Manila Marriage App (10 page)

As we headed to the plaza, I focused my attention on Timothy. “Is Danilo a real tour guide?”

“Yes. Whenever we have guests at the seminary, he's drives them around to see the sights. And from a practical point of view, if Danilo is with Blaine, he can keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn't make any more unexpected visits.”

I wouldn't argue with that. “Danilo grew up in the city, then?”

“No. He was born in the creek community.”

“Is that a fact? He could be a poster boy for all that is fashionable. And he's so bright.”

Timothy frowned, his forehead wrinkling. “Living by the creek doesn't make the residents stupid. Just poor.”

The flush of shame stole up my cheeks. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean it the way it sounded. It's only that Danilo appears so cosmopolitan. How did he end up as your teaching assistant?”

“A few years ago, I was helping some of the locals dig a well. Fresh water is a real problem here, and the creek is polluted and filled with trash.” Timothy stomped hard on the brake, sliding to a stop mere inches from a yellow jeepney.

“Ten-year-old Danilo showed up at dawn, determined to do the work of a man. He watched what I did and copied me. He's one smart kid. He dogged my every step, and we got to know each other.” He glanced at me, and his face shadowed. “He's an orphan. Both parents died when he was five.”

A five-year-old having to fend for himself? I shuddered inside. “So you made sure he was taken care of?”

“Yes. My housekeeper, Divina, agreed to take him in. She only has one son, and I knew she'd love him as if he were her own. I still make sure Danilo, and her son Joselito, are well taken care of and both boys receive a fine education.”

Timothy's kindness and concern had changed Danilo's life in ways I couldn't imagine. The desire to make such a difference in the life of another overwhelmed me. What had I ever done but make decisions based on my own needs?

As Timothy came to a stop at a light, I placed my hand on his arm and squeezed, hoping he'd sense how much I admired his generosity. “And now Danilo takes classes at the seminary? What does he want to do with his life?”

“He's studying to be a minister. He plans on going back to the community to help in any way he can.” Timothy veered into the parking lot of the shopping center and switched off the car.

“Wow. Good kid. So now, I have another question for you. A hundred dollars a day to ferry Blaine around? Seems rather high to me.” Chuckling, I unfastened my seatbelt.

“Can Blaine afford it? He didn't blink an eye.”

“You betcha. His mom came from money, and he gets a nice allowance.”

Timothy climbed out of the car and walked around to open my door. He grabbed my hand, making sure I didn't stumble on the rough gravel. This time, I liked the attention. “So what
is
the going rate?”

Timothy buffed his fingernails on his shirt. “Why don't we just say it's significantly less than a hundred. Tuition at Pacific Rim is eight hundred dollars a semester. Four days of carting Blaine around will pay for half. That isn't why I did it, though. Tourists can fall prey to the wrong sort in some areas. Blaine will be well protected with Danilo, who will make sure he's safe. ”

 

 

 

 

13

 

After a long day of wending our way through hundreds of stalls, I couldn't wait to get back to Timothy's place. I'd scored plenty of treasure—a chic new pair of shoes, a silk blouse and scarf, inexpensive jewelry—including a pair of genuine pearl earrings that had been calling my name—and several carved wooden animals for my nieces and nephew.

Timothy had purchased a striking pair of brass bookends in the shape of horse heads. His choice fit him to a tee. Practical and gorgeous at the same time.

While at the bazaar, I had to work to keep up with Timothy's brisk pace. The man was not a natural browser, although, he'd tried. He was quite patient with my wandering, but his way of shopping employed the hunt and kill method. He searched for what he wanted, and when he found it, he was done.

We sped down the road, and I sank lower in the seat with every mile. I hadn't been feeling myself for hours, and I was tired, sweaty, and faintly nauseated. Must have been that horrible humidity.

By the time we made it back to the apartment, I was finished for the day. Collapsing on the couch, I tried not to focus on how my head was splitting, the throbbing behind my eyes relentless. My calves ached, and my back throbbed as if someone were punching me—from the inside.

