Page 22 of Redeem

“Where to?” she asked.

I directed her to the hotel where I’d been staying and then watched the scenery pass us by, going from commercial to rundown residences. The hotel was a seedy place. I’d found the cheapest place I’d been able to stand living in. My surroundings had meant nothing to me, still didn’t, but I was interested in Dana’s perspective.

I watched her face, but saw that she didn’t seem to be responding.

“You know this place?” I asked.

“Drove by a couple of times,” she said as she turned into a parking space, the pitted asphalt sending the truck rocking again.

“That’s all?”

She looked over at me, confusion on her face. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t think anything of it? Or think anything of me for living here?”

“What should I think?” she asked.

I flashed her a quick smile. “I’m not interested in what you should think, but want to know what you do think,” I replied.

She shrugged. “You probably fell on hard times, pick up work where you can, live where you can. Nothing more to it. Unless there is,” she said, looking at me through lowered lids.

“Fair enough,” I said.

I could see that she didn’t accept that nonanswer, but she didn’t push the subject. Instead she looked at me, her brows dropped as she studied me.

“But…” she said, clearly considering.

“But what?” I asked, meeting her eyes.

“I can’t figure you out. That sounds stupid, but you don’t seem…” She trailed off, and continued to look at me.

“Yes?” I asked a moment later, encouraging her to continue.

“You don’t seem like anyone I’ve met. So like I said, I don’t get you,” she said.

“What is there to get?” I asked.

Though the question was softly worded, vague, I felt something akin to panic. Dana seemed to have a sense about me, seemed able to see beyond the facade I worked so hard to present. I thought I wanted that, but there was something about her ability to see beyond the surface that both intrigued me and scared me.

Yet another thing about her that I hadn’t anticipated. Something else I would need to consider as I moved forward.

“I’m exactly what you see,” I said.

In some ways that was true. Except for my omission, I was myself with her, far more than I had ever been with anyone else.

Her expression told me she was dubious, and her words confirmed it.

“I very much doubt that, Ciprian,” she said with a wistfulness in her voice that made my heart ache.

Then she went quiet, looked toward the row of hotel-room doors. We sat in silence, neither of us seeming anxious to break it, and I again marveled at that calm comfort that we seemed to have found and used the time to think about my next move.

This moment felt important, monumental.

When we had set off, it had been clear that Dana intended to send me on my way and never see me again, but she was still here. This was my chance, maybe my only chance.

I reached across the seat and grabbed her hand where it rested on her thigh. I ignored the soft brush of well-worn denim against my hand and focused on the warmth of her skin against mine, her hand small, delicate in my grip.

I entwined my fingers with hers and then squeezed lightly. Somehow, this touch was even more intimate than the near kiss we’d been so close to sharing. It probably confused Dana that I hadn’t kissed her, had essentially pushed her away, yet reached for her now. It confused me. But I couldn’t let her go. Wouldn’t, no matter how guilty I felt for not doing so.