Chapter Twenty-Three
Clara woke to find a note on the pillow beside her, a creamy sheet of folded stationery, heavy and expensive-looking, with her name written on the outside. The scent of fresh coffee drifted through the bedroom door, but the cottage was silent. The sheets where Nick had slept were cool.
She opened the note.
Lovely lady,
An early appointment took me away, alas. You were sleeping so soundly, I didn’t want to wake you. I’ve left you some breakfast. I’ll stop by your shop later today.
Thank you for trusting me to accompany you across this threshold. It was a pleasure and an honor. You are truly one of a kind.
—N
She closed the note. Was this good-bye? An elegant kiss-off? No, it couldn’t be—not after what he’d said about wanting to know her, about returning often, helping her with her shop. She wouldn’t let herself spiral into a knot of self-doubt. She’d made her choice, and she didn’t regret it.
She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply. Nick’s rich, woodsy scent clung to the sheets. On his pillow, a few glossy dark hairs curled. She wound one around her finger and sighed.
Unwilling to cross the doorway back into her everyday life, she lingered in the cramped bedroom. With its battered dresser and a mismatched vanity, it reminded her of a cheap motel. Craving a concrete reminder of his presence, she opened a drawer, pulled out a folded T-shirt, and pressed it to her face, inhaling deeply. It smelled of fabric softener, not of Nick.
He trailed into the bathroom, tiled in avocado green. A wicker hamper contained only some underthings now damp from the discarded towel he’d added after his shower. Oh well, if she couldn’t smell him, at least she could smell like him. She showered in the chipped tub, sudsing herself with Nick’s herbal-scented shower gel. If only he were there with her, she’d slide her slippery hands all over his muscular chest, watch bubbles trail down his firm belly, water dripping off his…
A familiar ring tone sounded from the bedroom. She rinsed and toweled off, then checked her voice mail.
“Hey, Clara,” Margot giggled into the phone. “I’m, ah, going to be late today. I’m sorry. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”
Behind her, another woman said, “Don’t wait up.” Clara recognized the sultry voice of Nick’s assistant, Darcy.
She smiled. She wasn’t the only member of her staff to get lucky last night. Well then, time to get back to work. Whether this connection with Nick blossomed or remained just a sweet, brief memory, she had responsibilities to tend to.
She helped herself to coffee as well as one of the Danish he’d left, and a ripe peach. Before leaving, she paused in the doorway to take a last, wistful glance at the little cottage, site of her re-entry into the world of the living, then softy closed the door behind her.
She waited on the cement stoop for her driver to arrive. Blinking in the bright morning sunlight, she tried to conjure the courage that had surged through her the night before.
Deep breath. I’m okay. In fact, I’m just grand. I can have some fun with a handsome man. It doesn’t mean anything. Maybe I’ll see him again. Maybe not. It doesn’t matter.
But her brave words didn’t chase away the nervous tickle in her belly, and the memory of Nick’s touch haunted her all the way back home.
****
All day, Clara balanced on the sharp edge between contentment and sorrow. Like any other day, she shelved books, greeted customers, answered phone calls from vendors, wrapped packages for shipment. But while she worked, she noticed things she hadn’t really seen in months, maybe longer: the way the dust motes danced in a golden ray of morning sunlight, the silky slide of Lulu’s fur against her bare ankles, the soft rumble of music and conversation from the coffee shop next door, the merry notes of the brass bell greeting each customer.
You’re fine. You’ve done a brave thing. You’ve opened a door and stepped through.
Her self-talk was just a front. As the day wore on, her certainty began to falter. Here she was in familiar surroundings, doing what she did every day. Nothing had changed, right? Except she missed him, searched for his face around every corner, and her gaze kept straying to the red door.
Harry finished ringing up a customer’s stack of mystery novels and walked over to where she diddled with the front table display. She kept trying different arrangements, different color combinations, but nothing looked right. “You okay, Clara?”
She shrugged and leaned against the table. The shop was empty now but for the two of them.
Harry rested one big-knuckled hand on her shoulder and, with the other, moved a stack of slim yellow volumes to the topmost position on the table. “There. Better.”
She laid her hand over his. The course white hairs tickled her palm. Would she ever have a partner to grow old alongside, someone faithful and strong like Harry?
“I’m okay, just a little distracted.”
“You sure you don’t want to take next Saturday off?”
Until that moment, she hadn’t been thinking of that looming milestone, the first anniversary of Jared’s death. The realization stole her breath for a moment.
“I’ll decide later.” She smiled up at her old friend. “Hey, are you all right? You’re a little pale today.”
In fact, the circles beneath Harry’s eyes were more pronounced than usual, the lines around his mouth more deeply etched.
“Oh, just a little under the weather. Maybe a summer cold. I’ll treat myself to a hot toddy and a nap when I go home. By the way, we’re almost out of business cards. Should I order more of the same?” Harry pulled one from his pocket. It featured a shot of Jared and Clara, taken four years ago, his arm slung over her shoulder as they grinned at the camera. The photographer, a college friend of Jared’s, had snapped their photo in front of their tallest bookcase. In the corner of the shot, the red door gleamed.
