Page 12 of Sterling Stone

I link our fingers together, unable to recall the last time I held someone’s hand. Her fingers felt right connected with mine. Two puzzle pieces coming together, easily clicking into place.

When we near the bridge, two other young girls stand by the corner. They race toward the co-ed in front of us, and all three girls embrace. Coos and questions, along with hands stroking over the stolen-backpack victim’s hair and back, meet us when we draw closer.

The victim turns towards us as we approach. “Thank you. My friends will walk with me from here.”

“Are you sure?” Delilah releases my hand and steps closer to the girl. For someone who says she isn’t motherly, she tenderly pulls the girl toward her for a hug, whispering something that makes the younger woman nod.

“Thank you,” she says to me one more time before Delilah and I continue walking.

She slips her hand around my bicep, but doesn’t reach for my hand again. I miss the connection, but I like this position almost as much when she leans against me one more time.

“You lied, Samson. You really are from outer space.”

“What do you mean?” I chuckle.

“Superman. He came from the planet Krypton.”

I laugh a little harder. “I am definitely not Superman.”

“Oh, I beg to differ . . . Superman.”

And now she’s given me another nickname.

I only wish I could live up to it for her.

4

[Taxi]

Eventually, Superman and I continue walking in silence. There’s something so different about him. While I don’t consider myself a good judge of character, especially of the male persuasion, part of the reason is that I’m guarded. I never want to be like my mama. Never want to be so attached that I can’t function without a man. But something about this man says I can be who I want to be, and he’d be interested.

I can’t believe I told him about Mama being in jail. That isn’t information I readily share, if ever, and within a few hours of meeting this man, I’m spilling one of my deepest kept secrets.

I’m not proud of Mama, however I understand why she did what she did. Desperation leads to despair and poor decisions.

Although I don’t typically pass out that nugget from my past, the words slipped easily from my lips in his presence.

While it was intoxicating to see him in superhero action, and there’s no disputing he’s a good-looking man, there’s something beneath the surface that suggests he’s inherently good. He won’t judge. Like Clark Kent keeping Superman beneath the dress shirt and glasses, this man screams the same kind of cryptic secret with his kindness, his attentiveness, and his old-school manners.

Move over, Henry Cavill.

I would have kissed him right along the riverwalk if that young girl hadn’t been shaking so hard from both pursuing her attacker and fear because she’d been robbed.

Moments before the distraction, Samson, or Superman, or whoever he really is, was about to kiss me, I was certain of it. The way those soft blues darkened. The way his gaze fixed on my lips. I don’t know that I’ve ever wanted a kiss so badly in my life.

And I feel the same way right now as we stand outside my hotel room.

For a woman on a man-free diet, I’m hungry for more with him.

“Well, it’s been an evening.” His soft chuckle punctuates the night, and he scratches at the back of his neck, like he’s nervous. On such a rugged man, his anxiety is endearing, almost cute. He’s wearing a dress shirt and tie, like an uptight professional, but I’ve seen him in hot pursuit chasing a thief.

What’s beneath the white button-up?

I lean against the hotel door at my back.

Neither of us moves.

I could invite him in, but something deep within me wants him to do the asking. Like, for once, I want someone to ask me to stay a while, which makes no sense as we’re standing in a hotel hallway, the quintessential location for people traveling to and fro, not people who stay put.