Tempo of Love

by Kianna Alexander

  By the time her mother’s slipper-clad feet appeared on the stairs, Nona had settled into both the couch and an old rerun of Law and Order. “Hey, Mommy. Where’s Daddy?”

  Descending to the floor, Aretha Raines Gregory tightened the belt of her blue floral silk robe. “Your daddy will be down in a few. How have you been, baby?”

  “Pretty good. Got a feature at work, so that’s been taking up most of my time lately.”

  Aretha smiled, easing over and taking a seat on the sofa next to her only child. “Really? In your section or on the main page?”

  “Main page.”

  “That’s great news. I’m telling you, if you stay on the right path, you’ll be editor in chief in a few years.” Aretha stifled a yawn. “Just imagine it. My baby as editor in chief of the Charlotte Observer. Wouldn’t that be something?”

  “Yeah, Mommy. It would.” She didn’t mention to her mother that her feelings about her work at the paper had changed over the years. There had been a time, when she’d been in her twenties and filled with youthful zeal, that she would have been thrilled to take on the editor-in-chief position. Back then, she’d wanted to take over the world, starting with the newspaper. But now, as she headed toward her midthirties, she found that she didn’t get the same thrill out of getting the scoop, breaking the story or seeing her name in the byline.

  Gordon Gregory walked in the room then. Dressed in a red T-shirt and a pair of cargo pants, he shuffled toward his favorite spot on the love seat facing the television. “Hey, Nonie. How are you?”

  “Fine, Daddy. How are you?”

  “Pretty good.” He eased into his seat. “School’s out, so I’m on easy street.”

  She shook her head. As much as her father complained about the students during the school year, everyone knew he loved his work as a librarian in the J. Murrey Atkins Library at the University of North Carolina at Charlotte.

  Both her parents worked at the college, which was why they’d chosen to make their home in University City. Her mother, an assistant professor of journalism, had been Nona’s biggest advocate when she’d decided to pursue journalism as a career. Nona hadn’t gone to UNC Charlotte, choosing to attend school at North Carolina A&T. At eighteen, she hadn’t relished the idea of seeing her parents on campus every day.

  Ever supportive, her parents hadn’t made a fuss about her choice of school and had sent her off to Greensboro with their best wishes. Aretha hadn’t been so thrilled about her daughter minoring in dance, but she’d let it go once she realized Nona wasn’t going to change her mind.

  “Honey, Nona got a feature article. Front page!” Aretha gestured excitedly as she communicated the news to her husband.

  “Wonderful. I’m sure you’ll do great, Nonie. When is the story due?”

  “I’ve got about a few days left to get it done.” She half watched the images playing across the television screen as she spoke.

  Gordon nodded. “What’s it about?”

  “Yes, tell us. Did you get an interesting subject to cover for your first front-page feature?” Aretha leaned in, waiting for her answer.

  Taking her eyes off the television to offer her parents her full focus, Nona explained the scope of the story. “Basically, I’m supposed to give the readers a peek into who Ken is, a look at his process and a preview of his vision for the Grand Pearl.”

  Aretha folded her arms across her chest. “Ken? You’ve just met him and you’re so informal with him already?”

  She cast a sidelong glance in her mother’s direction. “He asked me to call him by his first name. Besides, we’ve had four interviews, so I think we’re past the formal stage.”

  Now Aretha’s face scrunched into a frown. “Four interviews? I don’t think I’ve ever known you to interview someone more than twice. What exactly is going on between you and this man?”

  “Oh, come on now, Rethie.” Having settled comfortably into his seat, Gordon scoffed at his wife. “Stop giving her the third degree.”

  “Gordon, I know my little girl. If she’s seen him that many times already, there must be something going on.”

  Nona interjected. “Mommy, I don’t want you to worry. Ken is an artist, and you know how eccentric they can be. I just have to dig a little deeper with him, that’s all. It will all pay off when I write a fabulous feature.”

  “Humph.” Aretha didn’t appear convinced.

  Nona looked to her father and found him studying her. “What is it, Daddy?”

  “Nonie, is there something going on between you and this Ken person? I can’t help but notice the way your expression changed when you started talking about him.”

  She let her gaze drop. “He is attractive, and I...”

  “See?” Aretha jerked her head in Nona’s direction. “I knew it.”

  “Mommy, Daddy, the truth is there’s a mutual attraction between us. But we’re keeping things very professional.” She preferred to be honest with her parents when she could, at least to a point. For instance, she saw no reason they should know that Ken had kissed her, twice, and she’d made no effort to stop him.

  “So far.” Her mother sat back on the sofa, sinking into the gray suede cushion. “Don’t let whatever is going on between you ruin your career, baby. There is such a thing as journalistic integrity.”

  “I know, Mommy. I promise to keep things on the professional level.” Nona knew all about what her mother was hinting at, and she hoped agreeing with her right away might prevent her from launching into a long, tedious lecture.

  “I trust you, Nonie. I’m sure you’ll use your good judgment.” Her father’s words were quiet, but firm.

