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clear with authority.
His tone is different on the phone, different than his tone with me. Looking
directly into my eyes, he responds, “Yes, in about ten minutes.” He listens for
a minute more. “In addition, I’ll need you to get Ms. Carter specifics on the
campaign as soon as possible.” “Yes, Monday.” After a pause he hangs up without
a farewell salutation. His face, once relaxed and at ease, has become somber
and serious. Colin McKenna is back to business.
    The
waiter approaches, “Sir, it was a pleasure serving you today. Miss.” He nods in
my direction and then walks off to the kitchen. I assume he has the bill routed
to Colin’s room.  
    Taking
the napkin from his lap, Colin stands and walks behind my chair to pull it back
for me. It’s time to go. As I stand, he offers a hand to assist, ever the
gentleman. The amazing feeling is there again but I manage it much better,
expecting it this time.
    “Thank
you,” I say as I look into his eyes. There are many reasons to thank him:
breakfast, my new job allowing me to travel the United States, the opportunity
to report on a presidential campaign . . .
    “You’re
welcome, Charlie.” He squeezes my hand before letting it drop to my side.
    He
motions for me to lead the way. The restaurant is housing more patrons than I’d
thought. I've been consumed with him for the last hour. Lost in thought and
focused on the path to the door, I fail to see a man abruptly push his chair
back into the aisle, hitting my hip with force.
    “Oh.”
I groan as it connects harshly and I lose my footing. Colin’s arms wrap around
my waist, keeping me upright, pulling my back tightly to his chest. His face is
next to mine.
    “Charlie?”
His breath is warm on my cheek as he whispers my name, the sound resonating
unexpectedly, a rousing siren to my long dormant heart. An absurd, illogical
force grips tightly and I’m its marionette, a puppet controlled, manipulated by
an unseen figure bound to its demands. Closing my eyes, I bask for an instant
in his embrace, the heat radiating from him to me fracturing my heart into
scattered palpitations.
    Colin’s
breathing speeds momentarily before he reflexively pulls away, setting me
soundly on my feet and letting go.
    “I’m
so sorry, I didn’t see you.” The man looks to me and then at the senator, his
face paling.
    “It’s
okay. Please, enjoy your breakfast,” I say, trying to ease any angst he may
feel. I walk forward again, wishing to forget my unbidden and embarrassing
reaction to this relative stranger who follows behind closely, his arm hovering
protectively around my waist. The impact site, just below my hipbone throbs.
Subconsciously I rub it to sooth the sting, surely I’ll have a bruise by
morning.
    Colin
pushes the door open and we exit together. When we’re alone in the lobby, his
arm gently moves against mine so I face him. “Are you okay?”
    I’m
touched by the distress readily apparent in his gaze.
    “Yes,”
I pat my hip, “lots of padding for protection.” I smile at my own joke, yet he
doesn’t look pleased or appreciative of my self-deprecating sense of humor.
 
    “Charlie,”
he begins, but pauses almost immediately. I sense he’s struggling with
something, but when he starts again he’s back to business. “I’ll have Evan send
you all of the information so you’re comfortable with a Monday start. I’ll see
you the following week,” he gazes in the distance for a second, “in North
Carolina.”
    I
hold my hand out to him one more time, not sure why, other than I want to draw
out this last moment with him. His hand is warm, firm and electric, very much
like his eyes that draw me in and hold me captive. It would be very easy to get
lost in them; lost in him.
    “Goodbye,
Charlie,” he says, his blue eyes sparkling like the sun glinting off of the
ocean.  
    “Colin,
have a safe trip.” It’s the first time I’ve said his name. I know it and I
think he may too, from the faint parting of