ships passing in the night

Chapter 8: The Entire Village

"The real lover is the man who can thrill you by kissing your forehead or smiling into your eyes or just staring into space."

– Marilyn Monroe

//

"I told you – you didn't have to come."

Jinny's words tumbled out in incoherent murmurs. She sucked in a breath, taking in the sight of a familiar, all-too-tall figure leaning against the metal railings, one leg crossed over the other. He wore a light, breezy expression, unhurried by the throngs of people rushing around him. As she stepped through the glass doors, gingerly pushing her luggage trolley, he broke into a gentle smile, his brown eyes curving upwards in soft mirth.

"And I told you – I wanted to come," he replied cheekily as he straightened himself, and took the liberty to push her trolley. "Come along, I parked in P2 and they're charging me a fortune."

With a grin, he began taking long strides in the direction of the aforementioned parking structure. Jinny attempted to keep up with his large, almost colossal form, her heels clicking against the marbled floors of the airport terminal.

She genuinely didn't think he would be there. It had been a prolonged three weeks since he had dropped her off at the same very airport. With each passing weekend, she contemplated hopping on a flight back to Los Angeles, but preparations for the series of handover meetings took precedence. She probably wouldn't admit it aloud, but it gave her the perfect excuse to keep some distance from him. Some distance would bring her back to reality, she thought. The reality where fleeting weekend trysts would just fade into forgotten memories.

It wasn't the case, however. They exchanged texts throughout the course of the three weeks – with him sending her pictures of the new cocktails he had developed, the new theme nights he was planning for the bar, and the series of dishes he had cooked up after his long shifts. He sent her voice messages, recounting the daily happenings of his bar, from the brawls between drunken regulars to problems training new staff. She had a mind to send him polite, perfunctory responses, but her actions didn't coincide with her thoughts.

She found herself subconsciously responding with snapshots of her Bangkok explorations, from the myriad of exotic food to the sights of the streets. She returned his voice messages with her own, complaining about her long working hours, her demanding clients, and the way the strategies didn't seem to fall into place. In his gentle, reassuring tone, he told her that she would be able to work them out, because she was Jinny and she was the best employee that he'd ever had. And each time, she would fight the butterflies that seemed to flutter wildly in her stomach.

Each week, he had asked her when she was coming back. She purposefully gave him, rough, ambiguous dates. She wasn't even going to tell him that she was coming back that weekend, but some part of her felt that it was a courtesy– A childish desire for him to know. In a last ditch effort to save herself, she had waited to the last hour, right before she boarded her flight, to let him know. Even when he suggested picking her up, she had switched on the airplane mode a second after telling him "I'm fine, Kellan. Please don't, you have work tonight," and then prayed that he wouldn't listen to her ridiculous, contradictory self.

And as expected, he didn't.

They stopped behind his familiar, black sedan. As he clicked the boot open, she attempted to pick up her luggage and be remotely helpful, but Kellan was quick to shove everything into his trunk. She sheepishly plopped herself into the passenger seat, cheeks burning as he leaned over to strap the seatbelt on her.