Chapter 2
“You look like you lost your best friend,” a deep teasing voice brought her out of her reverie. Kimone looked up, a smile lightening her expression as she saw who it was. Peter Makeida was a guy she had met in the coffee shop six months ago when she had rushed in to collect her usual order and had almost knocked him over. They had become friends ever since. He was tall and dark and his hair was always falling onto his forehead. He was handsome enough to turn the eyes of every female in the café and it always amused her to see that it made no difference to him.
“Hi Peter,” she said warmly as he took a seat opposite her. “I thought you were away on a business trip.”
“I came back a few days ago. Did you miss me?” he asked her lightly. He was dressed in an obviously expensive charcoal jacket suit and his piercing black eyes were trained on her face.
“Of course I did, nobody offered to pay for my coffee since you were gone.” Kimone told him with a grin. “So how was the trip?”
“Successful,” he told her with a slight smile. He had told her he owned several businesses but she'd never asked him what they were or where they were located. Outside of the coffee shop she never saw him and she suspected from the clothes he wore that he was wealthy but she never concerned herself about it. “So what’s bothering you?”
“Oh this and that,” she waved her hand airily, not willing to burden yet another person with her problems. “The season is coming around and I have lots of things to sort out.”
He looked at her shrewdly for a minute and then with a heartbreakingly charming smile he answered. “I am sure you will sort it out. So what are the plans for the holidays?”
“I will be spending it decorating the residential home where my mother volunteers. She has roped me into a party she is planning for the residents.”
“Sounds interesting,” he paused before he added. “How about having dinner with me sometimes?” He saw the way her expression changed to one of wariness and he hastened to say; “We have been friends for the past six months and I have yet to see you outside this coffee shop.”
“You want to find out if I can handle a knife and fork?” she asked him teasingly, the wariness disappearing much to his relief.
“Exactly,” he told her with a brief laugh. “So how about it?”
“I will let you know,” she told him lightly. “My coffee time is up now so I will be seeing you. I am glad you are back Peter,” she told him as she got up gracefully and made to leave.
“So am I Kimone,” he told her softly as he watched her petite body move gracefully towards the door. She stopped at one of the tables and greeted an old man who was also a regular. He watched as she touched his arm briefly and the way her smile flashed, lighting up a face that had been haunting his every waking moment since he had met her.
Peter was a Japanese American and had been brought up in a home that was not traditional. His parents never imposed their culture or beliefs on him and he had grown up knowing he could be his own person; their only condition was that he learned about his heritage which he had done so. He came from a very loving home and had to mourn their death when he was just coming into his own. He was twenty two when they died in a car accident and now four years later he had taken a small import and export company and turned it into a billion dollar company.
He had dated infrequently over the past years, too busy to put out the effort and old fashioned enough to hold out for the right woman. He had every intention of finding a lovely Japanese wife and he had dated a few of them but he had not counted on meeting Kimone.
It had been quite by chance. His secretary had been out of office with the flu and he had decided to take a walk and get coffee himself. As soon as he entered through the doorway, the small bundle of energy had almost knocked him over and spilled hot coffee on his expensive custom made suit. He had steadied her and one look into large dark brown eyes and hair rioting all over her small exquisite face and he knew she was the one. He had spent a lot of time trying to find ways to approach her by asking her to go out with him but had ended up being friends with her. It was hard not to; she was warm and personable and chatted with any and everyone and had told him in one of their conversations that she had no time for dating right now. His secretary Amy had been surprised to know that he wanted to get coffee for himself every day now and would have been surprised to know the reason for it.
With a sigh he got up glancing around and wondering if the occupants in the coffee shop thought it strange for him to be sitting around with an obvious longing expression on his face after Kimone was long gone. He collected the coffee from the girl he had come to know through Kimone as being Sarah and gave her a tip, leaving to go back to his office. He was definitely going to call her, he thought decisively. Funny how he could be so bold in his business and when it came to wooing the woman he loved he was as indecisive as they come.
He walked back to the towering glass building that housed Makeida’s Import and Export and rode the elevator to the top floor. “I brought you your coffee Amy,” he passed the Styrofoam cup to his secretary with a pleasant smile, ignoring her raised brows. “Get me Marcus on the phone please.”
*****
Kimone helped the little girl dress up the doll in a beautiful fuchsia dress with matching shoes. Sally was one of her regulars and persuaded her mother to come over every afternoon after school so she could spend the time in the ‘play corner’ Kimone had created for children to have fun without parents’ being there. Kimone would sit on the floor with them and play whatever game they selected and even suggests a few herself. She had made sure to reassure the parents that they could leave the kids there with her and go and do the various chores that needed to be done and that was a service she wanted to build on.
