Walk with Me (BookStrand Publishing Mainstream) (6 page)

The day of our actual date, I spend extra time fixing myself up. I match a cute blue blouse of Danielle’s with a lightweight brown sweater and flats. I then fix my hair with the sides twisted half up and the rest falling in soft waves down the middle of my back, the way he liked when we were at Disneyland. I even put on a little eyeliner and mascara.

At 4:00 p.m. sharp, the doorbell rings. I peek through the peephole and it’s Donovan. The sight of him makes my heart throb and my stomach flip. I can’t help myself, but I open the door with a giant grin on my face.

“Hi,” I chirp.

“Hi, you,” Donovan says, smiling. “Are you ready?”

“Yep.” I grab my purse and phone, shutting and locking the door behind me.

We walk down the path together toward his white car and he opens the passenger side for me.

“I need to stop by my house first and grab a couple things,” he says when he gets in the car. “Are you okay with that?”

Here we go. How convenient. He’ll want to invite me in with a story that he wants to show me something. I’ve heard that before. An excuse Greg used on me.

“No, that’s fine,” I lie.

The drive across town is short. Donovan doesn’t live far from me and Danielle, but the further we travel north, the homes in the neighborhoods morph from the small wood-sided bungalows on our end to more architecturally designed minimansions. The grass parkways are broader, the trees are bigger, and the cars sitting in front of them are high-end foreign.

We pull up to the curb of a gray Tudor-style house on the corner of a tree-lined street and he puts the car into park. “I’ll be right back,” he says, and leaves me.

Hmm. No excuse to get me into his guesthouse. I follow him with my eyes through a side gate. The main house is separated by a long yard and a guesthouse is in the back of the property bordered by an alley with private access from this side gate.

When he returns, he’s carrying a cloth grocery bag and he’s changed into a blue lightweight hoodie that clings to all his muscles and falls right to his hips, drawing my eyes to his jeans. He pops the trunk and puts the bag in the rear before slipping back in the driver’s seat.

“Okay. Let’s go enjoy the beautiful Pacific Ocean.” Donovan roars the engine to life.

“Where are we going, by the way?”

“It’s just a little roadside seafood stand that sells and serves fresh, local catch and cooks it to your liking. It’s not fancy, but it has one of the best views in Malibu. The weather is nice, so we should be able to sit out front and enjoy the surf and sunset.”

“It sounds like a cool place. I don’t go up to Malibu much. I know I’ve never been to any place like you’re describing.” I turn and shift on his soft leather seats, facing Donovan better.

“It’s no twelve-hour excursion to Disneyland, but it makes for a nice evening,” he says, smiling at me. “Well, at least I hope so.”

“I almost wore my Minnie Mouse ears, but thought better of it when I was getting ready.” I smile at my attempt of a joke.

“I think you look perfect. Very beautiful.”

My breath hitches. “Thank you.” He knows the right words to say. Usually the guys I go out with tell me I have a nice rack or say nothing at all.

The rest of the ride up the coast is small talk about how our week went and the weather and traffic. The sun is shimmering on the aqua-blue water—the same color of his hoodie—and I can see all the way out to Catalina Island again.

We pass Pepperdine University and memories bring me back to the last failed outing with Cruz. “Have you ever been up to the Heroes Garden?” I point to Pepperdine as we drive by.

“No,” Donovan answers, looking out the window, “but I heard from some guys at work, who took a course there, that the view is spectacular from the top.”

I nod. “It is. The day I went up there we could see from Palos Verdes to Point Dume in Malibu. There’s a tranquility garden and a reflection pool.”

“Maybe we can take a picnic up there one afternoon?”

“Maybe.”
Let’s take things one day at a time
.

Not much farther past Pepperdine, Donovan signals to pull over. “This is it.” Donovan points to a small shack on the side of the road and pulls into the parking lot. He’s right about the view. Directly across the street is an unobstructed oceanfront vista.

Donovan walks around the car, opening my door for me, and back to the trunk for his bag. I turn, waiting for him, admiring the sea. The water is calm with small islands of brown seaweed contrasting against the aqua color.

