Burning (Brotherhood of the Blade Trilogy #1) (27 page)

“
I like swimming, too, in a pool, not in the bay.”

“
It’s cold year round?”

“
Always.”

She ran her hands over the worn sofa. “Mmm, comfy. It’s broken in just right. The blue chintz fabric is old but still beautiful.” She looked at Sam, hope in her eyes.

“I agree about the comfort. Couch and I have had this long, torrid affair. She’s old, but we’ll never break up. Not even if her legs fall off.”

She smiled and put on her glasses to see the titles of the books in stacks next to the sofa. The specs were a fetching style—vintage cat’s eye shapes, in black, with little rhinestones at the corners. She reached out her hand to pick up a book.

“May I see this one?” she asked before touching.

“
Sure, that’s my to-be-read this week pile.” Sam turned around and pointed. “And those seven piles are my online auction piles of books for each day of this week. There are also piles in the dining room and every bedroom. No books are in the bathrooms or kitchen, though. Too damp.”

“
I concur.”

She handled a paperback carefully, as he expertly mended the Jessie Willcox Smith illustrated book at his dining room table.

She piped up, “Oh, my goodness, you have the original 1959 first edition of
Maggie Cassidy
by Jack Kerouac. The first edition was a paperback, you know, not a hardcover. I can’t believe you have a Kerouac first.”

“
I can’t believe you
know
that.”

“
I just happen to adore Kerouac. He was a gypsy, too. There’s sort of a spiritual kinship between Jack and me. I connect with a lot of his writing, but I never saw a copy of
Maggie
before. That’s serendipitous that you have it.”

“
Would you like to borrow it?”

“
I couldn’t,” she said, but held it to her breasts dramatically.

Sam laughed. “Borrow it. I trust you to bring it back. Then I’ll get to see you again.”

The angel on his shoulder whispered,
Laying it on a little thick, aren’t you, Sam?

“
Thank you. I
will
borrow it.”

He nodded. Sam handed her the neatly mended book.

“That’s a nice repair job.”

“
Thanks. You should get plenty of readings out of it if you’re gentle.”

“
I’m very gentle,” she promised and suddenly, it seemed like they were talking about something else. Or maybe he was overanalyzing, as usual. She put the storybook on top of the Kerouac that was now in her lap. “I can’t wait to sit down with these later.”

“
What a strange combination of reads.”

“
I’m an eclectic reader,” she said.

“
Me, too.” Sam grinned and waved his arms at the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. “So, what do you think of this dusty mess of a clapboard bayside house packed tight with ten thousand and sixty-eight books, mostly classic American literature?”

She gave a low whistle. “That’s an impressive collection, more than some small libraries have. Is your collection famous?”

“Yes,” he said quietly. “But only in small circles.” He was glad she understood the importance of his collection.

“
It feels homey in here,” she said. “Comfortable. Quiet. Something like I would create for myself if I had the money. But I would have more bookshelves.”

He laughed. “If I had more shelves, I would just fill up the floors again, too. Someday, the whole house would collapse into the crawlspace—implode on itself—and I would be crushed by thousands upon thousands of books.”

She grinned. “I suppose that’s the best way for people like us to die. Just be crushed by the books we love. I guess the piles will stay then? Spread out over the floors, so as not to strain the joists?”

“
It’s the way I like it. I decorate with books.”

“
Me, too. Their movable décor is interesting to me.” She listened for a moment. “Oh, I can hear the surf on the breakwater! You must love that sound at night, like a lullaby.”

“
I do. It’s why I came here from the Midwest. I wanted the ocean in my life.
This
ocean, right in the hung-moon crescent of Port Sapphire. I came here for college, clam chowder and for a girl who immediately jilted me for a lobster fisherman, but I stayed anyway. Where are you from, Jessie?”

“
Everywhere. Army brat. I went all over the world with my dad, before he got pancreatic cancer and died. I know it’s been a long time since I lost him, but I still think of him every day.”

“
I’m so sorry. You’ve had a lot of loss in your life.”

More than you can imagine
, said the angel on his shoulder.

“
Thank you again for your kind words.”

He nodded. “Of course. And your mother, Jessie? Is she still alive?”

“No. After Dad died, and I left for college, she died of a heart attack. I’ve always thought of it as a broken heart. It was a shock, my mother, who had been healthy her whole life. She never smoked or drank and she ate her vegetables. She should have lived to be a hundred.” Jessie gave a little sigh and looked at the floor.

“
I’m so very sorry for you. You’re all alone in the world?”

“
Thank you. And yes. Somewhere in my motorhome, I have a little spiral notebook with a list of all of the places that I have lived or passed through and everyone I’ve met. I think it’s important to be able to look back and think about the people we’ve met, and roads we take—the roads we’re glad we took, and the roads we regret not taking.”

“
Profound. A little Robert Frost-ish.”

“
That is my favorite poem, ‘The Road Not Taken.’ As you said, you do know how to listen to women.” She affectionately patted a pile of books. “My bookstore was like your house. Jam-packed with books everywhere. You had to step over the piles. Guess we’re birds of a feather, Sam.”

“
Are you telling me that this clutter, bordering on a visit from reality TV, doesn’t bother you?” Sam asked in disbelief.