“No, let’s get a new picture taken, you and me and Margot.”
Harry’s grin folded his cheeks into deep parentheses. “Don’t forget Lulu.”
The cat trotted over and meowed, probably hoping for a kitty treat.
“Right. Lulu too.”
He squeezed her shoulder. “I know it’s hard, kiddo, but I’m glad to see you moving on.”
She flinched. He noticed. “Hey, moving on doesn’t mean we love our lost darlings any less. It means we don’t live the rest of our lives in sorrow, right?”
Right. “By the way, Harry, weren’t you supposed to work the afternoon shift today?”
He grinned. “I was. Had a barber appointment. Until I got a call from a giggly young lady this morning. I think our Margot hooked a live one last night.”
“That was nice of you.”
“Hey, I can get a haircut any time. Love trumps haircuts any day.”
She nodded. Love trumps a lot of things. But she could hardly call what she and Nick had shared love, could she?
****
On her way to Arnie’s place for a coffee and sandwich, Clara’s phone pinged. Her heartbeat kicked into overdrive. A text.
Oh. Doug. Her shoulders relaxed. Just a few words and a photo. Damp and bedraggled, he grinned at the camera and clutched the medal hanging around his neck. His long legs were spattered with mud, and his tight elastic shorts clung to his swollen thighs.
—Came in second in my age group.
She quickly texted back—Congrats!
His reply came right away—Can’t wait to see you. Back late tonight.
She stood there on the sidewalk, her finger poised above the screen, until a passing teen bumped her shoulder.
“Sorry, ma’am.”
“Watch where you’re going, dork!” his companion said.
“What? I said sorry.”
They moved off, and Clara made her decision. ―Call tomorrow?
Three dots, and then—With pleasure.
She let out a whoosh of breath and ran her fingers through her hair. This was getting dangerous. But really, why should she sever her connection to Doug, just because she had one hot night with a man who’d be leaving town soon, maybe forever? Okay, the thought of seeing Doug didn’t set her pulse racing like the memory of Nick did, but it was already midday and Nick hadn’t called yet.
Better to keep her options open.
****
A little after two, Clara was rearranging the glass case of antique children’s books when a familiar baritone spun her around.
“I have a complaint.”
Nick stood close enough to feel his warmth, close enough to smell his woodsy cologne, close enough to touch… She nearly did, but she sensed Harry’s watchful eyes. Instead, she tucked her fingers into her pockets to avoid temptation.
“About a book?”
“About your shop.” His eyes were hooded, but the corners of his full lips twitched.
“What about it?”
“It’s too far from Berkeley.”
“Ah.” Her will weakened. She reached out one fingertip, ran it along the top edge of his belt.
He inhaled sharply, stepped closer, breathed into her ear. “I want you now.” His hot breath tickled her throat. “I can’t concentrate, can’t remember what I wanted to say. Today’s meeting was a joke. All I could think about was your skin, your smell, your voice…”
Wow. So much for her ideas about easy, casual sex.
He reached for her waist. She pushed softly against his chest. “Nick, not here.”
“Where, then? When?” He nuzzled her neck, and for a moment she forgot how to form words, hypnotized by memories—the way he’d moved inside her, the heat and silky heaviness of his body.
“Seven?” she asked.
“Shit.”
“Huh?”
He grasped her shoulders, neither quenching her thirst nor freeing her to catch her breath.
“I have a dinner tonight with Leo’s department chair. I’d ask you to join us, but then all I’d do is grope you under the table and babble nonsense.”
“I see. Not so easy to mesh our schedules.”
She hadn’t meant it as a rebuke, but he stepped back and dropped his hands from her shoulders. He gazed at the floor for a long moment.
“Clara, I—” He reached out his hand and waited until she took it. His grip was warm, soft.
“I don’t want to force myself on you. If last night was all you wanted, I’ll let you go. But please know, I want more.” He fixed her with those dark, hypnotic eyes.
She yearned to tell him what he wanted to hear, what she wanted to say: Yes, Nick, I want you too. We’ll make this work, somehow. But indecision closed her throat. It frightened her to feel so much so soon.
“May I call you tonight?” he asked.
That gave her a few hours to ponder her answer, her future—with Nick, or without him.
She nodded. “I’ll be waiting.”
****
While Margot rang up the last few customers, Clara gave the bookshelves a final inspection. “It’s just infatuation,” she whispered, shaking her head as if shooing a fly. “Just sex. Nothing to lose my head over.”
And then her phone buzzed, making her jump and drop the book she was holding right onto her toe. She hissed a string of curses and hopped on one foot as she fished her phone from her pocket.
Missed call. Nick.
While she massaged her sore foot, a red dot appeared beside her voice mail icon. Margot stood behind the counter ringing up a pile of graphic novels. Clara caught her eye, held up her phone, and ducked behind the screen by her desk. “Clara, it’s Nick. Turns out the department chair’s a fast eater. We’re almost done. Can I meet you at eight?” She heard his breath whispering into the phone, and then, “Please.”
She listened to his message again. And again.