“I think she looks beautiful, don’t you?” Kimone held the doll aloft and admired the dress on her. Her blonde hair was put in an elaborate chignon and her cheeks were rosy with the blush that little Sally had applied. It was a little bit past three in the afternoon and to her delighted surprise quite a few customers had come in during the day and one woman had remarked that it was like a second home to the children. She was more determined than ever to keep the business going whatever it took.
“I wish I was beautiful too like you and ‘Marisa’,” Sally said with a sigh, looking at the doll with a wistful expression on her chubby face. She had named the doll Marisa because she said the name sounded ‘princessy’ and she was sure she was a princess. Sally was eight years old but a little overweight. Kimone privately thought her mother put too much oil in the girl’s already stringy light brown hair and maybe fed her too much fatty foods.
“Honey, what are you talking about? Of course you are beautiful! There are different types of beauty and don’t let anybody tell you otherwise.”
“My mother said I will never be a beauty,” the little girl sighed and Kimone wanted to deck her mother one. The woman was a miserable woman who had been divorced recently and held self pity to her like a warm cloak.
“Honey, this is one time I am going to tell you not to listen to mommy, she does not know what she is saying.” Kimone told the little girl firmly, taking her little hands in hers. “When I was a little girl I had a lot of pimples on my face and I was short and chubby and the children used to call me ‘shortie’. I hated the name so much that I went home crying to my mother that I wanted to wear heels to school. My mother sat me down and told me she would rather me be short than having to pick up my broken bones in the school yard. She also told me that years to come I would grow out of whatever it was that I didn’t like and become a beautiful young lady.”
Sally was staring at her in fascination. She had always wished that Miss Kimone was her mommy and that she had the beautiful complexion and the black ‘crazy’ curls as her mother called them that framed her face. She could not believe that the woman sitting cross legged in front of her was ever unattractive. “Do you think I will grow up to be beautiful?” she asked hopefully.
“Sweetie you are already beautiful,” Kimone told the little girl, giving her a hug.
*****
Peter called her on Saturday at six just as she was about to close the shop. It had been a productive day and she was very thankful for it. All she wanted to do was to take a hot bath and grab something easy to cook from the fridge.
“Hey Peter,” she greeted him warmly. “I know I was supposed to call you from the other day but I was very busy, sorry.”
“And of course you have not been to the coffee shop as well,” he said in amusement. “How are you surviving without your caffeine rush?”
“Pretty well,” she laughed, holding the phone between her ear and one shoulder as she secured the lock on the door. “Keeping busy has been a substitute.”
“How about dinner?”
“Now?”
“Why not?” he countered. “I am sure you have not eaten yet, have you?”
“As a matter of fact I was just going home to rummage in the fridge for something to eat.” Kimone told him contemplatively.
“Want me to pick you up?”
“You know where I am?”
“The cute little store with the sign blinking: ‘Come and Play’?” he asked in amusement.
“That’s me,” she said with a laugh. “Oh heck, why not?” she told him looking down at her faded denim and black wool sweater and black boots. It was almost the end of November and the weather was frigid. “I hope it’s nowhere very fancy, I am not dressed for it.”
“I am sure whatever you are wearing will be suitable.” He had wanted to tell her that he was sure she would be beautiful in anything.
“I am outside the shop.”
“I am five minutes away.” He told her.
He made it to her in less than three minutes and Kimone found her eyebrows rising at the dark blue sedan that spoke of quiet luxury. He stepped out and came around to open the door for her. He was dressed in the usual jacket suit with a black overcoat that looked like cashmere.
“You weren’t far away I see,” she said, flashing him a smile that always managed to turn his heart over as she secured her seatbelt in place.
“My office building is not far from here.” He put the vehicle into drive and moved away from the curb. “What do you feel like eating?”
“Anything as long as it’s food.”
They settled for a burger joint and Peter watched in fascination as she haggled with the waiter about the price. She struck up a conversation with the shy looking pimple faced young man until the obviously smitten young man came back with a tray laden down with two large juicy burgers, fries and large cups of sodas and complimentary slices of apple pies. “Thanks Raoul and make sure you use the cream like I told you.”
“How do you do that?” Peter asked her in wonder as she nibbled on a fry. He wanted so much to take her into his arms and taste her mouth, he was having a hard time keeping his hands on his side of the table.
“Do what?” she asked puzzled.
“Get people to tell you what’s bothering them?”
“Easy, I worm my way into their thoughts,” she told him with an unabashed grin.
“I believe that,” he told her softly, his dark eyes holding hers for a moment.
They ate in silence for a while and then Kimone said: “So what is a handsome guy like you doing out with me on a Saturday night? No hopeful lady waiting for you?”
“Not yet,” Peter told her briefly. “So tell me about the store? What made you come up with the name and what is it all about?”
Kimone told him about the idea she had and the dream she had for the store. She found herself telling him about the lease and the lack of finances to put her ideas into effect. He sat there listening to her and a thought started germinating inside his mind.