“
No. I
like
it. It makes me feel safe, like I’m in a book fort. Protected.” She patted the sofa next to her and gave him a smoldering look.

Go!
said the angel on his shoulder.

He took a deep breath and let it out. Unable to stop himself, he got up from his recliner chair and sat down next to her shyly, without touching her. He turned his head so he could look at her face in the soft glow of the light cast by the green-glass shades of the reading lamps on the end tables.

“What did you say happened to your husband again?”

Her eyes got a panicked, faraway look when she realized Sam was asking the same question again about her husband. She looked at the floor. “I thought I told you. Firefighter, New York City. September eleventh. I don’t like to think about it too much.”

“I was just confused. I didn’t intend to make you feel bad.”

“
You didn’t, Sam. It’s strange. We have only known each other a few hours, but things come so easily between us.”

“
Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

“
And me.” She touched his hand and tingles spread through him, even after she moved it away. She was pushing the boundaries in tiny increments. He could feel her reaching out to him.

“
I feel like I could listen to your voice all night,” she continued. “You’re easy to talk to.”

He swallowed hard and felt humbled and stunned. Other women, even therapists, had often told him that he was a difficult communicator. Jessie was telling him the opposite—that he was easy to be with. He felt something lighten in his chest. She was sweet. So easy to be with.

The angel on his shoulder whispered,
Don’t lose your head, Sam. Something big is coming.

“
It only seems like I am a good talker. It is because you are a good listener, Jessie.”

“
You’re a good listener, too, Sam. You remember everything I say. I can see it in your eyes as you answer me and weigh what you know about me so far. I’ve never had anybody really listen to me like you do.”

“
Isn’t that what friends are for?” he asked softly and she trembled a bit, not answering.

“
I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were that cold.”

He reached for the chenille throw on the back of the blue chintz couch, whacked the cat hair off it and put it around her shoulders.

“Thank you. I’m not cold. I was hoping—” She hesitated and moved closer to him on the couch, until their thighs were side-by-side, touching. “Sam, don’t you want to kiss me?”

“
What?” he said stupidly. His tongue felt thick and clumsy.

“
You heard me,” she said.

His eyes met hers and he turned his body toward hers.

The angel said in his ear,
Turning point! Leap of faith!

Jessie was beautiful in the glow of the reading lamps and the fading afternoon sunlight that slanted through the window. Her hair was filled with red-gold light and her turquoise-blue eyes were almost luminous as they held his gaze with a desperate plea for some validation of her worth. It was written all over her face, that she wanted to be worthy of a kiss. Indecision wracked him, but when indecision wracked him, he almost always said no.

“I don’t think I should kiss you yet, Jessie. It might not be good for either of us.”

“
Why not? I know you like me, or you wouldn’t have spent the afternoon and early evening with me.”

“
Just because it would feel good for the moment doesn’t mean we should kiss. I try to think of the long-term effects of my actions. If I kissed you right now, I would feel some promise was due you. To be faithful or to care for you. You’re a vagabond. I don’t know when you’ll be back in town, or
if
you will.”

“
That’s about as honest as a man ever got with me.”

“
I’m tempted, of course, but the timing doesn’t feel right. The circumstances feel…pardon me, but somehow, they feel contrived. It may not be that way, and just my cautious nature rearing up to say hello.”

She nodded, disappointment clear on her face. And something else was there. She was hiding something big. He knew it.

“Well. I feel like a dolt,” she said.

“
I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings too badly. It imagine that it took a lot for you to ask for a kiss from me,” he said to her.

“
You have no idea. I don’t go around cities asking strange men if they want to kiss me.”

“
I know you don’t.”

You have no idea what you just did by refusing her
, the angel whispered in his ear.

Sam tried to shake off the sudden feeling of dread. But any hope of a kiss was out the window tonight. Apparently, he’d completely blown it.

She cleared her throat. “
Well.
I’ll be back to return your book in a few days. I’m going to a warehouse fire sale in Albany. They have a bunch of kids’ books that I can get by the pound. All I have to do is get the smoke smell out and I can sell them at the flea markets.”

“
Can you do that? Get the smoke smell out?”

“
I have a good method. After Albany, I will be back in Port Sapphire next week. Your monthly downtown flea market.”

“
Are you going?”

“
Of course. I never miss it.”

“
We could set up our tables next to each other. That would be fun, wouldn’t it? I could pack a picnic lunch. I could even bake cinnamon rolls if you let me come and use your oven.”

“
You can. Please do come and bake here. I’m terrible at baking. I would love to taste your cinnamon rolls. And cupcakes.”

She raised her face to his and closed her eyes for a kiss. One that he wouldn’t give her. Her lips looked moist and her breath was sweet.

“I know you think I’ll give in, but I just can’t kiss you, Jessie. I’m not ready. I don’t know what would happen to me if you walked out that door after my kiss and then never came back. My luck has been 0 for 5 with women and I don’t want to set up myself, or you, for disappointment again. It is as much for your good as it is for mine…that we wait.”

“
Isn’t a kiss just a kiss, Sam? Or do you always tend to overanalyze to this ridiculous degree?”

“
Yes, that’s exactly the way I am. I’ve tried to change and I can’t, but perhaps I have this instinct for emotional self-preservation that extends far beyond the moments of impulsive behavior.”

“
Am I a hedonist to you?”