Java Blend (Java Cupid Series Book 8) Page 5

  For himself, life was something to savor, to taste and explore. For Kojo, it was something to be grasped with clenched hands. His twin attacked anything he wanted with tenacity. Although the business had been his idea, it was Kojo’s drive that made it successful.

  Kwasi couldn’t envision himself expending so much energy on a contract. In his mind, if someone needed their services, they would contact them. Should he be one of those high-powered executives chasing after gigs for mere money? Trying to stay ahead of the competition, steal clients, and keep the rat race going until he died?

  Should he do so when something, or someone, could take away the thing he cared about the most?

  Gretchen’s face lifted before his eyes.

  “Bro, are you listening to me?” Kojo screeched in incredulity.

  “Obviously not,” he replied.

  “All right,” Kojo sighed as he flopped back into the chair. “I can see we’re going to get nowhere if we don’t get this woman out of your head.”

  Out of his head? He had a feeling she was more than just in his head.

  “I’m going to spell it out for you. She almost got you killed. Did you forget that?”

  “No,” Kwasi answered slowly. “I haven’t forgotten.”

  The claw marks on his back flamed anew. Although he had spent many years suppressing those memories, he’d never forgotten. Two days ago, he’d seen her again after twenty years. The initial rage was supplanted by a strange mix of nostalgia and confusion and an undercurrent of something even deeper. A resurgence of an emotion he wasn’t sure what to call.

  “Afia—”

  “Call her Gretchen,” Kwasi interrupted.

  “Gretchen,” Kojo acquiesced without missing a beat, “told the elders you had magical powers. She showed them the mark and they came after us.”

  “I know,” Kwasi hissed through clenched teeth. “I was there.”

  “They killed our parents because of what she said. If the O’Briens hadn’t risked their lives to save us—”

  “I know!” Kwasi leapt up from his own chair and paced the room. Visions of his mother and father’s bodies flashed in his head. He shook it violently to rid himself of them.

  “You keep saying that.” Kojo leaned forward on the desk with his hands forming a steeple under his chin. “So why are you letting her control you again?”

  He paused. “Control me again?”

  “Don’t make me tell you what’s obvious.” His brother slid his gaze away from his. “You know what I mean.”

  “No, I don’t believe I do.” Kwasi’s voice quieted while a dull roar of foreboding resounded in his head.

  Kojo was silent for a moment and then he shifted his eyes back to Kwasi. “Gretchen and her sister were our only friends in the village. No one wanted anything to do with us. But Gretchen could get you to do anything she wanted you to do.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “It is, Kwasi. It was worse when the elders made you two get married.”

  Getting married at eleven years old to a six-year-old girl may be the stuff of the western world’s nightmare but for him, being told to marry the one girl in the village who didn’t look at him with abject horror had been the stuff of dreams. The nature of their lives in a poor village had given them both maturity. The O’Briens had gone back and forth with the elders. Though they had been unable to prevent the marriage, they worked hard to ensure the age of consummation for Gretchen was fifteen.

  Not content with waiting so long but due to their respect for the interfering but kind missionaries, the elders countered that his and Gretchen’s consummation would happen with either her first blood flow or when she turned fifteen, whichever arrived first.

  The day the elders painted his and Gretchen’s faces the same color, representative of their union, was the happiest day of his life. For himself, it hadn’t mattered how long he would have waited. She was his and his alone.

  A year later, he and Kojo almost died.

  “I remember how you used to go into the forest with her without me. Whatever she wished, you did.”

  How could his brother understand what it was like to have Gretchen as his child bride? To have her look at him and not see an ugly, dirty, aberration of nature? To touch him without reservation? Other children in the village had ostracized him but she never had. Nor had her parents.

  Her acceptance was as intoxicating as any drug. Mesmerizing as any spell.

  His mark upon her skin as binding as any eternal vow.

