Holiday Kisses. Gwynne Forster

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СКАЧАТЬ 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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