vinyl covered chairs with worn out padding. And strange as it may seem, our ‘tutoring’ sessions don’t involve much tutoring. More often than not, Mika reads a book and I help edit his papers. I’m convinced that with enough reading, his writing will surely improve.
As I’m correcting one of Mika’s ESL assignments, he plunks his book down with a thud. I jerk my head up.
“I’m done!” he says, exceedingly pleased with himself.
“Good!” I say robustly. “I can start you off on the next one.”
His face glows with anticipation. “What’s it called?”
“The Pillars of the Earth. It’s historical fiction at its finest, a towering medieval tale, a ripping thriller, a—”
He cuts in, “Is it action packed?”
“Yes,” I smile reassuringly, “it is.”
“Okay.” He flashes a quick grin. “I’ll read it.”
We head for the shelves to locate the book and I tentatively broach the subject, “So…how are things with Ingeborg?”
“We sort of ended things,” he says quietly.
“I’m sorry…”
After a pause, he adds, “It was mutual.”
“Oh.” My eyes linger on him, but his inscrutable expression gives nothing away.
There is a lull in our conversation as we peruse the aisles, tracking the book by the author’s last name: ‘F’, for Follett. First name Ken. Booya Kasha. I find it first.
I pluck the book from the shelf and hand it to him. “Are you feeling okay?”
“I’ve been better.”
Next, we browse the mags. Mika hovers indecisively over the Cars and Trucks section while I flip through the latest issue of Cosmo. He peers over my shoulder. “What are you reading?”
“Some article about soul mates,” I say distractedly.
“You believe in soul mates?” he asks, and his question takes me by surprise.
“I do…” I consider. “I think a soul mate can be a friend, a lover, a child. Someone that you connect with, someone that gets you, and sometimes even aggravate you.”
He searches my eyes. “Do you have a soul mate?”
“My dad,” I say simply and return the mag to the shelf.
His expression grows thoughtful. After an unreadable minute, he says, “Ingeborg and I had a long talk.”
I shoot him a sidelong glance.
“I’m fond of her and I care for her, but I think we both realize that we’re better off as friends.” He presses his lips together as if to stop himself from saying more.
I’m still lamenting the loss of the golden ex-couple when Mika catches me off guard. “So, how are things with you and Kars?”
“Not so good,” I say quietly. “We’re not really talking.”
“I heard about her and Bob.”
“Yeah, well who hasn’t?” I frown. “He’s married you know, and she’ll just get her heart broken. Plus, dating someone you work with is just a bad idea.”
He gives me a peculiar look. “And why is that a bad idea?”
“Because it is like dumping on your own doorstep,” I say like it’s a given.
His eyes narrow to slits. “I see...”
After Mika checks out his reading materials, we traipse out the library and trudge through a foot of slushy, gray snow.
His gaze shifts down to my hands.
Aha! They are sans a smut novel.
“Hey,” he nudges me in the ribs. “How come you didn’t check out a book tonight?”
I curtly reply, “I’m not done reading the other one.”
His mouth twitches. “Um, you mean The Scottish Laird and his Virgin Bride?”
My hand flies up to swat him but he easily evades me.
“Oh shut up!” I cry, half laughing and punch him in the arm.
In one seamless move, he playfully grips my wrists. I squirm and wriggle about, but he doesn’t budge.
He just stares. And stares. The force of his gaze is so intense it nearly knocks me off my feet. I’m crashing against the Pacific surf, beating against the jagged cliffs.
Holding my ground, I stare back, unsmiling, unblinking.
Gosh. That felt semi-erotic, actually.
After a long minute, Mika eases his grip. Then he drops his gaze and we resume walking.
I clear my throat. “So, do you still want to read the book when I’m done?”
Mika laughs jovially. “No thanks. But I’d read a book about a Belgian Laird and his virgin bride.”
“I doubt there’s such a book,” I say with a smirk.
He arches an eyebrow. “And why is that?”
“In relationships, especially when it comes time to commit, Belgian men tend to…waffle a bit.”
He stares at me blankly.
I bite the insides of my cheeks to keep from smiling. “Get it? Belgian Waffle!”
A smile tugs at his lips. Suddenly, he springs forward, but I’m much too quick for him this time. I pull away sharply, eluding his grasp and thwarting his ambush. Laughing and shrieking,