ships passing in the night

Chapter 11: Melted Hearts

"The more one judges, the less one loves."

– Honoré de Balzac

//

It was simultaneously awkward and romantic to be walking through Century City with Kellan. He stood at a towering 6'3 to her 5'5, and at this point, even with stilts she would be hard-pressed to close the gap. He was basically a giraffe dragging a mouse along. Christ, he's too tall, she thought to herself, smiling. She loved and hated it about him at the same time.

More surreal than his height was the way her hand fit into his, interlaced tightly as they sauntered past rows and rows of stores. Hand-holding with a lover on a Sunday afternoon – a supposedly common and unextraordinary sight at the mall that no one would stop to bat an eyelid at. But she found herself glancing left and right, as though she was a spy on covert ops rather than a woman on a date.

She shouldn't have been such a fish out of water. She had been on weekend dates before, albeit a bit differently. Julien was a die-hard romantic, and their dates would be packed with the most inventive, sugary sweet nonsense he had managed to scour from the web. Chocolate-covered strawberries by the beach, ballroom dancing classes with some television champion, candle-lit dinners at farmhouses in the middle of nowhere – she was shaking her head even five years later. Kellan, however, was conversely simple.

They grabbed burgers at her specified burger joint, where she spent half the time pilfering out the mushrooms from her burger and disposing them on Kellan's plate. He had frowned disapprovingly, admonished her for wasting her food and still somehow found the willpower to polish them off for her. Kellan found her picky as hell, but somehow eating with her made the seemingly unexceptional burger tasted like it was made by Wolfgang Puck.

Somewhere down the line, they decided efficiency was key, and he had gotten a haircut while she tried to navigate through the bank's red tape to create a multi-currency account. He picked up supplies for his bar and restaurant while nagging her for all the junk she was dumping into her grocery cart. "I need sugar and salt to survive!" – she had insisted, in defense of the bags of chips and gummies that she had tried to hide behind his broccolis. She did feel bad though, when he had paid and reassured her that his restaurant supplies were more expensive, anyway.

As they continued their leisurely stroll through the mall, Jinny wondered how the mere sight of him gallantly carrying all the grocery bags could give her butterflies. There was nothing romantic. No flowers and fanfare, no grand antics, or loud proclamations of love. But there was a warm, comfortable feeling that seemed to settle at the pit of her stomach.

Kellan stopped midway. "This feels weird," he said abruptly.

Jinny froze. Shit. "What does?"

His hand let go of hers –shit, part two– and came up to graze against the back of his head. "This air," he replied. "I'm used to having more fluff. What do you think? Does it look strange?"

Jinny wheezed in laughter. Why on earth would she feel anxious with such a ridiculous guy? "Yes," she played along, "you look dreadful. Not even worth a second look."

He clutched his chest. "Damn, you break my heart." Jinny laughed again – she really couldn't take the man seriously. It was as though he was willing her not to.

Kellan reached for her hand, surprised when she instinctively recoiled. "You're trying to hold my hand after scratching the dandruff off your head? Kellan!"