Page 20 of Her Fearless Ronin

That was devastating news because it confirmed what I feared. She could feel me just as I felt her. She was my goddamnedikigai. Fuck!

“Jiro?” Her anger morphed into concern, and I was wondering how much of my desperation she could see.

I forced a smile, pointing at the store. “Won’t you be in trouble with the boss man if you stay too long?”

She glanced toward the store before looking back at me. “No, I was not supposed to work today. Just catching some hours, and I have something planned for the afternoon.”

Both my curiosity and jealousy were piqued. “Is that right? Can I join you? It would be easier than, you know… following you like a creep.”

She tried to glare, but a lovely pink hue of self-consciousness covered her cheeks and neck. “I… You know it’s not interesting. I’m spending the afternoon at Belleview Center.”

“That’s where your mother goes, isn’t it?”

She nodded. “Yes, three days a week, and in exchange for the preferential rate, you can offer your time. So they have me one afternoon per week.”

My annoyance and dislike for her brother came backlike a tidal wave. With the money I had been sending, she could have easily finished her schooling and got her mother to that center full time without the need to trade her time for a meager three days.

I opened my mouth, wanting to tell her how much of a waste of space her brother truly was and that maybe she shouldn’t waste too much of her worries on him. Maybe she should just leave him where he was—dead or alive—and take back control of her life. I’d give her all the money she wanted. She was only twenty-two; she could go back to school, set her mother in full-time care, and live. It was not too late for her.

It is not too late for you…The insidious voice in the depths of my chest piped in, allowing me to wonder how I could fit into her narrative. Could I make it? Be the doting househusband living in our little house in a suburb—with our white picket fence, our Sunday barbecues, and our—

“Jiro?”

I blinked as she waved her hand in front of my face.

A profound sense of mortification swallowed me, and it was not a feeling I was used to or had ever really experienced.

“Yes, I was just thinking. I’m sure they could use another pair of hands, right?”

She shrugged. “Well, of course, they always can. They are overworked and underfunded, but…” She looked up at me, twisting her plump mouth to the side. “I don’t think it’s for you, Jiro, it’s…” She shook her head with a little grimace.

Her half-spoken thoughts grated me the wrong way and alsohurt me a little. I knew who I was; I never made a secret of it, and in the grand scheme of things, she was right. I was, and have been, an executioner for the yakuza, but I was so much more, and I wanted her to see that.

It was irrational. Of course it was. I had claimed to want to keep the distance, that I was all wrong for her, and yet I wanted her to see me under all the right lights.

I wanted her to see the potential, no matter how stupid it was.

“You don’t think I’m able to help someone other than with my katana and guns? I’m more than just death and destruction, you know.” I meant to say it in a joking tone, but it came out far more intense than I intended.

She widened her eyes. “No!” she gasped, resting her hand on my chest.

I was not sure of the reason. Maybe it was to reassure me, or perhaps she was acting on a pull we probably both felt, but feeling her touch me burned my skin deliciously, even through my shirt.

She took a sharp breath, and as she tried to remove her hand, my instincts took over and pressed mine ‌on top of hers, stopping her retreat. I liked the contact. I was not ready for it to stop.

“Let me come, please. Let me show you I’m far more than you think.”

She kept her eyes on my hand on top of hers. Her pupils dilated, and goose bumps spread on her arm as I ran my thumb back and forth on the back of her hand.

“I—yes, of course.” She stopped looking at our hands and looked up at my face, the apple of her cheeks still pink. “I just didn’t want you to get bored. It’s nothing glamorous.”

“No?” I raised an eyebrow. “And here I thought that care homes were the underground Mafia of Seattle.”

Her shoulders relaxed as she let out a little laugh. “You’d be surprised. Okay, fine. You’re welcome to join.”

And then, I was not really sure why I did what I did. I grabbed her hand from my chest and kissed her palm before letting it go.

“Oh!” Her face turned beet red, and I quickly turned around, hoping she didn’t see how much it had unsettled me, too.

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