Derrick pulled up in front of her apartment and turned to her. “You’re so quiet. What are you thinking about?” he asked, reaching for her hand.
His warm touch sent a surge of pleasure through her body and she smiled softly at the feel of his hand around hers and his comment. “I’m not quiet. Actually, my friends, teachers, and employers have always called me a blabbermouth. Said I just spouted off whatever I wanted without thinking.” She curled her hand around his, loving the intimacy she already felt, even though he was hiding something from her. She’d never experienced familiarity with any man, even if they’d dated a few weeks, which was about the extent of her relationships. But just in a few hours—well, days but she’d been unconscious most of the time—she believed she could trust Derrick. “I was thinking about you. Wondering if you’re really here.”
He returned her smile, but then frowned. “That’s what you were thinking? If I’m real again? How can I prove I’m real?”
This time an even broader smile lifted her cheeks. “I’m sure I’ll think of something. But first off, I guess I should get into my own clothes. Not that I don’t feel all warm and snuggly in the sweatshirt you insisted I wear, but what will your family say if they see me wearing your clothes?” She opened the door and hopped out, noticing her Grand-Am was sitting in its normal parking spot. She spun toward Derrick and caught him with his mouth open as if he was ready to speak, but she interrupted him. “How did—did you bring my car here?”
“I had my brother...” He shook his head, throwing his hands up. “What do you mean, ‘meet my family’? How do you know about my family?”
“You said something the other day I remembered. About choosing.” She glanced up and down the road as she walked around the front of his Navigator. “Come on up. I suppose you have my keys.”
He pulled her key ring out of his pocket and handed it to her, a look of concern on his face. But then he followed her up the three flights of stairs to her apartment without speaking.
Kris opened the door and stepped inside. Her home looked exactly as she’d left it, but it felt different, as if there was a subtle alteration she couldn’t place. She wondered if Derrick or his brother had searched it. Not that they had any reason, but still, it felt strange standing in her doorway, as if someone had been here.
It wasn’t as though she had anything to hide, and even if she did, she certainly didn’t have any place to hide it. Her home consisted of three small rooms, shaped in an almost perfect rectangle. The front door opened into the living area, no foyer; and off to the left, sat a galley kitchen with its tiny dinette. Her bedroom was directly on the other side of the living room. Again, no hallway, just one door that led to her bedroom. She had an end unit, though; so all three rooms had windows overlooking the alley, and then the bedroom had a second window overlooking the street.
The wood floors and walls were whitewashed white. She loved the solid alabaster color; it felt clean and fresh. The only color she’d added to her simple décor was green by the way of plants. She enjoyed the tropical feel of her apartment with its exotic foliage, sheer curtains, and sparse furnishings and wall decorations. Everything she owned, other than the plants, was white, tan, or black, as she’d seen in home magazines. She’d mimicked Caribbean cottages with their simplicity and inexpensive furniture. She’d made sure the warmth she couldn’t find in Somerville was always present in her home.
Derrick looked around appreciatively; though, her place was nothing like his high-rise apartment with its dark walnut floors, chrome appliances, and leather furniture. In fact, if you compared their homes to their personalities, she realized, they’d have nothing in common. She hoped that wasn’t the case.
Kris gestured to her tiny couch with its white jacquard slipcover she’d found on eBay. “Make yourself comfortable, Derrick. I’ll only be a minute.”
He sat as directed, looking completely out of place. Like Adonis himself in a peasant’s home, she thought. She skipped off to her bedroom, her heart pounding. Kris went directly to her full-length wicker-framed mirror, a bargain she’d found at a thrift shop. She twirled once as she inspected her body, marveling at the way her skin glowed and her hair appeared glossy, healthy. Amazing what a couple of days of no alcohol or drugs could do. But there was more; she looked good mentally too, happy even, an unusual occurrence. She tugged Derrick’s sweatshirt up around her face and inhaled. The scent took her back to when she was a child, curling up next to her mother on the loveseat as they’d watched a Disney movie. Derrick used the same fabric softener her mother had used. Somehow, envisioning him using fabric softener made her laugh.
Deciding to keep his sweatshirt on a few more minutes, she removed her vintage shredded skirt from the other night. When Derrick had left his bedroom this morning, she’d yanked off the blankets to reveal that she was in her undergarments. She didn’t remember undressing so she could only ascertain that she’d finally passed out and he’d undressed her. She didn’t know how she felt about him undressing her, but then again, her clothes had been soaked. He’d washed her clothes and had them sitting out for her, but the sheer peek-a-boo tank wasn’t appropriate for the daytime. Heck, it was hardly appropriate for the nighttime, the reason she’d sifted through his closet for the t-shirt.
Anxious to get out to Derrick before he disappeared, Kris rummaged through her closet, selecting a pair of faded capri jeans and a long-sleeved black t-shirt. The simple attire would complement Derrick’s tan khakis and plain white button-down oxford. She could picture him with a white jacket over top and a stethoscope around his neck. Although, the image that popped into her head was of a doctor on a soap opera, not any of the physicians she’d ever seen.
If Derrick had been her doctor, she would have never fussed about going. In fact, she probably would have made up excuses for regular examinations. His brooding eyes, dark features, and onyx-colored hair over light olive skin gave him a Mediterranean look. But then again, she’d dated several Portuguese and Lebanese men over the years with similar skin tone, but neither of them had Derrick’s high, prominent cheekbones, slender nose, and square jawline. And of course, his striking almond shaped eyes with their immense depth. Somehow, he looked to have a touch of American Indian, Mediterranean, and Asian appearance all at once. He resembled no man she’d ever seen in person or a celebrity.
Was he real? He’d asked how he could prove it to her. And right now, she could only think of one way. Since she’d only used her finger and toothpaste to brush her teeth earlier, she darted into the bathroom to brush her teeth before she tested his tangible existence.
Taking one long look at herself in the mirror, she drew in a deep breath, steeling herself. Would he agree, she wondered. He seemed attracted to her. He’d called her beautiful after all.
Determined, she marched out of her bedroom, but then stopped when she entered the living area. He was holding up a picture of her mother and her, taken a few months before she was murdered. Her mother had taken her to see Santa Claus and then they’d jumped in one of those photo booths. They’d taken silly and serious photos. Kris had enlarged and framed the serious one.