I step out of the cab while Tyler pays the driver.

“Thanks for the ride.” I kiss his cheek. “I think it’s better if you don’t come up because Bree will get overly excited.”

“I was thinking the same thing. I’d hate for her to expect too much.”

My lips move to Tyler’s lips, and I speak into his mouth. “I still want to see you.”

“That can be accomplished. San Francisco’s a big city to get lost in. I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”

His lips slide over mine, and I open my mouth, welcoming his deep kiss. If only things were simpler. If only I’d met Tyler before I screwed up and my life fell apart.

“See you tomorrow night?” he asks when we break to take a breath.

“Yes, tomorrow’s my day off.”

“Can’t wait. I can’t stop thinking about you, Kelly.” His hands sweep down my side, and he holds my waist, pulling me close. “I want to be the man you dream about, the one you want and need.”

Wow. What a difference a job makes. I like it. He’s confident, earnest, aggressive. His erection stiffens against my belly, and instead of pulling away, I surprise myself by wiggling against him.

His lips return and lock onto mine, then his hands rove around from my waist, brushing the sides of my breasts. I slip my hands under his jacket, untucking his shirt, as a rush of desire slams me. His skin is hot over hard, firm muscles.

My belly tightens and heat curls between my legs. I want him so badly. Not any man, but Tyler. I gasp at the intensity of my emotions. I can’t believe I’m about to undress him outside of my mother’s apartment.

Tyler backs off, his eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry I got carried away. You’re not upset, are you?”

I catch my breath, trying to inhale deeply. “I’m fine. Just tired. You won’t believe how many bathrooms I cleaned. I feel grungy.”

I’m glad for the darkening evening and the fact that we’re in the shadows of my mother’s building. He can’t see the trembling of my lips, the sweat over my brow, my flushed cheeks. It isn’t like me to get so horny, so turned on. I’m the sensible, responsible type. I have a daughter.

He tucks his shirt back into his pants. “How about dinner tomorrow evening?”

“Yes. Tomorrow, I’ll see you tomorrow.” I wave and retreat behind the gate.

“How will I contact you? Shall I come here?”

“No, I’ll text Sawyer my address. I really have to go.”

I have to sing at church tonight. And pray. Lots of prayer.

Tyler’s heart beat against his ribcage and sweat dampened his forehead. He and Kelly had met at her apartment, and he’d let her select the restaurant. This was it, his first date with her, and he couldn’t screw it up. He took a deep breath as they crossed the street.

The tattered black, red, and green Afghan flag flapped in the wind against the gray, evening sky over Little Kabul. The tiny restaurant was sandwiched between two larger buildings. Its pockmarked sandstone colored walls and rusty gate seemed out of place among the festive, modern décor of the surrounding eateries.

“Ever been here before?” Kelly pushed her way through the creaky gate into a small, vine-covered courtyard. A mural of snow-covered mountains overlooked the entrance.

“First time.” Tyler gripped Kelly’s hand and steeled himself. The piquant fragrance of Afghan food mixed with gunpowder, dust, and smoke in his mind. But he forced himself to relax.

If he wanted to return to Afghanistan to do humanitarian work, he needed to get over the negative associations and replace them with positive emotions. At least that was what his therapist said.

They stepped through an ornate studded door and were greeted by a young woman wearing jeans, her hair tied back in a ponytail. No burka, no hijab.

“Smells just like barbeque,” Kelly said after they were seated.

“Yep, nothing like roasted meat.” Except when it was mixed with the scent of blood and peppered with the screams of grown men.

Tyler took another cleansing breath. He had to get these morbid thoughts out of his mind. He’d seated himself where he had a clear view of the door from one side and the open kitchen with the large grill on the other.

“Would you like to order drinks?” the waitress asked.

“I’ll have the doogh,” Kelly replied. “You should try it too.”

“Yogurt and cucumbers?” He read the description on the menu.

“It’s addictive, I’m telling you,” Kelly said.

“Really good with kebobs,” the waitress added.

“Okay, I’m game.” He couldn’t believe throughout his time in Afghanistan, he’d never sampled the street food, never been to a residence, never explored. Of course there were those rules of engagement. They’d been forbidden to mingle with the civilians, especially the women. So they’d stuck to their regiments, eating at the chow tent.

“Their kebobs are the best.” Kelly pointed to the photos of reddish, charbroiled meat. “I usually get the lamb and chaplee. I’m a real meat eater.”

“I’m surprised. I thought everyone here is vegan or organic.”

“We have vegetarian entrees, too,” the waitress said. “Roasted eggplant or squash.”

“I’ll have what she’s having. How’s the chaplee?”

“Spicy,” the waitress said. “It’s sort like a hamburger, except it has green onions, garlic, cumin and coriander mixed in.”

“Sounds good.” Tyler handed the menu to the waitress.

“How are you feeling?” Kelly asked after the waitress departed.

“Fine. It’s just a restaurant.”

“Yeah, but it’s bringing back all sorts of memories, and I bet not all of them good.”

“Can’t blame an entire nation of people.” Tyler shrugged. “They really decorated this place well.”

One section had the traditional on-the-floor tables and cushions. A large mural depicting wild horses hung behind them across from another one showing travelers against the backdrop of shadowy mountains and high passes. The walls, however, were dark, blood-colored red, in contrast to the glazed blue pottery Afghanistan was famous for.

