Tempo Of Love. Kianna Alexander
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his pace.
Sheba kept up with both of them, allowing her youthful energy to have its head.
While Nona ran, cutting through the humid morning air like a knife, she thought about his trickery. In his overconfidence, he obviously thought he’d beat her in this impromptu footrace and then be released from any obligation to speak to her. She had no intention of letting him off the hook, so she made sure to keep her strides long.
When he glanced to his left and saw her easily keeping pace with him, a flicker of worry crossed his face. It was only there for a moment before he kicked into second gear and picked up his pace.
With a smile, Nona sped up as well. The wind whipped her ponytail as Sheba ran alongside her. She felt powerful, exhilarated. There was nothing like a morning run to get the blood pumping and the gears turning.
Sheba reached the trailhead first, followed closely by her mistress.
When Ken got there, he leaned over, placing his large hands on his knees as he caught his breath.
Nona, still standing upright, felt winded yet triumphant. “What’s the matter? Didn’t get your coffee this morning?”
He stood, making a show of rolling his eyes at her. “Oh, please. The dog obviously tugged you across the finish line.”
Sheba cocked her head to the side, as if she took offense.
Nona waved her hand dismissively. “Whatever. Don’t be a sore loser.” She pointed to the bench. “Now, you owe me an interview, sir.”
As if admitting defeat, he trudged over to the bench and plopped down. “Three questions. Ask away.”
Parts of her wanted to kick him in the shin. “After all that, all I get is three questions?”
He nodded. “For now, yes.”
She shook her head. He certainly had an odd way of approaching things. Having interviewed artists in the past, this wasn’t her first time encountering this type of behavior. “Fine.”
He watched her as she called Sheba to sit and joined him on the bench. “What do you want to know?”
“Plenty, but we’ll start with this.” She laid her smartphone on her lap and set it to record. “Mr. Yamada, when did you first sense that you wanted to pursue the arts?”
He raised a hand to scratch his chin, his gaze fixed on some faraway point. “I was in college, majoring in computer graphics. We completed a class project that involved developing plans and schematics for a fictional skyscraper. I’d always loved to draw for as long as I could remember. But when we worked on that project, I fell in love with architecture. It’s the meeting of math, science and art.”
She nodded, both impressed and intrigued by his answer. “I see. My next question is, what was the first architectural design of your professional career?”
“Hmm. When I first opened Yamada Creative a few years back, I took on a project to build a new library for Duck, North Carolina. It’s a very small town, and their entire collection fit into a one-story building of about seventy-five hundred square feet. It wasn’t a glamorous project, but I was able to provide the residents of Duck with a new facility that met their needs.”
She was enjoying discovering some facts about Ken’s architecture work. If she were honest with herself, she’d admit that she was also enjoying his company. Aware that she only had one question left, she decided to make it a good one. “What has been your favorite project so far?”
He didn’t hesitate. “The children’s hospital in Lillyville. My team and I worked on the design over the course of eight or nine months. The town didn’t have a proper facility for kids with serious injuries and diseases, and we took that into consideration in our design. We wanted to build something that incorporated meeting the medical needs of very sick children while also conveying a sense of whimsy and playfulness. I think we accomplished that.”
“Wow. You speak very passionately about the hospital project.”
He smiled, turning her way. “It’s definitely the one I’m most proud of. I still go over there about once a month to visit with the patients and just enjoy what I created.”
Her eyes connected with his, and a prickle ran up her spine. Hearing the way he spoke about the children’s hospital touched her in a way she hadn’t expected.
His voice broke into her thoughts. “That was your last question.”
“I know.” She continued to keep eye contact with him, not wanting the moment to end.
He leaned closer, the heat of his body radiating out to mingle with hers. “Are you saying you’re satisfied?”
She didn’t move away. “Not at all. I’d love to see your office.”
“Why?”
“Seeing your workspace may help me understand you better. I may not even need to ask you much else.” She inhaled, taking in the scent of his woodsy deodorant.
“I’m okay with that. Call me and we’ll set it up.”
Before she could draw her next breath, he placed a peck on her cheek.
“What...?” she stammered. She’d been caught off guard, but she couldn’t say she hadn’t enjoyed it. The warmth spreading from her cheek made her reach up to place her hand there.
He smiled, his dark eyes twinkling.
She got the distinct sense that he enjoyed seeing her so off-kilter.
“Have a good day, Nona.”
Without another word, he strode to his car, got in and drove away.
Nona sat on the bench for several minutes, gathering her focus.
* * *
Saturday morning, Ken gathered with the rest of the Queen City Gents at Marco’s house for band rehearsal. As the four of them set up their instruments in Marco’s spare room, Ken looked around at the faces of the men he considered to be his closest friends. Each man wore a smile, one that seemed to have been put there by the woman in his life. Shaking his head, Ken eased onto the stool behind his drum set, and began tapping out a simple rhythm on the snare and kick tom to warm up.
Soon, Ken segued into “Drum Waltz,” which he’d learned from the techniques of his idol, jazz drum great Max Roach. The cadence moved in three-quarter time, making use of almost the entire drum set. As Roach had done, Ken threw in taps on the rims and outer casings of the drums to increase the depth and variety of sounds he could make.
As was usually the case when the guys sensed Ken was in the zone, conversation in the room ceased as Ken ran through the waltz a couple of times then moved into a freestyle, improvised rhythm. He was used to having inspiration grab hold of him this way, but the source of today’s inspiration was a surprise. In his mind’s eye, he pictured Nona in her fitted running gear. She had a body built for pleasure, and he would have to have been blind not to see that. As he remembered her tall, lithe figure, his drumming slowed but became richer, more passionate. Before he knew it, he’d slipped into a sensual, lilting ride cadence. His sticks struck the cymbals and the snare in a pattern reminiscent of the movements of her body as he imagined her slowly strutting toward him. His lips stretched into a smile.
Nona Gregory is a whole lot of woman.
When Ken finally looked up from his drum set, he saw Darius, Marco and Rashad all staring at him. No one said a word.
Ken’s brow crinkled. “What?”
Still, no one responded.
Ken chuckled, shaking his head. “You act like you never saw me get into a groove before. Darius, pick your jaw up off the floor. And Rashad, you look like your eyes are about to pop out of your head. Fix your face, man!”
Marco spoke first as the other two men tried to straighten up. “Sure, we’ve seen you