Timothy eased down in the chair next to the sofa, studying me. I pretended not to notice and rolled over on my side, shielding my face from the glimmers of sunlight streaming through the window. Everything was so bright. The light in the room hurt my brain.

A cool hand touched my forehead, his fingers brushing hair away from my face. “You're hot. Do you want some pain reliever?”

“No. I'll be fine. Just need to lie down for a while.” OK, so I was lying, but it took too much effort to tell the truth. I shifted my hips and tried in vain to find a comfortable position. “I'm not very hungry, though. Could we postpone dinner, again?”

“Sure. We'll make it another night. Can I get you anything at all? You should be over your jet lag by now. Maybe you're getting sick.”

“Maybe,” I mumbled. A burning need to discover some answers surfaced. Tonight, he was not going to get away again. So what if I was melting into the sofa fabric? Cold sweat broke out on my forehead, and I shivered, as drippy as an icicle lost in the desert. I worked to sit up and managed to prop myself up with some throw pillows. I refused to give in to this. “Timothy?”

He squatted down next to me, and seized my fingers, his huge hands swallowing mine. Gently, he rubbed my wrist with his thumb. “Yes?”

My heart hammered, his nearness filling me with the desire to get closer. Did I detect a trace of cologne? Was he wearing the super-expensive Italian scent for me? I resisted the pull. We had issues to discuss. Moistening my lips, I battled to form words. “Why…why don't you like blondes?”

Timothy laughed as he lost his balance, bottom hitting the floor. He reached over and curled a lock of my hair around his fingers. “Still on that subject, are we? I love your hair. I was taken aback. That's all.”

“But why does it matter?”

Folding his legs under him, he sat at my feet. He could make himself comfortable anywhere. “I wasn't sure if the board of directors would agree you'd make a good wife.”

OK, this was confusing. My fuzzy head was having a hard time focusing. “But I don't get it. What does my hair color have to do with your directors? Why would they possibly care?”

“I was expecting a shy, mousy, computer nerd the board would approve of. You're way too beautiful to be a missionary's wife, or I'm guessing they might think so.”

Floored, I didn't know how to respond. My head tilted of its own accord, making the room spin. He'd said I was beautiful? That first day we met I'd been a mess—peas in my hair, mismatched clothes, not to mention showing all the grace of a lumbering rhino. A tear leaked from the corner of my eye. At the military cemetery, he'd called me a jasmine blossom, and now he thought I was beautiful. Another tear skated down my cheek. I prayed he didn't see. It wouldn't do to be categorized as a foolish female. “But I sent you a picture of me. You were aware of what I looked like even if I did have brown hair.”

“Don't you remember the picture you sent me? You were at a Halloween party, dressed up in a calico cat costume. I liked your silly grin—even with the whiskers. OK, you were cute with the whiskers, but I couldn't tell much else.”

If my face wasn't flushed already, I'm sure it would have colored then. “I'd forgotten. Brianna wanted me to send you a professionally posed photograph, but at the last instant, I was feeling defiant and chose the most unflattering picture I could find.” I deliberated a second and then asked, “So why did you want to see a picture of my mother?”

“It seemed the sensible thing to do. I figured seeing a photo of your mom might give me a glimpse into your future. If I was going to wake up next to you for a lifetime, I was hoping you'd be at least somewhat attractive.”

Wake up next to me for a lifetime? A quiver raced across my shoulders and shimmied down my back. This time the warmth enveloping me wasn't because of a possible fever. I crooked my head to see the portrait of Timothy's mother on the wall. “No one could compare to your mother's beauty.”

Timothy kissed the palm of my hand. “You can.”

If he'd been Blaine, I might have suspected the compliment was a line, but I didn't think Timothy could ever be insincere. If he said it, he meant it.

I breathed in, coughed, and swallowed. My throat was so sore I was having trouble talking. “Could I have some water?”

He hurried to the kitchen and returned with a glass of ice water. Placing an arm behind my back, he helped me sit up so I could take a big drink. Then he settled down next to me on the couch, extending his muscular legs out in front of him.