  “Just let her go. Don’t let her get one finger onto your life again. She almost destroyed you the first time. I couldn’t stand if she—”

  Kojo’s phone rang, blessedly bringing an end to the conversation. His brother answered the phone the same way he did. “Kojo O’Brien?”

  An undecipherable but definite female shrill voice came through so loud, Kwasi wondered how his brother could keep the phone to his ear.

  “How did you get my number?” Kojo shouted to the upset female.

  Kwasi let out a burst of laughter. “It’s your animal magnetism. They just can’t resist you.”

  His brother glared at him over his shoulder. “Go slam your head into concrete!” he ordered with a threatening eye.

  The voice on the other end grew louder. So much so Kwasi made out the words, “Who you talking to? Do you know I’ll drop kick you into next week?”

  “I’m not talking to you,” Kojo retorted back.

  Kwasi grinned and said sweetly. “Making one of your women upset again?”

  “Bro!” Kojo hissed. “Get out!” He picked up a miniature basketball and flung it at Kwasi. He caught it deftly and twirled it on his finger.

  “Well, I’ll let you two lovebirds work it out.”

  With ease, he tossed the ball back to Kojo, who caught it without looking. Closing the door, he heard the last bit of Kojo’s conversation. “I told you I have it under control.” The wording niggled him. Have what under control? The contract? Something else?

  Kwasi mulled over it for a few seconds but then shrugged. Kojo had his own life without having him to interfere.

  He made his way to the living room and flopped down on the couch. Turning on the big fifty-inch TV, he checked the scores of his favorite team and then leaned back to get into the game.

  The only thing he was able to focus on, however, was the mark on Gretchen’s neck.

  A sign of his ownership not even their marriage could bestow in such an irrevocable way.

  Ownership? He scoffed under his breath at his ridiculous phrase. Of course, he didn’t own her like a piece of property. Even though they’d grown up in a culture that advocated men held total authority over the women, he’d never seen her as something to possess.

  She’d been his friend. His only friend besides Kojo.

  He hoped beyond hope that tomorrow, somehow, some way, they’d get a chance to see each other. This time he wouldn’t stomp away in a fit of anger. He didn’t quite know what he’d do. He only knew he didn’t want to leave now that he’d found her again.

  Gretchen let loose a bubbly laugh while inside she fought to keep the tide of disappointment from crushing her.

  “It’s no problem at all,” she assured Principal Chung. “I’m glad to do what I can to educate our youth about indigenous cultures.”

  “Thank you again, Ms. Ozinga.” Principal Chung patted her hand and smiled, her face a tell-tale sign of relief. “I didn’t know what we were going to do. The board would have my head for sure.”

  Gretchen picked up her cup of Java Blend and savored the taste with a long sip. She’d probably drink this tea for the rest of her life.

  “I’m sure you’re exaggerating.”

  “Well, if the board wouldn’t have her head,” Principal Carter interjected with a waggle of his broad, unruly eyebrows, “they would have had mine.”

  They shared in the mirth. All the while, Gretchen wondered how long it would be before she could escape.

  Did
she really think Kwasi would show up just because she wanted him to? How stupid could she be! The man hated her. Although he had initially expressed an interest in her, once he knew her identity, no man in his right mind would come within twenty feet of her.

  “I think that’s a good idea as well,” Principal Chung’s voice jolted her back to the present. Gretchen shifted her gaze from one principal to the other. She’d missed something.

  “The children could stay a little bit longer so we can coordinate the departure schedules.”

  Gretchen tuned them out. She scanned the café for the one hundredth time, checking in vain for the sight of a blond afro and gray tinted glasses. Java Cupid’s hubbub hummed like a rhythmic beat. Customers laughing out loud or murmuring, chairs scraping the floor, slurping cans of whipped cream, and the harmony of the coffee house played on. The ding of the cash register opening led her gaze over to her favorite barista. Jeb looked up a second later and caught her eye. Grinning, he gave her the thumbs up sign and went back to whatever it was he was doing.

