona, still standing upright, felt winded yet triumphant. “What’s the matter? Didn’t get your cof
fee this morning?”

  He stood, making a show of rolling his eyes at her. “Oh, please. The dog obviously tugged you across the finish line.”

  Sheba cocked her head to the side, as if she took offense.

  Nona waved her hand dismissively. “Whatever. Don’t be a sore loser.” She pointed to the bench. “Now, you owe me an interview, sir.”

  As if admitting defeat, he trudged over to the bench and plopped down. “Three questions. Ask away.”

  Parts of her wanted to kick him in the shin. “After all that, all I get is three questions?”

  He nodded. “For now, yes.”

  She shook her head. He certainly had an odd way of approaching things. Having interviewed artists in the past, this wasn’t her first time encountering this type of behavior. “Fine.”

  He watched her as she called Sheba to sit and joined him on the bench. “What do you want to know?”

  “Plenty, but we’ll start with this.” She laid her smartphone on her lap and set it to record. “Mr. Yamada, when did you first sense that you wanted to pursue the arts?”

  He raised a hand to scratch his chin, his gaze fixed on some faraway point. “I was in college, majoring in computer graphics. We completed a class project that involved developing plans and schematics for a fictional skyscraper. I’d always loved to draw for as long as I could remember. But when we worked on that project, I fell in love with architecture. It’s the meeting of math, science and art.”

  She nodded, both impressed and intrigued by his answer. “I see. My next question is, what was the first architectural design of your professional career?”

  “Hmm. When I first opened Yamada Creative a few years back, I took on a project to build a new library for Duck, North Carolina. It’s a very small town, and their entire collection fit into a one-story building of about seventy-five hundred square feet. It wasn’t a glamorous project, but I was able to provide the residents of Duck with a new facility that met their needs.”

  She was enjoying discovering some facts about Ken’s architecture work. If she were honest with herself, she’d admit that she was also enjoying his company. Aware that she only had one question left, she decided to make it a good one. “What has been your favorite project so far?”