For much of his life, he’d learned at his grandmother’s knee, all he needed to know about his family. His father was a bad man who’d gotten his mother killed and that badness would one day pass to his older brothers but as long as she raised him, the badness might not take. Nightly prayers at the temple would preserve and strengthen his good spirit. He was fortunate that his mother’s side was so dominant in him, both in his physical features and his demeanor and she did not ignore good fortune when it was presented to her. She vowed to steer clear of the Bauer family teachings, the spoiled seed that festered in their blood and impress on him what she had taught his mother, praying that Buddha would safeguard the only thing she had left of her daughter. She raised him far away, just outside of Hong Kong city limits, and like a sixth sense, refused any visitors that raised her suspicions of Philip Bauer’s touch. She watched him like a hawk and over meals, would tell stories that had been passed down to her from her own grandmother and her grandmother’s grandmother before that. Enfolded in each was a pointed life lesson and with each, he gravely knew that she was preparing him for the day when he would inevitably re-establish his ties to his father’s side. She would not always be there to protect him and keep him safe.
She knew, she always knew that Buddha could not change the very fabric of Thane’s history, the very essence of what made him. She knew that one day; he would look around that corner, and crave the world he had been kept from. She could only hope that her prayers and sacrifice would serve him well once she was gone.
Thane twirled his keys on the silver loop around his index finger as he studied the entrance to the small, family owned restaurant from his vehicle. His man had told him she came almost every afternoon for her lunch at this time, walking the short distance from the hospital where she worked. He knew very few details about her, only that she was beautiful, had a breathtaking smile and was nothing like her brother.
Almost reflexively, his features hardened, the memory of that fateful night six months earlier still fresh in his mind. The slumped body on the ground, one hand still clutching the glass, now shattered next to her. The stark image of the pool of blood on the expanse of white marble floor. The flawless skin that hours earlier he’d left a trail of gentle kisses along. The face that had formerly filled with warmth and happiness was now pale and lifeless.
He glanced down at his hand, his heart heavy as he stared at the band of gold he’d taken off her motionless hand that night. The band she’d worn for only 3 months before her life had been ripped away from her. His Nakia.
He lifted his gaze and the object of his tracking appeared, rounding the corner, chatting on her cell phone, a smile on her face. He closed his hand around Nakia’s ring and placed it back in his pocket and waited until she was inside Kelly’s before exiting his car.
He made his way quickly across the road and into the cozy establishment, already filled with a half dozen customers of varying ages. He crossed the floor and offered a quick smile to the waitress at the counter. “Pick up for Thane?” He noted the target out of the corner of his eye as she rifled through her purse, her attention still on the conversation she was having on the phone.
She nodded. “Pastrami on rye?” He placed a $10 bill on the counter and she grabbed the white bag from behind her and placed it in front of him. “Keep the change,” he said and she smiled before turning to the register. He glanced over, and seeing the identical second bag just over, deftly grabbed it and headed out the door.
He got no more than 3 steps before a distinctly feminine “hey! Hang on a second!” made him slow his steps. He turned as the dark haired beauty he’d been trailing the last few weeks rushed up to him, white bag in hand. “I think you have my order,” she explained, her face flushed from the chill of the autumn air.
Feigning surprise, Thane held up and opened his bag. “Do I?”
She smiled. “Your sandwich smells good, but it’s not a meatball sub.”
He slowly made a show of looking in the bag and let out a gentle, amused laugh. “I picked up the wrong sandwich, but now I’m thinking I picked up the right one. Mine pales in comparison.”
She laughed and he chuckled with her, enormously pleased at how well their first encounter was going. He bowed his head slightly. “M’lady, my apologies,” he offered as they exchanged bags.
On cue, the homeless gentleman appeared from around the corner and Thane winked at the woman. “I know what to do.” He approached the disheveled man and offered his sandwich, who gratefully took it. The woman’s smile deepened, genuinely heartened by this stranger’s offering.
“That was very kind of you,” she remarked as Thane returned to where she was. He shrugged, “I changed my mind and now the food won’t go to waste.” He gave her a small nod, “thanks for showing me the error of my eating ways. Now I know what I really want.” He held her gaze for a beat longer than necessary and the woman blushed. Sometimes he marveled at how easy this sort of thing was for him now.
“I won’t keep you,” he murmured and very gently, touched her elbow before moving back to the entrance of Kelly’s. Without looking, he knew she was having a furious inner debate, weighing the pros and cons of what her next step would be. He made a point of stopping as he opened the door and glanced at his text messages. The gesture worked.
“There’s no way I can eat this whole sub on my own. We can split it if you like.” Thane turned back to the woman, her demeanor now slightly unsure, almost tentative, as if she didn’t do this sort of thing on a regular basis.
“That would be lovely,” he replied softly and her face relaxed, blossoming into genuine pleasure at his acceptance. “My name is Thane.” He removed his gloves and extended his hand towards her. She, in turn, placed her purse and meal on the nearby table and took his hand, giving it a small shake. A ripple of warmth coursed through them both and her blush returned.
“Dr. Quartermaine, but please, call me Emily.”
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