  Sweeping her gaze over the café once again, she collided with a pair of jaundiced eyes from a dark-skinned man sitting in a wheelchair. Deep wrinkles and varied-sized warts covered his face. Probably in his fifties if the creases were anything to go by. Dressed in a gray shirt with a breast pocket, the tip of a cigar peeked over the edge.

  For some reason, his yellow eyes held hers captive. The longer the moment drew out, a worm of unease slithered over her, lifting goosebumps on her arms. Why would the hard stare of a stranger cause her to feel so…icky? Why wasn’t he looking away?

  The man smiled and revealed two rows of yellow teeth. He nodded in a silent acknowledgement—of what she didn’t know—and retracted his magnetic stare.

  A breath released from her as soon as the contact was broken. She turned away and clashed with another pair of eyes shielded by a pair of tinted lenses.

  She’d seen them in her dreams for the past three days. Now, they were real.

  Kwasi.

  A movement to his left made her focus on it. It was Kwasi in double with a short but dense blonde mohawk down the center of his head.

  Kojo.

  They made quite a pair. Two albino Afro-centric cupids with bodies to tempt a nun to renege on her vows. But her eyes lingered on Kwasi.

  “Anything else, Ms. Ozinga?”

  Gretchen started violently. Principal Chung and Principal Carter grinned knowingly at her.

  Heat flamed her cheeks. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  Principal Carter’s eyes twinkled with humor. “We just wanted to make sure we covered everything.”

  “Yes, of course.” Oh, for a hole to open under her feet and swallow her whole! “Unless you need anything else?”

  “No, thanks again.”

  The principals got up to leave. Principal Chung leaned over and whispered in her ear. “If I were fifteen years younger and unattached, I’d be conveniently throwing myself onto the floor right about now.”

  Gretchen couldn’t help but laugh at that.

  With a final nod, the principals left. Gretchen knew she should follow them but she couldn’t bring herself to move. Instead, she grabbed her cup of Java Blend and took another long drink from it.

  Come here, she silently called to Kwasi. Come to me.

  She chanced a glance at him from her peripheral. The brothers were locked in a subdued but heated argument. Kojo bristled in palpable waves of hostility while a stony façade edged Kwasi’s profile. A few seconds later, Kojo flung his hands in the air and stormed back out of the coffee house.

  There was no turning away when Kwasi’s eyes met hers again. He weaved his way around the spaced-out bistro tables, past Charlie with his bin of dirty dishes, and the loud groups gathered on the leather couches.

  He never took his eyes off her.

  Gretchen gulped as he drew closer. Dressed a bit more conservatively with a long-sleeved tan shirt opened at the neck with a pair of black, straight pants outlining his legs, he managed to evoke an aura of relaxed sophistication. Impeccable and down to earth. Well-groomed and comfortable. Yet, he still took her breath away as he had three days ago.

  His beautiful mouth with its succulent, plush lips made the moisture evaporate from her throat.

  Focus, Gretchen.

  She needed to remind herself that an opportunity to ask for forgiveness for what had happened twenty years ago had arrived. The half-formed apology should be the only thing on her mind. Not the craving for his kisses.

  He stopped at her table. Her neck strained up. Way up.

  “Hi, Gretchen.”

  “Kwasi.”

  He folded his arms across his chest, stretching the material and exposing the V of his chest. A deep groove bisected his pectorals, smooth and clear of any hair. All he needed was oil rubbed into his body and he’d really—

  “I’d like to talk to you.” His eyebrow arched. “May I?”

  Giving herself a mental shake, she inclined her head. “Of course.” She waved to the seat on the other side of the glass table. Utilizing her super powers, she kept her voice bereft of the trepidation quivering inside. When he sat, his cologne wafted into her nostrils. A spicy, warm scent she greedily inhaled.

  For a moment he sat there, staring off into the distance. Gretchen kept still as she allowed him the time he needed to gather his thoughts. After all, she had some explaining to do.

  “Where do I start?” he said, but she sensed it had more to do with his frame of mind than an actual inquiry for her. His next words proved it. “There’s so much I want—, no. There’s so much I need to know.”