Kelly took his hand and rubbed it. Tension seeped out of Tyler’s veins, replaced by warmth.

“Thanks, I’m really okay.”

“I know you are. Don’t think about the war. Think about the rebuilding, the reconstruction, the hope for a better future.”

“That’s what Warspring is all about.” He switched tack. “That’s the charity I’m working for. They accepted my proposal to set up sports programs for Afghan orphans.”

“Really? That’s awesome.”

The waitress returned with their drinks. “I also brought you an appetizer, pakawra. I hate to call it Afghan French fries, because it’s nothing like it, except it’s a fried potato wedge, but really good.”

The dark-orange colored wedges were huge, longer than a pickle and flattened.

The two women watched Tyler try the pakawra. It was slightly spicy, tasting like a large chili fry.

“Like it?” Kelly asked. “It’s better if you dip it into the cilantro yogurt chutney.”

“It’s all good,” Tyler said. The minty yogurt drink, doogh, reminded him of a sour, salty margarita without tequila. He could see why it was addictive.

There was nothing like food and a beautiful woman to pave over the fear warring in his gut. By the time the kebobs arrived, Tyler was able to breathe easy. Kelly’s quiet and easy company was a wonderful gift, something he could hardly dare to wish for.

Add to that, her laughter and the way her honey-colored hair was highlighted against the soft lighting reignited a primitive instinct of desire and want. What could be better than a woman’s comforting touch? Not just any woman, but Kelly Kennedy, someone with a head on her shoulders, able to empathize, having had enough life experiences to not be dismissive of his.

He clamped down his lustful imagination and steered them to more practical matters, like helping her get her wish for a better paying job.

“Have you thought about applying for the financial assistant position with Warspring?” he asked as the waitress refilled their drinks.

“I’m not sure I can.” She wiped her lips, leaving lipstick on the napkin.

“Why not? You haven’t been out of work long. Right? You were still working in New York last Christmas, less than a year ago.”

“Sure, but a lot has happened since then.” Kelly dipped a piece of flatbread in the yogurt sauce. “Let’s not talk about it.”

“Fair enough. I won’t mention it, but here’s Carina’s contact. She’s waiting for an email from you.” He pushed the Warsping finance director’s business card at her.

“Why, Tyler? Have you become my mother?” Kelly rolled her eyes and winked.

Oops. He didn’t mean to come off pushy. He perused the dessert menu. “Any room for dessert?”

“Oh, no, I’m too stuffed. Why don’t we take something home?”

He liked the sound of that. After ordering a baklava pastry and firni, a milk pudding topped with ground pistachios and a rosewater syrup, he paid the tab.

Fog had descended on the city by the time they walked out of Little Kabul. The wind had died and the frayed, stringy flag hung limp.

Tyler and Kelly meandered arm in arm down blocks of colorful row homes, every one stuck to its neighbor, but distinct in architecture and style.

They stepped through an alley and down the stairs around a dumpster. Kelly’s apartment was tucked behind a low wall. She unlocked the flimsy hook of the screen door, but didn’t slide the door to invite him in.

“I had a wonderful time,” she said. “I hope you did too.”

“I did.” He placed his hands on her shoulders. “Can’t beat the food and company. Want to do it again?”

“Sure.” Her hazel-colored eyes darkened, and she bit her lips.

Something was off. Ever since he’d mentioned the job, she’d gone from open posture to closed. He wasn’t going to get lucky tonight.

Might as well lean in for the kiss and cut his losses. Her mouth opened to say something, but Tyler swooped down and kissed her.

She tasted both spicy and sweet, honeyed like the baklava they’d nibbled during the walk to her place.

Tyler broke the kiss before Kelly. “I have to work tomorrow. What does your schedule look like?”

“Working every evening until Friday.”

“Want to spend it with me or do you have something planned with your family?”

“Both. Bree’s in a Christmas play at church.”

“Great. What’s she playing?”

“A sheep in the meadow.” Kelly laughed. “But it’s a big role for her. You won’t believe how she rehearses her part. Baaa … Baaa …”

“Am I invited? Do you think it’ll be okay if I show up?”

“Maybe, but it might be best if you weren’t seen with the family.”

“I understand.” Tyler couldn’t help his throat from tightening.

“Hey, but there’s no reason why you and I can’t have dinner beforehand. My mother can bring Bree to church.” She tapped his chest and smiled. “You’re so cute when you pout.”

“I didn’t pout.

“Did too.” She reached up and kissed his cheek. “Dinner, my treat.”

“Dinner it is, but I’m paying.” Tyler caressed her shoulder. “I’m the man.”

“I’m a woman who doesn’t need a man.” Kelly slid the glass door aside.

“Oh, I bet you have needs you’re not even aware of.”

“None that I can’t take care of myself.” Her heaving chest and the blush burning her face gave away what she was thinking.

“Ah, but the pleasure of the unexpected touch is a gift, not a command.” He lowered his head and brushed his lips on her neck, kissing her pulse points and nibbling her skin.

She sucked in a sharp breath and melted against him. He made his way to her ear and nuzzled the lobe delicately. She quivered and a small moan escaped her throat.

“I’ll see you Friday,” he whispered. “Unless something comes up this week and you need my unexpected touch.”

Without waiting for her reply, he retreated into the fog.