“What do I do, Jared?” she whispered. And an answer came, maybe from her own core, maybe from her lost love, watching over her shoulder as she squirmed in indecision. But the message was clear.
Listen to your heart.
“That doesn’t help,” she moaned. Her heart wasn’t speaking up just then. And her heart was Jared’s. But the rest of her body voted to return Nick’s call.
With a wince, she pushed the Call Back button. It rang once, twice…
“Clara.”
“Hi.”
Again, his whispery breath through the phone. Her skin prickled into goosebumps as she remembered the way his breath tickled her neck. She shifted in her seat, suddenly aware of the pressure of her jeans against her most sensitive skin.
“Can I come by? Will you see me?”
Just breathe. In. Out. “Of course, Nick.”
“I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
Wait a minute, what happened to eight? But he’d already hung up. She glanced at her phone: six forty-five. The college was just a short drive away. No time to go home and straighten up. She grabbed the cosmetic bag she kept in her desk and headed for the restroom. Five minutes later she emerged with minty teeth, fluffed hair, and a fresh coat of mascara and lip gloss. But it wasn’t the cosmetics making her so flushed and sparkly. She took a few deep breaths to steady her nerves.
“Why are you pacing, Clara?” Margot peered at her from around the corner of the science fiction aisle. “You okay?”
“I’m expecting someone. Just killing time.”
Margot frowned, shrugged, but returned to stacking books.
A moment later, Lulu mewed and made a beeline for the front door.
“Hello, Puss. Yes, yes, I love you too.” Nick’s baritone voice rumbled like a contented tiger’s.
“Oh, hey, Professor.” She heard muffled conversation between Margot and Nick, but her feet refused to move toward them. Finally, Margot called her name.
Deep breath. Okay, go.
He sat in the big armchair by the door with Lulu sprawled on his lap. Clara might have a hard time deciding between her two suitors, but the cat made her preference clear.
Nick rose at her approach. Offended at losing her seat, Lulu stalked away.
They stood there for a long moment gazing at each other. Something was off tonight. He seemed less composed, more—what? Anxious? Sad? He reached for her hands. His palms were warm and damp.
“How was your dinner?”
“It was—weird.” He took a deep breath. “Clara, I’ve been offered a job.”
“Oh? Where?”
“Here.”
She blinked up at him. “But you already have a job. You can’t just quit. Can you?”
“It would be difficult. And this job is just a temporary position, so…” He lifted a tendril of hair from her cheek. “What do you think?” His voice trembled just a bit. “I don’t have long to decide.”
“You would do that? Just up and move here?”
He nodded. “In some ways, it’s a good career move for me. But it’s not the only reason.”
Her heartbeat sped up like a revving motor. A big Harley. “Me?”
He nodded.
“Wow.” She stumbled back. He held onto her hands, dancing her backward.
“Is that a good wow or a bad wow?”
“I’m just surprised. Last night was amazing—”
He pulled her closer. “Please don’t say ‘But.’” Crooking a finger under her chin, he tilted her face up to his and kissed her deeply, his lips soft, tender. Her body responded enthusiastically, but her head spun like a carnival ride.
Finally, he released her. “Tell me I haven’t scared you off.”
His eyes were misty. So were hers.
Just behind them, a book tumbled to the floor.
“Sorry!” Margot’s voice came from behind the bookshelf. “Tried to squeeze in too many books.”
Nick pick up the fallen volume, a florid romance. “Love’s Gamble,” he read. “See? Someone’s sending you a message.”
“I’m pretty sure that someone is Margot.” She trailed her fingertips across his chest, relishing his solid warmth. “Okay then. Yes, Nick, I’d like to have you closer. It would give us time to find out whether this is just a fling or maybe…”
“Something real.” He pulled her in for a long, slow, sweet kiss that almost quieted the doubts jiggling in the back of her mind.
Almost.
His hands cupped her face for a moment, and then slowly slid downward. His right hand landed on her hip, pulling her tight against him. His left slid down to her waist and then back up until his thumb brushed the side of her breast. An observer wouldn’t notice this stolen caress, but the feelings he stirred in her were too hot for such a public place. She moaned against his neck and pulled him in tighter, relishing the delicious thrill of his hard shaft against her belly.
She glanced over her shoulder at the red door. Did she dare pull him back there for a quick roll on the divan? The tinkle of the doorway bell banished that naughty thought. A group of white-haired ladies entered, chatting merrily. From wherever she’d been hiding, Margot bustled to the counter to greet them, throwing a glance over her shoulder as she passed. Nick’s dark complexion didn’t betray his state of mind, but Clara’s flaming cheeks and mussed hair surely did. And the swelling in his wool trousers was hard to miss.
“Go!” Margot whispered and nodded toward the door. “I’ve got this.”
Clara buried her face against his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her, draped his jacket over his other arm to hide the insistent bulge, and propelled her toward the door.
“Excuse me a moment,” Margot said to the customers. She scooted behind the screen and emerged with Clara’s purse. “I’ll close. See you tomorrow.”
Nick chuckled into her hair as they quick-stepped to his car. “You should give her a raise.”