  He sighed and his shoulders sagged. She tamped down the raging hormones she never knew she had and gave him all the attention he required.

  “Kwasi, I—,”

  “No, Gretchen.” He held up a hand. “After twenty years, I think I get the right to speak first.”

  Swallowing a retort, she gave a curt nod. “Go ahead.”

  His eyes lifted up to hers. They carried a bleak look within their depths. “I know you were a little girl back then. Only six years old. I wasn’t much more mature than that at eleven. But I have to know: why did you tell the elders I had magical powers?”

  If there was any ounce of the feminine desire which plagued her since he sat across from her, it all siphoned away at his words.

  “Mama was sick,” she started off. “Very sick.” A picture of her mother on a thin mat in the old hut she once lived in rose up in her head. Her mother laid on the floor, wheezing and her chest rattling like dried seeds in a gourd.

  “I knew Baba wanted Mama to be well again. When you gave me this…,” she pointed to the moon crescent shape on her neck, “I thought—” her voice died away from shame.

  “You thought like everyone else. That my albinism gave me magical powers.” He shook his head ruefully. “I knew you were going to say that.”

  He slumped down in the chair. “I just didn’t expect it to hurt this much.”

  A lump grew across her throat. “I—I—was six years old, Kwasi. What should I have thought?”

  He sent a baleful glare her way. “You were smart enough to know Kojo and I were different. You remember how everyone treated us.”

  Gretchen did recall. The villagers had done everything possible to get rid of the albino twins they hated and feared. The only reasons why they hadn’t taken up spear and stone to drive them away was due to the influence of the missionaries, particularly Luke and Donna O’Brien. Luke and his dark skin like their own, with his wife, Donna, and her white skin, had torn down long-held beliefs about pale skin being a sign of evil or uncleanness.

  Over time, the villagers had come to trust the missionaries among them. For herself and Gertrude, Kwasi and Kojo were different but not in a bad way. Looking back, Gretchen had to thank the O’Brien’s influence for their help.

  “I remember,” she remarked slowly.

  A long-buried memory leapt up from the recesses of her mind.
As it unfolded, a hint of a smile played on her lips.

  “Why are you smiling?” Kwasi asked, affront clear in his voice. “Did I say something funny?”

  “Not at all,” she hastily replied. “I was just remembering when I painted your skin with mud.” Her eyes lifted up to his. “Do you?”

  He blinked once. And then again. Then a grin brightened his face. “Yes, I do! Oh man, that was so long ago.”

  “I’d mixed a pile of mud together and then smeared it all over you. Do you remember what I said?”

  Kwasi chuckled. “‘Once you get darker, you’ll be cleaner.’”

  They chuckled together and warmth spread through her.

  “I wanted so bad to be as dark as you. I think I walked around the entire day with dried mud sticking to me.”

  “They’re not all bad memories, are they, Kwasi?”

  Could Kwasi see the desperation in her eyes as she begged him without saying so that she was sorry?

  His smile died away. “No, they’re not all bad memories. Especially the very day I gave you that mark.” His eyes zeroed in on hers. “It was the second, best day of my life.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A burst of laughter from a large group across the café area accompanied his admission. Though there was no way the people over there could have heard what he said, the burn of embarrassment still made its way up his head to settle on the tips of his ears. The minute the words left his mouth he wished he could retract them. Cursing under his breath, he wondered what kind of spell did she cast to make him act like an acne-pocked teenage boy?

  “The second, best day of your life?” Gretchen repeated. “What was the best day of your life?”

  Clearing his throat, he debated on how transparent he should be. But he’d already revealed himself more than he intended to. Why stop now?

  Fiddling with the napkins on the table, he answered, “The day I married you.”

  Her doll-like eyes widened and her mouth formed a perfect ‘O’. Surprise emphasized her beauty, bringing into sharp focus her high cheekbones and narrowed chin. Was there ever a lovelier picture than the one she created?