Page 68 of Kaine

“No. I mean, no, I’m not kidding. And no, I wasn’t exactly living on the streets. I was... er, I was living in a foster home at the time and well, sleeping behind the pile of crossties was a better alternative than going home.”

“Oh. Kaine.” She touches the side of my face and the look is so tender, I have to look away.

“It’s okay. I own this building now,” I shrug and she laughs. “Okay, my turn. Why did you try so hard to find me?” I have to know.

She doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, and I like that she’s taking my question seriously. “Kaine, I value my life. I love my life. I love my job, I love my friends. I love living in New York City. I love food. And champagne. I love all of it. And I would’ve been really, really sad if I had had to stop living so soon. So, it was really important to me that I got to thank the person, you, who let me keep living, even if just for another day.”

She doesn’t look at me while she’s talking, leaning back against my chest.

And I’m glad for that. Because it lets me take in every word without having to worry about her watching my expression. I imagine it would tell her more than I’m willing to let her know.

“Oh. Well, thanks accepted. And... it was all my pleasure,” I say, dropping a kiss on the top of her head.

“My turn!” She rubs her hands together and there’s something evilly maniacal about it. “Why didn’t you want me to find you?”

“Was that always going to be your question?” I ask her.

“Is that your second question?” she quips.

“No!”

“Then I’m not answering it until you answer mine,” she says haughtily.

I take a breath. “I didn’t want the real me to ruin the fantasy you had of me in your head.”

“You idiot,” she whispers, and my heart warms. “Am I allowed a bonus follow up question?”

“Let me hear it first,” I concede.

“What did you think my fantasy of you was like?”

I shrug. I hadn’t really thought of it in specific detail, just that I knew I wasn’t it. “I thought you’d want me, or imagined me, to be tall and handsome and rugged and sexy and brave.”

“So... the reality and the fantasy are one.”

I don’t have an answer that doesn’t sound self-deprecating, which would ruin the sharing mood. So, I don’t say anything.

“Silly, silly man,” she whispers and turn around, pressing a soft kiss to my cheek. I touch my cheek where she kisses me and give her wink. “Okay, next question for me!” she prompts me excitedly.

“Okay, let me see. If you could sit down with anyone, alive or dead, who would it be, and what’s the first question you’d ask them?”

Her body stiffens and she sits up, back straight, facing away from me. Running her hands through her hair, she pulls it to one side, to rest over her left shoulder. Her hands fall into her lap and she stares out into the night for a moment.

“I’d like to, I’d like to have one last meal with my mother. And I’d ask her if there’s anything she sees in me that reminds her of herself. My mother, she was, she was so beautiful. So graceful. Soft spoken, sweet. But I was too young to understand the deeper things like, how she saw the world, what she valued, what her dreams were. I just wonder... if any of it lives on in me.”

“I really wish I could give you that.”

“You can’t.”

“No. But I can tell you that if you did sit down with her, she’d tell you she’s proud of the person you are.”

“You don’t even know me,” she says. She’s right, but I know enough.

“I know you snort when you crylaugh,” I tease her.

“VETO!” she yells and throws an empty food container at me.

I swat it away. “And your last question?”