I stared straight ahead, past the dashboard of the truck, past the stretch of asphalt in front of me. I’d been on the go for so long I’d almost forgotten what made me start running in the first place. All of it came back then. The fear of getting trapped in a life I didn’t want. The threat of someone having a claim to me. The feeling of being suffocated by the expectations of the ones I loved most.
“You think about it.” Gramps removed his hand and faced forward. Evidently the heart-to-heart had ended.
We rode the rest of the way back to the Phillips House in silence. I tried to think of a way to justify my decisions over the past few years. Nothing came to mind. Gramps was right. Here I thought I’d been so brave by charting new territory, exploring places I’d only read about in books as a kid, playing off my never-ending trips as an adventure and a lifestyle choice. Why had it taken me so long to realize the only thing I’d been doing was running away from my fear of turning out just like my dad?
CHAPTER 28
ZINA
The afternoon passedin a whirlwind of taking care of dogs, making phone calls to other rescue centers near and far, and trying to calm down Lacey, who’d received three other wedding referrals from Chyna. I took a final walk-through of the warehouse before I turned toward the house and let the volunteers take over for the night.
I was beat. The ordeal with the wedding planner, the fake rehearsal, the strange conversation with Alex . . . it had all taken its toll. All I wanted was to grab a quick bite and turn in early. So when I stepped into the house, I was unprepared for the scent of something bubbling away on the stove. A combination of spices tickled my nose and made my stomach growl in appreciation.
“Zina, is that you?” Alex called from the kitchen.
I followed his voice, determined to find the source of the deliciousness. “What are you doing?”
Alex pulled the kitchen door open, and the smell of cumin, ginger, and garlic swirled around me, making my mouth water. With all of the excitement this morning I hadn’t had a chance to grab lunch.
“Hungry?” Alex asked. He held a giant spoon in one hand and a potholder in the other. He looked like a very scruffy,younger version of Jamie Oliver, ready to take on the world, one spice at a time.
“What’s this?” I glanced around the kitchen, my gaze resting on a pot of something delectable simmering on the stove.
“I figured you’d be tired, so I went ahead and whipped up some dinner for us. How spicy do you like your curry? One pepper? Two?” He stepped in front of the stove and lifted the lid off the stockpot.
“You made curry for dinner?” I could tell just by the way it smelled that it was going to be delicious.
“Chicken tikka masala. It’s not really curry. A friend of mine who owns a restaurant in England taught me how.”
“And how did you meet a restaurant owner in England?” It shouldn’t surprise me. Alex had all kinds of stories about the people he’d met while traveling the world. The only place I’d been outside of Texas in the past ten years was my stint in Afghanistan. And I didn’t have much of a chance to sample the local cuisine or make a lot of friends while I was there.
“I met him while diving in the Maldives. He said he was opening a restaurant outside of London and told me to stop by if I ever found myself on that side of the world.”
“I should have known better than to ask.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because you’ve been so many places. I can only imagine the kinds of experiences you’ve had traveling the world.”
“Ready to eat?”
“Dish it up. I’m starving.”
I took a seat at the table while Alex spooned rice and whatever it was he’d made into two bowls. By the time he grabbed a plate full of naan and brought it to the table, I was ready to pass out from hunger.
“I went a little easy on the spice for you.”
“For me?” With my fork poised at the edge of my bowl, I eyed him. “I was born and raised in Texas. What makes you think I can’t handle my spice?”
“It’s a different kind of spice. Trust me.” He dug into his dish and slid a bite into his mouth.
At that point I wasn’t going to argue over how much heat I could handle. I took a big bite and let the flavors roll over my tongue. It wasn’t fair that someone could be blessed with his good looks and his skills between the sheets and still be able to put a delicious meal on the table. Not when he was planning on leaving.
“What do you think?” His eyebrows lifted. He wanted to impress me, and it showed.
“It’s okay.” No need to let him know how much I enjoyed it. The man clearly didn’t suffer from a bruised ego. He knew his strengths.
“Just okay?” He grinned, obviously aware I was trying to pull one over on him.
