Twelve Months of Kristal: 50 Loving States Maine

But Kristal is staring up at me, her eyes wide and brimming with hope. Women never look at me like that. Most simper and smile coyly, trying to attract me with a childish version of flirting stolen straight from the J-Drama heroines they grew up watching. The wiser ones approach me boldly, matching my cool tone as if a relationship is a point of business to be negotiated.

Kristal, however, looks at me like I’m a man, not a goal. A normal man who she very much wants to believe her.

I am not a normal man, yet I find myself answering her questions…with one stiff nod of my head.

It is a mere nod, but Kristal lets out an audible cry and places a hand over her heart as if I’ve shouted a declaration from the rooftops.

“Kristal-san…” I start to say, only to trail off, not knowing how to finish this sentence. There is so much I want to tell her. But shouldn’t. In the end, I insist to both her and myself, “It is as the American say in a text. NBD—no big deal.”

Proving just how far away she is from achieving true escort status, she once again contradicts me. “But it is a big deal—a huge deal. No other guy I’ve dated has ever believed me. That’s why none of my relationships have even lasted this long. And, I figured the private jet was because of the…”

She turns her head away from me, and I have a feeling her face would be red if not for her dark skin. “…other deal,” she finishes.

“It was mostly for that,” I answer, glad to be on the slightly safer subject ground. “But also for Declan. He’s a good employee who has served me well over the years.”

My words are stiff, but her face softens as if I’ve said something incredibly romantic. “You really believe me?” she asks. “You’re not just saying that?”

I struggle with my answer. I’ve been lying about myself for so long, saying the truth out loud feels more intimate than anything else we’ve done. But in the end, I squeeze out, “Yes, I believe you.”

Kristal covers her mouth and tears well in her eyes. “I had no idea how nice this would feel. To be believed. To be seen. For the very first time.”

She wipes at her eyes with the back of her mittened hands. “I’m just trying to understand why a serious business guy like you would believe a weird elf like me?”

The answer rises, then sticks in my throat.

The ghost of Satomi floats into my mind’s eye, her mouth covered in the blood she coughed up after drinking tea with my father. Death by poisoning had been her reward for both telling him my secret and daring to know anything that could shame our family name.

My father is just as dead as my ex-girlfriend now, but the fear and my mother’s dire warning continues to haunt me.

“Hey, what are you two nutjobs doing standing in the middle of the street?” a voice demands in the distance.

We both turn to see a woman with a shovel in one hand, coming toward us. She is nearly as tall as me and even paler. She has dark circles under light blue eyes and wild red hair that trails in the wind behind her. If one replaced the shovel with a broomstick and gave her a black pointed hat, she’d look exactly like the American version of a witch.

“Siobhan, is that you?” Kristal asks beside me.

“Yes, I’m Siobhan,” the shovel witch answers.

I inwardly jerk at the shovel witch’s answer. From the picture Maeve had painted yesterday, I had imagined a frail waif, pining away at her bay window after the desertion of her husband.

However, there is nothing frail or weak about this woman. Tall and broad, I immediately think of Brienne of Tarth, the Game of Thrones character who despite being a woman, fought as a warrior and wished to become a knight.

This is Declan’s ex-girlfriend, the one who was supposedly waiting by the phone for him to call? Though, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised about the discrepancy after the saintly picture Maeve tried to paint of her ill-tempered boss this morning.

“And who are you?” Then before we can reply, she rolls her eyes and says, “Oh, Christ. You’re the black elf and the Japanese businessman. I thought that was one of her stories, like Declan calling me any day now. I wasn’t expecting you to actually show up here.”

Kristal winces as if bracing to get hit, then blinks when nothing happens.

“Wait…” she says. “Do you love Maeve? I mean, truly love her, or were you just pretending to be her friend?”

Siobhan shrugs. “Well, Maeve’s got an idiot problem for sure, and now I have to put up with all this matchmaking and fairy talk because she’s too Irish-Irish.”