Strong Enough

At the end of the block, we stopped at an intersection, waiting for a green light so we could cross the street. I took a few deep breaths, hoping the cool night air might clear my head a little.

“So.” Derek glanced at me. “You’re a long way from home.”

&nb

sp; “Yes,” I answered. It seemed like he was waiting for me to go on, but my tongue felt tied in knots. The right words weren’t coming to me.

The light changed and we crossed the street, walking side by side now. “I’m parked in the structure. Third floor.”

I followed him up two flights of stairs and over to a shiny black Range Rover. Even his car is beautiful. He unlocked the doors and I climbed into the passenger seat. The inside was as spotless as the outside. I wanted to compliment him on it, but all I could do was stare at his hands as he buckled his seatbelt.

Then my stomach growled—one long, loud, ferocious groan.

Our eyes met, and Derek’s expression was amused. “Are you hungry?”

“Uh. Yes.” I laughed uneasily.

“When was the last time you ate?”

I had to think about it. “On the plane. The first one.”

He nodded and started the car. “No wonder. Let’s get you some food.”

“You don’t have to worry about it.” He was already putting me up for the night. I didn’t want him to have to feed me, too. “I’m fine.”

“That sounded like a fucking German Shepherd in your stomach, Maxim. You need food. Don’t argue.”

I liked the way he said my name—it put me at ease. And besides, my mother had taught me it was rude and offensive to turn down offers of food and drinks. “Okay. Thanks.”

We circled down to street level and exited the garage. As we drove through downtown, I momentarily forgot my hunger and stared out the window like a mesmerized child. We passed one old movie theater after another, and I craned my neck to keep looking at the signs. “This street is incredible. What is this?”

“It’s the old Broadway Theater District,” said Derek. “It does have some really cool architecture from the twenties, although not all of these buildings are theaters anymore.”

“It looks exactly like what I pictured when I imagined California as a kid.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes. My mother is obsessed with Hollywood musicals, so my sister and I grew up watching them.”

“You have a sister too, huh?”

“Yes, Liliya. She’s eight.” Since we were stopped at a light, I pulled the photo of her from my book and held it so Derek could see.

“She’s much cuter than my sister,” he said. “And probably much less annoying.”

I laughed. “I don’t know. I think your sister is pretty nice.”

He shook his head, accelerating again. “She’s nice, I’ll give her that. She’s just a little crazy.”

About twenty minutes later, he turned into a driveway next to a two-story brick house with a porch light on over a white front door. It was very nice, but it wasn’t the kind of house I’d pictured him in. Somehow I’d imagined something more modern and masculine for Derek—a condo with lots of glass and metal and sharp edges or something, rather than something traditional.

That’s ridiculous. You don’t know him at all.

He parked in the garage at the back of the yard, and I followed him to the back door. He opened it and stepped aside, as if to let me go first. I hesitated. It didn’t seem right to step inside someone's house before him, especially since I was an unexpected guest. I looked at Derek, and there was an awkward moment where neither of us knew what to do.

“Okay, then.” He walked in first and turned on the light, and I entered behind him.

The first thing I noticed when I entered Derek’s house was how good it smelled—fresh and clean, a little woodsy. I inhaled deeply as he moved around me to shut the door. “What’s that smell?” I asked. “It’s amazing.”