Gwynne Forster - Holiday Kisses

As she left that hall, she bumped into a hard, moving object and would have fallen backward if a hand hadn’t grabbed her and steadied her on her feet.

“Well, I’ll be damned. I nearly killed you, Kisha, for goodness’ sake. I’m so sorry.”

She couldn’t say whether it was his weight or the excitement of seeing him unexpectedly that had knocked her out of sorts. “Craig, you must weigh a ton.”

“Well, not quite. Two hundred pounds is more like it.”

She flexed her arms to be sure she still had both of them. “Two hundred moving pounds is a heck of a lot of power.”

He stepped closer to her and grasped her with both hands. “Are you all right?”

“I’ll be fine, if I can ever breathe normally again. Don’t tell me you like to hang out in museums, too.”

“I like museums, but I’m working on a story about the museum’s relationship to the community, and I came here to observe the free Family Sundays hands-on workshop. This particular program is unusually creative. I’ll be reporting on it in a segment of an upcoming newscast. Are you heading any where special after you leave here?”

Seconds before she opened her mouth to say yes, she was busy, she remembered her resolve to either get things going with him or to forget about him. So she said, “What did you have in mind?”

Craig stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets, looked down at her and grinned. “It’s a wonder I recognized you.” As discombobulated as Kisha, he stared at her for a minute. “Look. Could we go somewhere for coffee or a drink?” he asked her, more as a gentlemanly gesture—he assured himself—than as a means of appeasing his ever-growing attraction to her. “I…uh…it would be nice if we could spend a little time together.”

“It would be nice, but you’ve got on a business suit and tie, and I’m dressed for the supermarket.”

“You look great to me. We don’t have to go to the snazziest place in town. What about the Barbecue Pit. It’s practically empty on Sunday afternoons.”

“I…All right.”

He took her hand as they walked down the steps. “It’s not too far from here, so we can walk. My car is closer to the restaurant than it is to the museum.” He hoped that she wouldn’t attach too much significance to such a casual invitation, but the woman was not stupid, and she could figure out a man’s motives from his behavior.

“Since I’m here,” he said when they had seated themselves, “I may as well have some barbecued ribs. I doubt I’ll ever get enough of them.”

“Excuse me a minute, please.” She left and a few minutes later returned with her knitted cap in her hand and her hair swinging around her shoulders.

“I was wondering if I was going to get used to your little-girl look,” he said. “What would you like?”

“You’ve influenced me. I’ll have barbecued ribs, a biscuit and coffee.”

“So you like art, Kisha. That says a lot about you. Do you see it as beauty or as a technical achievement?”

“Both.” She described what it expressed to her. “It’s like the Empire State Building reigning over the skies of mid-Manhattan, or a sleek airplane speeding through the clouds, or Joseph Addai streaking toward the goal line for the Colts.”

“You’re a football fan? What other sports do you like?”

“Tennis. I’m a tennis freak. I play fairly well, but I can watch it for hours, even on television. It’s universal. My favorite recreational things to do are visiting art galleries, traveling overseas, reading and tennis.”

He shook his head in wonder. “I’d put travel first, and if you added water sports, we’d be on the same page. Where have you traveled?”

“Most of Western Europe. One of my fondest memories is being nineteen in Paris and subsisting on bread, cheese and water. When I got back home, I didn’t want to see any cheese or bread. I wouldn’t have drunk water if I could have lived without it.”

“It’s amazing, Kisha, how much we have in common. I lived like that in Paris, Rome, Spain and Copenhagen. I slept on the street, in doorways, churches, you name it, and when I got back home, I was ready to do it all over again. Fortunately, common sense prevailed.” They talked about their experiences, shared moments of joy and adventure. He realized that they had talked for hours when he noticed that the restaurant was full of patrons. A look at his watch told him that it was a quarter of seven and time for dinner.

“It’s dinnertime, Kisha. I’m not hungry, but we can eat dinner if this place suits you.”

“I’m not hungry enough for dinner. Let’s go somewhere and get a great dessert.”

“Girl after my own heart. How about a huge warm peach cobbler topped with two scoops of vanilla ice cream?” Her smile of approval made him feel like a king.

When he took her home almost two hours later, he wanted more than he knew he would get, but his mind told him that, in Kisha’s case, less was more. And while he stood in her foyer staring down at her, seeing what he knew he wanted, he made up his mind to get her. But he merely took her hand, kissed the back of it and left her.

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