Destination Love

He jerked forward as if suddenly alert. “You want me to show you? If I do, you may not get to that dining room tonight.”

She pasted an expression of innocence on her face, geared to playing the game. “Why not? What does one have to do with the other?”

“Don’t play with me, Sheri.”

“Is that what I’m doing? I want to know where people go to kiss.”

He blinked rapidly as if confused. Then he laughed aloud. “Not to worry, sweetheart. Stick with me, and I’ll enjoy showing you.”

She imagined that her eyes sparkled with eagerness when she said, “You will? How far away is it?” She’d never before put herself to flirting with a man, and as she watched his reaction, she got the feeling that, if she tried, she could make the wind reverse its course.

“Two feet.” He leaned over, grasped her shoulder and kissed her on the mouth.

“Oh!” She didn’t want him to see her reaction, but her heartbeat took off like a spooked thoroughbred and perspiration beaded her forehead. She put her hands in her lap to hide their trembling.

He didn’t move his gaze or alter his piercing look. “Don’t worry, Sheri. It always happens to both.”

She wasn’t about to ask him to clarify that.

The next morning, they left the dining room holding hands, walked down the gangplank and into one of the waiting taxis. “Fifty Canadian dollars for a three-hour tour,” the supervisor of the taxis assured them. “If you want the taxi longer, negotiate it with the driver, but if you don’t want to get cheated, come back here and start again.” The man handed Wright a map of Halifax and a sightseeing brochure. “Enjoy.”

At the citadel, Canada’s national historic site, Wright and Sheri watched the changing of the guard and the firing of the cannon. “Now I don’t care what we see,” he said. “I just want a feel of the place. Just drive,” he told the cabbie. “We want to see the city, and don’t skip the black neighborhoods, because we know there is at least one.”

“Yeah, man,” the driver said. “These people don’t know it, but they’re way behind you folks down in the States.”

He leaned back in the cab, uncertain as to whether he should take Sheri Stephens in his arms and show her where a person could kiss. Things had moved more rapidly and smoothly than he had anticipated. The pace of writing on his novelized autobiography had slowed because he spent so much of his time with Sheri. And when he wasn’t with her, he was either thinking about her or pushing her from his thoughts. He needed to have a good talk with himself. Allowing her to play around in his head was not in his plans.

He looked at her sitting as quietly as if she were alone, not looking left or right, and certainly not at him. She was so unlike the woman who’d slammed the door so mercilessly on his dream and his hopes. And so vulnerable. Without thinking he lifted her hand from her lap and folded it into his own. She looked at him, her expression more plaintive than joyful.

“What is it, Sheri? What’s wrong?” She shook her head. “Come here. Come closer to me.” She closed the short distance between them with alacrity and with what he could see was a forced smile. “Something isn’t right. What is it?”

“Nothing. I…I don’t seem to recognize myself.”

She wasn’t the only one. “Do you at least like the person you see in yourself now?”

“That’s just it. I do, and I didn’t know this person was in me.” As if that confession released something inside of her, she snuggled closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder. He put an arm around her and stared down at her glistening mouth. Like nail to magnet, he lowered his head and claimed it. Her arms went around him, and he spread his legs, lifted her and set her on his thigh. She went at him then, as greedily as a mouse after cheese. Her skirt rose up, baring her thighs, but she didn’t notice. She sucked his tongue as if she’d been starved for it, and when his hand skimmed her thigh, she shifted her hips, triggering his arousal. Quickly, he lifted her up and put her back on the car seat.

“We’re either going to have to leave each other alone or do something about this,” he said. To his amazement, she said nothing, closed her eyes and leaned back against the seat.

He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. “Did you hear what I said?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What’s your response?”

“I can’t switch gears that fast. You’re still kissing me.”

“Really? I wonder what you’d do if I kissed you the way I want to?”

“You’re whetting my appetite.”

“And you’re encouraging me.”

“This is the Black Cultural Centre for Nova Scotia,” the cabbie told them. “If we stop here for half an hour, we can still make it back to the ship by the time your three hours have expired.”

“Do you want to stop?” Wright asked Sheri.

“It’s an hour before we get back to the ship, so I’d rather have a banana or something else to eat.”

“Where can we stop for a quick bite that isn’t out of the way?” Wright asked the driver.

“About five or six blocks from here. I could use a few minutes’ break myself. The Argyle Bar & Grill’s a nice place for a quick lunch.”

“Then we’ll go there,” Wright said

After a lunch of grilled Nova Scotia salmon, parsleyed tiny potatoes and a green salad, they headed back to the ship. “Would you stop here, please?” Wright asked the driver. “I’ll be right back.” He hoped his eyes hadn’t fooled him as he rushed back to a shop that stood inches from the edge of the road.

“I’d like two of those, please, and wrap them separately,” he said to the Native American shopkeeper.

“That was quick,” Sheri said when he slid into the seat beside her.

He handed her one of the parcels. “I thought you’d like a souvenir of your first visit to Nova Scotia.”

Her lower jaw dropped and her eyes widened. “Oh, Wright. What a nice thing for you to do.”

“Wait until you open it. Maybe you won’t like it.”

“That would be impossible,” she said, unwrapping the package. “I love presents, and I haven’t had a lot of them since my childhood years. Oh, my goodness! This is…Oh, Wright!” She looped her arms around his neck and showered his cheek with kisses.

“What are you doing?” he asked her when he felt dampness on his jaw. “Are you crying?” He didn’t want her to be sad. Didn’t she realize that her warmth and naturalness had begun to nourish his soul?

“I don’t know. Am I? Your giving me this…this lovely souvenir, something I would never otherwise have owned, touches me deeply. While you were gone, I was thinking how much I’d like to have a souvenir of this excursion. And to have this beautiful Native American doll…I’ll treasure this forever. Do you know its tribe?”

“Micmac. In language at least, they are related to the Algonquians. I’m delighted that you like it.”

“Did you buy one for yourself?”

“No. I bought one like it for my mother.”

She gazed at him with eyes that held warmth and tenderness. “Do you love your mother? I mean, is she warm and affectionate?”

That question explained a lot about the Professor Sheri Stephens who had seemed so heartless and cold. “Yes, to both questions. I must say I’m surprised you’d ask that.”

“If I’d had warm, affectionate and indulgent parents, I probably wouldn’t have asked the question. But I was a reflection of them and of their efforts to produce a child who excelled and who stood on top of the heap. Nothing short of that was acceptable. Hugs and kisses did not a perfect child make.” When his arm went around her shoulder, she relaxed against him.

“Oddly, I never thought of it that way until I started this cruise. They don’t even know that I’m not in Boston right now.” Her shoulders bunched in a quick shrug as if it didn’t matter. She hugged the doll. “Her name is Evening Star—Star, for short.”

He liked that. Somewhere inside of Professor Sheri Stephens lived a romantic woman. Hmm. Yes, you like her, but she’s got it coming, an inner voice said.