We came close to the house.
Several feet lay between Yoshiro, his dogs, and us.
I whispered to my kids, “How’s everybody?”
“I’m cold,” Jalen whispered back.
“We’ll be warm soon.” I held the shotgun close. “I think.”
“He seems nice,” Kia said.
“I hope so.”
“I don’t think he’s going to murder us,” Jalen admitted, always in horror movie mode. “A bad guy would have a hook. He doesn’t have one.”
“Oh shut up, Jalen.” Kia shook her head. “Guys without hooks are bad too.”
“Yeah. You’re right.” Jalen nodded. “Daddy doesn’t have a hook.”
My heart ached. “Shhh. Let’s just get inside and stay safe. Stay close to me.”
“Okay, Mommy,” Jalen walked closer to my side.
I checked for Poppy. While she held Kia’s hand, the whole time she watched the dogs with pure fascination. For some reason, that made me relax.
Yoshiro led us to a side door. “Here we go. If you can take your shoes off when you get inside, that would be good. I don’t like a lot of puddles on the floor.”
“Okay.” I lowered the shotgun a little, but still didn’t put it down.
He didn’t even glance at it as if he wasn’t worried at all by me shooting him. “It’s not much, but the house is warmer than out here and the blankets in the guest rooms are clean. Every now and then I go in there and wash them and dust the spaces.”
I couldn’t imagine such a big man dusting anything. He looked more like he lifted weights for a living.
I cleared my throat. “Thanks for having us.”
Yoshiro opened the door and let us in. “No problem. The circumstances called for it. In storms like this, we all have to help each other out, or we’ll perish.”
I nodded but was completely uncomfortable with his ease in helping me. We’d been running from a man that was supposed to protect and love us. It was hard to take help from strangers like Yoshiro and the women from the gas station.
Little by little, I was finding that my faith in humanity wasn’t dead after all..
Maybe, the world isn’t so bad after all.
We stepped inside, pulled off our boots, and lined them next to the door.
I turned around and took in the place.
Warm air smoothed against my cold skin. It was a huge welcome.
We’d brought a flurry of snow in with us. We all must’ve been seriously cold, including Yoshiro. My face was numb. My feet were damn near frozen.
Snatching off his hat, Yoshiro marched over to the fireplace and stoked the fire.
The fireplace had been built low in the center of the wall. The mantel was packed tight with photographs in ornate silver frames. Most of them were color snaps showing the same subjects, a young black woman and mixed race baby in a variety of poses and situations. Two gold vases with tops stood in the left corner. Flowers were stacked in vases among the frames. Unlit incents lay in front of them.
Is that his wife and kid? I thought he said he lived alone.
Japanese characters were carved the front of the mantle.
At the end, there was one older picture. Airbrushed black-and-white. An old Asian couple stood in a respectful pose.
Perhaps, that’s his parents.
Yoshiro shrugged off his coat and warmed his hands.
Salt and Pepa trotted over and then lay on the floor.
I’d been right about Yoshiro’s body. With the jacket off, muscles covered him. Not the huge bodybuilding sort. It was lean layers that wrapped all over his back, arms, and thighs.
When he turned around, he stared at us in shock, and then smiled.
We must’ve looked crazy, all bundled up by the door in a group huddle. I still held the shotgun as if we were in a zombie apocalypse.
“Relax. Take off your jackets. Get warm.” Yoshiro’s voice came out calm and soothing. “I’ll show you the rooms soon. I just have to warm up myself.”
“Thanks.” I gestured for the kids to take off their jackets.
They did as they kept their eyes on Yoshiro.
And the whole time, he watched us from the fireplace.
Setting the shotgun against the wall, I took off my jacket and hung it on the coat rack. My damp dreadlocks fells around my shoulders.
I turned back to Yoshiro and got a better look at his face. Not only was he tall and strong-looking, but he was gorgeous. The sort of man that woman dreamed about. But I wasn’t that person anymore. I didn’t imagine hot heroes swooping me up and saving me. No longer did I contemplate love.
Wyatt had beat it out of me.
Long ago, somewhere inside of my heart, a love song had existed. A melody of passion and hope. Pleasure and passion. Now all that lived there was screams mingling within pain and twisting around the scabs of my bruised heart.
Besides, I had given my kids a psychotic father. No man could ever come near us again. Why should my kids suffer anymore due to my own stupidity with love? I had given the wrong person the right pieces of me. He’d shattered them. Due to that, my heart would never be given to anyone again.