"Oh, crap, sorry!" I say, as I turn a step into a little leap mid air to avoid stepping on his sleeping bag.
"Kelli!" Ian says, his tone not quite friendly. "What are you doing here?"
I look up and my breath catches; oh, how glorious he looks. Standing there in the brisk morning, he's wearing a leather jacket zipped all the way up, and his hair is curling in the mist. His eyes are clear, lacking the haunted look that far too often dims their brilliance. He looks strong, and confident.
"What are you doing here?" he repeats.
"Oh, I was out running and I saw your truck … " It isn't a total lie.
"I didn't know you ran in the morning," Ian says.
I laugh, "Normally, I don't! For some strange reason I had an urge this morning and I thought I'd better get my fat ass out the door before it passed!"
At the mention of my ass, his eyes dropped to my hips and a hunger lights there. The hunger is quickly replaced by annoyance however, and he says, "You do not have a fat ass."
I roll my eyes and begin a retort when I'm interrupted by a man eating his stew a few feet away from Ian. "Hell yes, the little miss has a fat ass, and one I'd sure as hell like to tap."
"Watch it, Phil," Ian says in warning, his stance instantly filling with tension. It was clear he was ready for a fight.
"Meant no harm, no harm at all," Phil says, raising his hands. "Just paying the lady a compliment."
"Well don't," Ian says and Phil nods his head and moves to a table farther away from Ian.
Ian hands out the next bag looking annoyed and distracted. I instantly feel badly. Clearly my presence has changed the dynamic of this experience for him, and considering I can't remember seeing him so content, at least not in the last few weeks, I feel badly about robbing him of that momentary peace.
"Hey, I'm going to finish running around the block," I say. "Wanna grab a coffee after you're done?" The invitation came out before I could think if it was a good idea or not, and suddenly I am terrified he might say no.
"Sure," he says slowly.
"Okay, I'll meet you by your truck in ten," I say, and I turn back toward the sidewalk at a brisk pace. As soon as I pass the corner and am no longer in sight, I slow to something that can barely be called a jog. I get so red when I run, and now that I'm going to have coffee with Ian, I'd like to avoid my normal shade of crimson.
True to my word, I'm back at his truck in ten minutes. He's still finishing up, so I lean against it, watching him. His movements are purposeful and strong. I can't imagine him pacing, or bouncing his leg with nervous energy. He moves to accomplish something, and for no other reason. I don't know why, but it is sexy as hell.
"You feel good doing this, don't you?" I ask as he approaches me, already knowing the answer.
He looks at me and nods, placing the empty box into the back of his truck and opening the passenger side door for me.
"It's a form of repentance for you," I say, getting in and reaching for the seat belt.
He nods, and again doesn't speak. He closes my door and runs around to his side.
I watch him as he gets in and something inside me settles. An assurance washes over me in that moment, sitting in his truck in front of the park where he feeds the homeless every morning. It is okay for me to love this man. Yes, he did terrible things and I wish to God he hadn't. But he wishes that same thing, and each day he tries to make up for his sins, he tries to make this world a better place in his own small way.
I am in love with this man, and that's okay. I can, and do, forgive him. I begin smiling like an idiot at this and Ian looks over at me startled.
"What?" he says, a little alarmed.
"Nothing," I say. I'm not ready to talk about this yet. I need to think about it a little more.
"Oh, wait, no - don't go to the Coffee Bean," I say, realizing where his route was leading us.
"Why? I thought it was your favorite?" he asks.
My heart does a little flip to realize he's noticed what my favorite coffee is. "That's where I was working in November and seeing as how I kinda quit after only working there like a week, I'm pretty sure I'm persona non grata."
He laughs, and nods, "I think there's a Starbucks on Ocean Park," and he changes direction and heads there.
Snagging a prime parking spot, we head in and order. I'm a huge fan of seasonal fall lattes, so order an eggnog one.
Ian raises an eyebrow at my order. "Hey," I say defensively, "I ran a few miles this morning; I can afford the calories."
"I wasn't questioning your caloric intake," he says, a little smirk dancing around his lips. "I was wondering at the eggnog. Who the hell actually likes eggnog?"
"Dude, it's really popular," the guy behind the register pipes up helpfully.
"Thank you," I say, pointing at the guy. "See? Lots of people. I happen to have very good taste, Ian."
He laughs and orders a regular latte for himself. I shake my head, "Boring!"
We wait for our coffee in awkward silence. We are standing near each other, and while I can't speak for him, I'm extremely aware of the proximity of our bodies. The sleeve of my sweatshirt is touching his leather jacket, and the pinkie on my right hand keeps lightly brushing his jeans. The arousal that ignited in the park is only growing stronger.
Lattes in hand, we are fortunate to find two armchairs open so we sit.
"How long have you been going to that park?" I ask.
"About four years. I had heard about it at the VA - that some vets hung out there. At first it was just a couple guys. Once word got out that I was bringing food every morning, it grew. They are pretty much all vets though," Ian explains.
"And that's important to you. To give back to vets," I say.
He nods his head, "Yeah. Obviously there are a lot of places I could give, but giving to vets … " he trails off. Looking straight at me he says, "I was really fucked up when I came home. As you can imagine, knowing some of what happened over there. Our VA system is fucked up … "
"Shhhh!" I whisper quickly, but not quickly enough. The five-year-old girl standing to the right of Ian heard the curse word and was looking at him with wide eyes. Her mother also heard it, and was glowering at him.
He blushes and mutters an apology to the mom. It is insanely adorable.
"Anyway," he tries again, "the VA system is very messed up and if it hadn't been for Pappy's dogged earnestness, I know I would have given up long before I got the help I needed. Most of these guys, well all of the guys in the park, don't have any family to look after them, to fight on their behalf. Obviously I can't champion them all, so I do what I can - bringing them some food and offering advice on how to work your way through the maze." He stops then, shrugging his shoulders. "It's not enough. It's nowhere near enough."
He takes a sip of his latte and is silent. I copy him and contemplate the cup in my hands.
"So, uh, you worked at the Coffee Bean after you quit?" he asks.
"Yeah," I say with a laugh. "I really fu … messed up that situation," I catch myself and the girl's mother looks at me warily. "What's that saying, never … poop … where you eat? That's it, right?"
Ian laughs and nods his head.
"Well, considering that was my favorite coffee shop, perhaps it wasn't the best idea to apply for a job there when I was in the middle of an emotional breakdown."
Ian studies me for a moment. "You were having an emotional breakdown?"
"What would you call it?" I ask.
"I don't know. I don't know how you were, or are, feeling," he explains.
I consider my options, and go with my standard - the truth.
"How I was feeling - well, I was feeling like crap. The man I was falling in love with unloaded that he did some pretty horrific things a few years ago. More horrific than I felt I could rationalize away." Ian nods his understanding and I continue. "How I'm feeling now - well, I'm doing better. Yes, the man I'm in love with did some insanely horrific things in war, but I can see that it doesn't define the man he is today. I can't even begin to understand the pressures and strains combat can have on a person, on their psyche. I hate that we put our soldiers into situations that irrevocably harm them - if not physically, then mentally, or emotionally. How can we as a society justify it? We have political and economic means of solving international conflicts and yet we still rely on men and women - normal, brave men and women - to fight these wars that seem to be more about global posturing and economic gain than true human rights."