He'd make a great father. Kids would feel safe with him and be enchanted by his caring, protective nature. Without question, Pinky had responded to him with adoration. And when his dark hair fell over his brow, as it did now, he was so engaging; children would be drawn to him in droves.

Yet being this near to him unsettled me, turning my resolve to mush. I was leaving soon. I didn't want to fall for this man. Powerless to resist, I reached over and brushed the hair out of his stormy gray eyes.

His arm slipped around my shoulders. Pulling me close, he leaned in for a soft, gentle kiss. If I were the dramatic type, moonlight and romance might have come to mind. Since I wasn't that sort, I puffed out a modest gasp. The mystifying man had made a move!

I pulled back slightly and touched his check. “As delightful as that was—and believe me it was delightful—I really could be contagious.”

“Don't care.”

My eyes widened as he cupped the back of my neck, wove his fingers in my golden latte hair, and drew me still closer. This time his kiss wasn't sweet, or shy, or the least bit timid. This time, when his lips met mine, he kissed me with a touch of passion, just enough to let me know he was indeed attracted to me.

I offered him my sweetest smile. “Nice.”

He leaned his head back, his arm still tight around my shoulders. “Yeah. Nice.”

Too nice. Plus, I didn't want him getting any more germs. I enjoyed the thrill another moment, disengaged, picked up my glass, and sipped my water. “OK, let's go over this again. I didn't follow directions and failed to send a picture of my mother, you couldn't really tell from the photo I sent you if I was an ogre or not, and I said no to the question on whether I'd submit a sample of my cooking upon request.”

“All true.”

“And what's the deal with questions twenty-seven and twenty-nine?” I'd been wondering about that for weeks.

“Huh? Hold that thought. I can do better than water.” He ambled into the kitchen and came back with two glasses of juice, a bowl of fresh cubed pineapple, and two forks. Then he sat down next to me and moved close.

I speared a bite of pineapple and tasted a burst of sweet deliciousness. “Wow. Way better than what we get at home. Now, we were having a discussion on your confounded marriage application. Question twenty-seven. Have I ever been camping and did I like it? As you might recall, I answered yes, I have, and no, I didn't. Question twenty-nine. Have I ever wanted to ride a…what did you call it…a caribou? So what's the deal? No I have never wanted to ride a caribou.”

“Carabao, not caribou. A caribou is a reindeer. A Carabao is a Filipino water buffalo.”

I arched my eyebrows and dissolved into laughter. “OK, have it your way. Carabao. Since when has a desire to camp or the ability to ride wild beasts been a requirement for marriage?”

“They aren't. However, my job requires some travel on occasion, and accommodations are often rustic. Strange food could end up on the dinner plate, or creepy crawlies might sneak into your tent. The woman I marry needs to be aware of what she's in for, and be able to cope. As to the water buffalo, I threw that one in for fun. They're quite docile.”

I adored the humorous side of him. “I'm sure you were overjoyed, then, to hear I didn't freak out when I met George, the gecko. And except for huge, hairy spiders, I get along well with God's great animal kingdom. As to riding a smelly buffalo, I'm sure I'd survive.”

What was I doing? I sounded like I was trying to win his approval. Worse, I sounded like I was
interviewing for the wife position
. “Getting back to the subject, although my answers were not always what you were hoping for, you still asked me to come.” A nagging suspicion sprung to mind. “Was mine the only submission?”

Timothy's eyes did that mischievous twinkly thing again. “Uh, no.”

“‘Uh, no?' How many others?”

“One hundred and thirty-seven.”

“One hundred and…” I was dumbfounded. “And you picked me out of the pile? Why?”

“I loved your answers to my questions. For one thing, you listed
Silverado
as one of your top five movies. A western is not the typical female choice for entertainment.” He slipped a casual arm around my shoulders and pulled me closer.

“Did you take note I also said I loved
My Big Fat Greek Wedding
? That's as girly as it gets.”

“True, but that's a good thing, too. You're multifaceted. And don't tell anybody, but I'll admit I'm rather fond of that movie myself. Now, guess how many applicants answered the favorite movies question with five
religious
films?”

“I couldn't begin to guess. How many?”