The Distance Between Us(19)

“Okay.” I hand her the doll. “My friend is here.” Her eyes fly around the room with the announcement. “I won’t leave until the girls are gone, but just leave the mess for when I get back. I’ll help you.”

“Sounds good.”

I head back out front. Behind me my mom says, “Okay, let’s get this dolly’s clothes on.”

Xander is staring at a business card again when I come back out.

“There’s no hidden message there,” I say.

He puts the card back down. “You don’t have a cell phone.”

“Did the card tell you that?” I clean up the paints, closing their lids, and then wrap the paintbrushes in a paper towel to rinse off in the back. I glance over my shoulder, hoping my mom doesn’t come out right now. I’m trying to figure out how to ask Xander to leave the store without making the reason obvious.

“You’re never holding one, you don’t have a square lump in the pocket of your jeans, and you haven’t given me the number.”

“Your observation skills are getting better. Although I don’t think the last factor proves your theory.” I put the paints in a plastic bin. “I’ll be right back again. Why don’t you wait for me in the car, okay?”

He doesn’t move.

“I shouldn’t be long. I’ll be right there.”

“Okay.”

I wait for him to walk toward the door then take the paintbrushes to the sink in the party room, rinse them with soap and water, then put them in a jar to dry. The girls are gathering up their things and comparing dolls. I hurry ahead of the group and when I round the corner see Xander still standing there. I stop in my tracks and the kids push around me. He smiles as the girls sweep by his legs. I whirl back around and maneuver through a few girls, blocking my mom’s view.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

“I think one of the kids left her jacket back there.”

“Okay. I’ll go grab it.”

One little girl stops by Xander. “You look like my Ken doll,” she says, staring up at him.

“I do?” he says.

She nods.

“Do you know who you look like?” He squats and starts to pull out his phone, but by this time I’ve reached him. I grab hold of his arm and drag him out the door.

“We have to go.”

He lets out a grunt. “Caymen, I was talking to that little girl.”

“Who is clearly delusional.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“Clearly you look more like Derek, the brunette, than Ken.” I walk him all the way to his car and then say, “I’ll be right back.”

My mom has come out of the back room by the time I get inside. “I didn’t see a jacket back there.”

“I must’ve heard her wrong. Sorry.”

“Okay.” She sighs. “That was a fun party. The birthday girl couldn’t stop hugging her doll.”

“They seemed to have a good time.” I shift nervously from one foot to another. “Anyway, my friend is waiting. I’ll see you later?” I head quickly for the door.

“Hey, Picasso!” she calls.

I stop, thinking she’s seen Xander outside and is going to call me out. I turn slowly.

“You have paint on your face.” She sticks her thumb in her mouth then comes at me with it.

“Don’t you dare.” I wipe at my cheek.

She laughs. “Have fun.”

“Thanks, Mom. I’m sorry to leave you by yourself.”

“It’s fine, Caymen.”

“Thanks.”

Xander is sitting in his car fiddling with the radio when I get in. The smell of new leather assaults my senses. His car has more buttons and screens than I’ve ever seen in a car in my life.

He turns off the radio as I buckle my seat belt. “So you’re saying even if you had a cell phone, you wouldn’t give me the phone number?”

It takes me a second to realize he’s picking up our previous conversation. “I didn’t say that. I just said that wasn’t a concrete factor to prove your theory.”

He lowers the visor in front of me and flips open the mirror. “You still have paint on your face.” He runs a finger down my cheek, tracing the paint line. My breath catches for a moment when his finger seems to linger a second longer than necessary.

“Stubborn paint.” I turn my head to see the blue streak better. I rub it until it’s gone.

Xander opens the compartment above my knees and takes out a pair of leather gloves. As he pulls them on, I can’t help but laugh.

“What?”

“You have driving gloves.”

“And?”

“And it’s funny.”

“Funny adorable?”

I shake my head. “If you say so.”

He revs the engine a few times and then pulls onto the road. “Why do I get the feeling you didn’t want me to meet your mom back there?”

I thought it had escaped his notice. Apparently not. “Because I didn’t.”

“Well, that would explain the feeling.”

“She’s . . . Let’s just say I need a little time before you two meet.” Fifty years would probably do it.