“Have you ever thought of finding a backer?” he asked her casually, biting into the succulent and juicy burger. Normally he stayed away from places like these and even though he did not always eat traditional Japanese dishes, he preferred to eat healthy.
“Hard to find a backer with a vision,” Kimone said with a grimace dunking a fry into the packet of ketchup and chewing on it thoughtfully. “The bank turned me down because the loan officer all but told me to go and get a real job.”
“Too bad, it sounds like a good business plan.”
“Okay enough about me Peter,” she said, mentally shaking her problems away. “What about you? What is your company all about?”
Peter wished she had continued talking about her plight because he wanted to find out more about what she needed. “My parents started this import/export company where they catered to the needs of the people around them. It became surprisingly successful and when they died four years ago I was left to continue the business. I sort of add to the company.”
“What kind of things?”
“We are into mostly technology. Smart phones, computers, and cars you name it.”
Something went off inside Kimone’s head and she stared at the handsome man in front of her eating a burger in a tiny nondescript restaurant. “I am so daft and my mother is always telling me that I have my head in the clouds.” She muttered. “You are the owner of ‘Makeida’s Import and Export’ aren’t you?”
“Guilty,” he told he sheepishly.
“All this time we bumped into each other at the coffee shop and I never connect you with what appears to be a billion dollar company, a freaking Fortune 500 company because, why should I? What would an entrepreneur like you be doing in a tiny coffee shop, getting his own coffee? Isn’t that what secretaries are for?” Kimone was aware that her voice had gone up an octave but she blamed it on shock. Peter was a real live billionaire and it was not every day that she met one, let alone sitting in a tiny restaurant having burgers with.
“I am the same person you almost gave third degree burn with your coffee all those months ago Kimone,” he insisted, alarmed at how her expression had changed. She had gone from being the carefree happy go lucky woman to one who wore a suspicious expression on her beautiful face. “I thought you knew who I was all this time and the type of person I saw you as I knew it would not make a difference to you.”
“You think you know me?” she was still looking at him in suspicion.
“I think I do,” he answered softly, fully aware that he had to tread lightly. He was in love with her and he had to find a way to make her fall in love with him and want to be with him without spooking her. It had to be her. “You don’t stand much on ceremony and you don’t care about a person’s wealth or lack thereof, you treat everyone just the same.”
“Pretty observant for someone I barely know.” Kimone’s expression relaxed and she smiled at him. He almost went weak with relief and knew that from now on he had to be careful. He had a proposition to make to her but he had to know how to word it.
“What are you saying?” he said with a mock wounded expression on his face. “We are practically best friends.”
Kimone laughed, effectively dispelling the air of tension around them. “Okay best friend, let’s finish eating before they tell us we have to leave.”
He talked to her about Japan, careful to steer clear of anything pertaining to his company and her store. He told her of growing up as an only child and being spoiled but not overly so, he said with a grin. He was never told that he had to marry a Japanese girl even though both his parents were Japanese, he was told to make his own choice, whatever race as long as he was in love.
“How nice,” Kimone murmured. They were eating the delicious apple pie and even though she was full to bursting she was determined to finish it; it was much too good to waste and she did not want to disappoint Raoul. “So why is it that you are such a catch and still single?”
“I am waiting for the right woman,” his eyes met hers and for a moment Kimone felt something pass between them, something she was not ready or willing to explore so with a shrug she broke the contact and concentrated on her pie.
“How about you?” he asked her. “What was your childhood like?”
“I lost my dad at a very young age and barely remember him.” Kimone mused. “My mother carried on the parenting even though she had to be suffering from losing him because they had shared a great love. I did not lack anything even though he was not around, she made sure of that.”
“We have a lot in common,” he remarked.
“Oh I strongly doubt that,” Kimone said with a laugh. “What with you being a billionaire and all that.”
“I am still a man, the man you are talking to right now.” He told her softly and for the second time that night Kimone felt the pull, of what, she did not know and she refused to accommodate it. He was a friend, albeit a very rich one but a friend nonetheless.
They finished the meal and he gave Raoul a handsome tip which had the lad beaming from ear to ear and telling them to come again.
He took her home and she told him goodnight, placing a hand on his arm as she opened her door.
“Tomorrow at the coffee shop?” he queried, forcing himself to remain inactive when all he wanted to do was to taste her lips and bury himself inside her.
“Will you be buying?” she asked him impishly.
“Of course,” he told her with a smile, watching as she alighted gracefully, pulling her coat around her small frame.
With a wave she went inside her apartment.
He did not move off immediately, sitting in the vehicle and watching as she switched on her light and pulled aside her curtain to look out at him. Feeling like a pervert, he waved at her and drove off in contemplation. He had not wanted to leave, he had wanted to stay with her, tell her how much he felt for her and how he wanted her to be in his life and take away all her financial worries but he was afraid of moving too fast and losing her entirely. He had to take it slow and find some way to convince her that marrying him was going to be beneficial to them both.