  “Thanks, Daddy.” She appreciated his vote of confidence. Her father had always been the more laid-back parent, while her mother thrived on order and practicality. Thinking it was well past time for a change of subject, she announced, “I forgot to tell you. My dance students have mastered their basic turns. I think they’re going to do very well in their recital next month.”

  Aretha’s face twisted into another frown. “Oh, Nona. Are you still teaching those little critters? You know that time would be better spent on things related to your real career, don’t you?”

  While she wanted to roll her eyes, Nona knew better. “Mommy, I’m not going to stop teaching. I love dance, and I love seeing what a difference it makes in the lives of my kids.”

  “Ugh. Your kids.” Aretha threw up her hands. “That’s another thing you could be pursuing if you weren’t teaching over there—a husband and some grandbabies for me.”

  Nona let her head drop back against the cushion behind her, blowing out an exasperated breath. She’d been hearing about her mother’s desire for grandchildren since she was twenty-one. Having been down this road many times before, she gave the only acceptable response. “I know, Mommy. I know.”

  Gordon’s chuckle broke through their tense exchange. “If you want grandkids so bad, why are you trying to stop her from dating the guy she’s interviewing? How do you expect her to get pregnant if all she does is bury herself under work?” He laughed again as he finished his question.

  Nona shook her head as a chuckle erupted from her mouth. “Daddy!”

  Aretha pursed her lips, but the humor was apparent in her eyes. “Oh, hush up, Gordon.”

  Laughing, Nona looked between her parents. They were quite a pair, but they kept life interesting for her at every turn.

  * * *

  Ken sat by the window in the Charlotte Plaza Starbucks on Friday evening, flipping through the pages of Architectural Digest. He was expecting Nona any moment for what she’d said would be their final interview. He had mixed feelings about that, because while he didn’t want to monopolize all her time, he also wasn’t ready to have her disappear from his life. Over the past two weeks, he’d already become accustomed to having her a
round.

  He remembered how annoyed she’d been with him when he showed up late for their first interview, so he’d made sure to arrive a little early this time. He wasn’t one to be rude, but he also wouldn’t change his entire schedule for the convenience of another person, either. Something about Nona had him doing all kinds of things he’d never done before.

  When she walked through the door of the coffee shop, his gaze went to her immediately. She wore her hair in a low bun, revealing the soft lines of her face. Her body was draped in a bright blue maxi dress with thin straps. The dress covered most of the lithe form beneath but left her neck, shoulders and arms bare to his appreciative eyes. A pair of blue crystal earrings dangled from her lobes, brushing against her shoulders as she walked.

  She looked around for a moment, and he raised his hand to wave her toward him. Her attention swung his way as she spotted him. Watching her approach, he took a draw from his iced coffee to cool off. Whenever she entered his space, a rising heat accompanied her. His awareness of the heat crackling between them was such that he’d forgone his usual hot beverage for something on ice.

  She slid into the seat across from him with a soft smile on her face. “Thanks for meeting me again. I hope this will be the last time I have to pump you for information.”

  He chuckled. “We’ll see. I’m trying to give you what you need, but telling my life story isn’t exactly easy for me. I don’t know if you can tell, but I’m a pretty private person.”

  She placed a hand to her chest, her eyes wide with mock surprise. “Heavens, I had no idea! You’ve been so chatty up until now.”

  Shaking his head, he took another drink of the cool, rich brew in his cup. “So, what’s missing from your story?”

  “I’ve filled in most of the basics, either from our previous interviews or from my own independent research.” She pulled out her phone, and after a bit of swiping, began rattling off information. “I know you graduated from the Carolina Institute of Art with your bachelor of fine arts, and then received your dual master’s in architecture and urban design from UNC Charlotte. It’s possible you met my parents—they both work at UNC Charlotte.”

  He scratched his chin as he accessed the memories. “There was a librarian that had the last name Gregory. Is he your dad?”

  She nodded. “Probably. As far as I know he’s the only Gregory at the library. My mother teaches in the journalism department, so you were less likely to have run into her.”

  “No, I don’t think I did. I never took any classes in that department.”

  “Okay. I also know about the accident that widowed your father. My condolences, by the way.”

  “Thank you.” He tried to ignore the tightening in his chest and hoped she would change the subject.

  “I’m sure my boss would love for me to press you about the details of that accident, because the records are sealed and things are quite muddy. But the story isn’t about your parents. It’s about you.”

  He couldn’t put his relief into words, but he tried. “I really appreciate that you realize that.”

  She shrugged. “He knows I’m going to do my story my way or not at all. So what I’d really like to talk about now is your process and what inspires you while you work.”

  “I listen to jazz while I sketch, if that’s what you mean. You already know I love to work in morning light and that I need a clean, clutter-free space.”

  “Do you have a favorite jazz artist? Someone you listen to often, whose work has informed yours more than anyone else?”

  “Definitely Max Roach. When I drum for the band, I’m mainly emulating his style. The man’s a genius on the drums.”

  She cocked her head to one side. “I’m not familiar with him.”

  “Do you listen to jazz?”

  “Yes, but it’s more contemporary, smooth jazz. I love Joyce Cooling and Boney James.”