Donovan comes to stand next to me and extends his arm, pointing to the right. “Look. Dolphins.”

I follow his finger with my eyes, but all I see are waves. And ten seconds later, I spot the dorsal fins of three dolphins breaking the surface. I smile at the show. “There’s three of them,” I note without turning away.

“Yep. Probably heading down to Mexico for the winter.” We continue to stand silently next to each other, watching them pass. What a way to set the tone for our date. Donovan couldn’t have planned the timing any better if he tried. Any doubts or concerns I previously had are now shrouded by the enchantment from the dolphins.

Donovan takes my hand in his, sending a direct shot of heat to my chest, constricting a small breath from my lungs, and walks us to the stand. Carrying the bag he picked up from his house, he leads me to the line already forming out the door, and instructs me on the process. We walk through a fish market and order our food at the register. They give us our ticket and then we step outside and over to the covered wooden tables and chairs.

“Pick your table.” Donovan sweeps his hand over my options.

“Hmm, I like the view from this one.” I sit down, claiming the seat with the best available view. Donovan pulls a beautiful table cloth out of his bag, covering the old wooden table and sits down opposite me. A little self-conscious, I peer around for others’ reactions and notice other people have done the same. They, too, brought their own tablecloth as well as a bottle of wine.

I turn back to Donovan. “What, no bottle of wine in that little bag of yours?” I say with my best snarky tone.

“Umm…no,” he slowly answers, just as snarky. “Last I checked you were underage, and I’m not about to go to jail or lose my job. No matter how beautiful I think you are,” he adds with a smile to calm the sting of his words.

“Just kidding.” I laugh uncomfortably and change the subject. “So how long have you been on the force?”

He laughs out loud, shaking his head at me. “It’s not Star Wars, Kenna. I don’t work on the Force like I’m Hans Solo, fighting against the Death Star. I work for the police department.”

Oh brother. Two for two. Maybe I should keep my “beautiful” mouth shut because I think I’ve offended him twice already. I clamp my lips together tightly, refusing to say another word.

Donovan scans my face with his observant eyes. He figures this out when I don’t speak again because he sighs and begins talking. “I started at Santa Monica Police Department when I turned eighteen as a cadet, until I qualified to apply as a police officer at twenty-one. I’ve been an officer for nine months. I have three more months of probation left and I have to be careful because they can fire me at any time for any cause during the first year of probation.”

I tuck my folded hands under my chin and put my elbows on the table. “Is this your dream job? Have you always wanted to be a police officer?”

Donovan shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do and I’ve been working toward it ever since I was a teenager. I had good experiences with the police when I was younger that influenced my decision.” Changing the subject, he turns the focus back on to me. “What about you? Do you have a dream job?” He pulls paper napkins out of the dispenser, placing them on the table and waiting for my answer.

He doesn’t like to talk much about himself. We have that in common. When he does, though, he sounds so much older than his age with goals and aspirations beyond getting drunk and laid on Saturday night. He reminds me a little of myself—someone who had to grow up early with no childhood.

I extend my hands out in front of me, playing with the bottle of vinegar. “My current major is undecided, but I’m thinking of pursuing something in medicine. My uncle has diabetes and he’s had a hard time managing his blood sugars. He’s currently on dialysis three days a week. I think I’d like to help others so they don’t have to suffer so much.”

“I can relate to that,” Donovan says. “It’s like you can’t help the ones you love, so you set out to help the world instead.”

“Yeah.” I chew on my bottom lip, thinking about his words. “I’ve never thought of it that way, but I guess you’re kind of right. It’s like it’s too late to help my uncle, but I may make a difference in others’ lives. Have you had a similar experience?”

Number forty-eight is yelled over the intercom and Donovan checks the ticket. “That’s us,” he says and pops up from the bench, ending our discussion.

Damn it. I want to hear more about how he can relate to my situation. Does he have a loved one he can’t help? Who is it and what happened?

“Do you need help with the trays?” I start to get off the bench.

Leaning down, he whispers, “No, you keep your cute little butt planted here and save our table.”

His breath tickles my ear, sending shivers down my neck and tightening the knot in my stomach. He’s good about that—lightening the mood with either a joke or flirtatious comment. He walks away in his snug jeans to collect our food and I can’t help but smile when he returns with our tray.