  “Well, all the smooth jazz artists of the present owe their craft to the greats like Max Roach, to some degree. Their pioneering work formed the basis of jazz as it is today.” He could feel his passion for the music rising. “I probably would never have picked up drumming if it wasn’t for Max.”

  She nodded. “I can sense your passion right now. You seem to be equally ardent about all your pursuits—your work, kendo, running and now drumming. How can that be?”

  “Simple.” He rested his elbows on the tabletop, leaning in as he laced his fingers together. “I believe in only doing the things that inspire passion within. If I don’t feel strongly about a thing...or a person, I don’t pursue it.”

  Her gaze shifted, making a direct connection with his. “When is the last time you felt passionately about a person?”

  He held her gaze. “When I walked into this coffee shop that day and saw you.”

  Her sharp intake of breath conveyed her surprise. Her cheeks bloomed with red. “Ken, I don’t know what to say.”

  “You don’t have to say anything.” He reached across the table to capture her hand. “It’s obvious what’s happening between us.”

  With a soft sigh, she admitted, “You’re right. There’s definitely something between us. I mean, I have what I need for my story. But I still want to see you again.”

  A grin broke out over his face when he heard that. “Looks like we agree on that.”

  “You know what’s funny? I was at my parents’ house last night, and my mom chewed me out about journalistic integrity when she found out I was attracted to you.”

  He chuckled. “And how did she know that?”

  “She sensed it. Moms are very intuitive, or at least my mother is. After she figured it out, I had no choice but to admit it.”

  The idea of that amused him. “And how does your dad feel about the matter?”

  “He’s way more laid-back than Mommy, so he’s cool. He actually joked that she should quit fussing at me and let me date you so she could maybe get some grandchildren out of the deal.”

  He put up his free hand in mock defense. “Hold on now. I like you, but I don’t know about all this.”

  She rolled her eyes, her expression playful. “Quit it. I’m not jumping that far ahead yet. But I would like to spend some more time with you, see where this thing goes.”

  That was easily the best thing he’d heard all day. “Sounds good. What are you doing Wednesday night?”

  “Nothing after work. I teach my dance class Tuesday and Thursday, so I’m free.”

  “Cool. We’ll get together then, at Satori. You game for some more kendo, and maybe dinner?”

  She looked a bit nervous. “I guess, as long as you promise to keep going easy on me.”

  Giving her hand a squeeze, he smiled. “On the kendo floor, I will. But I won’t go easy on you when it comes to winning your heart.”

  In response, she leaned forward and grabbed his free hand. “I wouldn’t want you to.”

  He shifted his upper body, and their lips connected for a sweet, lingering kiss.

  Chapter 9

  Nona spent Monday morning pulling together her notes to build the basis for her article draft. She felt she’d spent enough time with Ken, questioning and observing him, to allow her to give an accurate portrayal of who he was and how he went about his job. As a complement to her work with him, she’d contacted the city planning department and spoken with a few members of the committee who’d chosen Ken’s proposal from among those submitted.

  All three of the people from the city had deemed Ken’s proposal innovative, which had been one of the top priorities given to the committee in making their decision.

  “Mr. Yamada’s design proposal was simply amazing,” committee member Mary Kearns said in an email. “In terms of being respectful of the historical significance of the Grand Pearl Theater, while still updating it to modern standards, we didn’t see
any other design that even came close.”

  “I was amazed with Mr. Yamada’s immense respect for the project and for the city’s funds. That respect was literally written into the proposal’s wording, but when he came in to deliver his pitch in person during the second phase of bidding, it was made even clearer to us.” That quote came from Mitchell Davis, another committee member, via a voice mail he’d left Nona over the weekend.

  During her chat with Nona by phone, committee chair Debra Velez heaped more praise on Ken and his design. “Mr. Yamada definitely gave us the best design, with the freshest ideas. Beyond that, his bid was very reasonable. He didn’t request an extravagant amount that would bankrupt the city’s discretionary fund, yet he didn’t lowball us in a way that might make us suspect shoddy work. We could tell he understood the scope and the importance of the project and genuinely wanted to be a part of it.”

  By the time Nona finished chatting with Mrs. Velez, even she was impressed. She could tell that Ken had won over the committee on pure merit. Mrs. Velez had promised to send Nona a copy of Ken’s winning proposal, and she expected it to arrive in her email inbox later in the day. That would be the final piece to complete the basis of her story.

  At lunchtime, Nona ordered in so she could remain at her desk. She often took working lunches when she had an important story to write, and this one seemed to be taking on a life of its own. Between bites of her grilled chicken salad, she typed up the first draft of her article. Like most of her drafts, it was more outline than prose. She laid out the basic structure of the feature, placing her thoughts in an abbreviated form that she’d go back and expand on later. This bare-bones layout would provide the framework on which she’d build the article, breathing life and character into it before sending it off to her editor.

  As the two o’clock hour rolled around, Nona got up from her desk to stretch. She left her office with her favorite mug in hand, passing the cubicles in the general press pool on her way to the break room. There was no one else in the room, so she went straight for the coffee machine to make herself a cup. After spending the last couple of hours working on her article, she was a bit bleary-eyed.