“One Calamari sandwich, fries crispy,” he says, putting my food down in front of me. “Scoot over.” He motions for me to move down the bench so he can sit next to me. “Now that’s better. I was way too far away from you over there on that side of the table.”

I giggle at his comment but shift to accelerated breathing when he reaches for the salt and his arm skims mine. I may choke on my grilled calamari if he keeps this up. I become distracted when my eyes catch a large old green van pulling into the parking lot, reminding me of the Scooby-Doo cartoons.

“Look, it’s the Mystery Machine from Scooby-Doo. I wonder if those meddling kids are here to solve a mystery.” Donovan points to the van.

My head turns on a swivel toward him because I can’t believe he said out loud what I was thinking. “Yeah, I wonder if Shaggy’s driving,” I say nonchalantly, but inside I’m flabbergasted we both thought such a random thing.

Playing along we look at the driver. “No. Not Shaggy,” we say at the same time.

I put my sandwich down and wipe my mouth. “That’s a classic cartoon.”

“So what character would you be in Scooby-Doo?” Donovan asks.

“Hmm. I’d probably be Velma, the bookish one.”

“Really?” His brow furrows. “Because I see you more like Daphne, the cheerleader or pep-rally girl.” Donovan pops a fry into his mouth.

Almost choking again, I laugh at his assumption of me. “No. I was definitely no cheerleader. I was very shy in high school and my social life was limited to just a few close friends, AP classes, and volleyball. That’s where I met Danielle, actually. We were on the same volleyball team.” I pick up my sandwich for my last bite. “What about you? Are you more like Fred or Shaggy?”

He finishes chewing his fried fish and makes a sound like he’s thinking. “I guess I’m more of a combination of the two. I love to eat like Shaggy, but I did play some sports early in high school.”

Donovan pauses for a moment and points his chin at four guys walking our way. “Look, here comes a boy band trying to find a table.”

I snicker at his observation because they do look like singers from a boy band all decked out with flat-bill hats and bling. Donovan’s funny and he makes me laugh. This game is fun. I look around at other people sitting and eating by us to point out another would-be celebrity. “And there’s Britney Spears with her two kids and boyfriend.” I nod to three tables away.

“Oh, yeah. Good one,” Donovan says. “No, wait. That really is Britney Spears.”

I take a second glance. “You’re right. That’s too funny. Well it is the best view in Malibu.” I smile at him. “That’s LA for you.”

Taking a break from our game, I scan for more dolphins. The sun is hanging low over the water and the orange-and-red glow makes the waves look ablaze with dancing flames. These Santa Ana days make for the prettiest sunsets.

“Do you want to give our table to the boy band waiting and go walk on the sand to watch the sunset?” Donovan follows my gaze out toward the ocean.

“Sure, that sounds nice.” I help to clear the table and follow him out with the tray of trash.

After leaving the bag at the car, he takes my hand and we walk across the road to the beach. I slip off my shoes and crunch the grains under my toes. The sand is cool compared to the warmth of Donovan’s hand. The sun is dropping fast and the salty breeze begins to chill.

“Why does it seem to take a long time for the sun to get to the horizon line, but once it’s there it drops so fast? It’s so beautiful.”

“Yes, it is,” Donovan says, looking my way and not at the sunset. His corny line, even though cliché, makes me shy and I turn my eyes down to the sand. Donovan stops and pulls me to a stop with him. Feeling his eyes on me, I look up at his face. I can’t quite place his expression—a mixture of admiration and hunger. “You look so beautiful in this light.” Still holding my hand, Donovan reaches up with his, cupping my face. Our eyes connect like so many times before and the anticipation begins to build. My breaths come in short spurts and I swallow knowing this time it’s going to happen. Leaning down, our eyes stay locked until the soft warmth of his lips claim mine. An electric surge runs right through me. I release a small moan, opening my mouth a little wider to deepen the kiss, allowing his tongue to gently tease mine. My weak body melts into him for support, and he drops my hand and snakes his arm around my waist, pulling me closer to complete the kiss.