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couch and placed a bottle in Emily's mouth.
"Was that the investigator?" she asked.
"No, my editor, David Stern." Matt kicked the teddy bear out of the
armchair and sat down, watching them both for a long minute. "You've
got a natural touch with babies."
"It's easy when you have a bottle in your hand."
"It's more than that, and you know it. You have . . ." His voice
trailed away, and she wondered what
he was thinking.
"I have what?"
"A lot to give," he said somewhat cryptically. "Most people are more
comfortable with taking than with giving."
"Which are you? A giver or a taker?"
"That's easy, a taker."
"'I don't think so."
"Why not?"
"Well, for one thing, if you were a taker, I think you'd have more
furniture."
He smiled at that and tipped his head. "Point taken. Speaking of
taking, do you want me to take Emily?"
"No, I'm fine." Shed cuddle with Emiiy for a few minutes, then say
good-night and go home. Tomorrow, she would get her life back to
normal. "You can get me a fortune cookie, though."
"Deal." Matt got up and retrieved the bag of fortune cookies from the
table. He handed her one and sat down next to her.
She cracked the cookie with one hand, careful not to jostle the bottle
out of Emily's mouth. Then she pulled out the slip of white paper and
laughed out loud.
"What?" Matt asked.
" 'When fortune knocks, you should answer.' "
"Words to live by." He surprised her by leaning over and giving her a
quick kiss on the lips.
"What was that for?"
"I told you I was a taker. Your hands were full. I figured that was
fortune knocking for me."
"Oh." She paused, her mouth still tingling. "My hands are still full."
Matt's eyes darkened as he answered her unspoken wish with his lips.
This kiss was warm, tender, satisfying, like a long, cool drink after a
long, hot day. Caitlyn could feel the passion checked carefully between
them as only their mouths met in the promise of more—someday, but not
this day.
When Matt pulled away, he brushed the hair from her face with a gentle
caress. "You know those moments you were talking about, when everything
seems perfect? I think this might be one of those."
"I think you might be right." She only wished the moment could last
forever.
up in front of yet another apartment building. It was the tenth one
they'd gone to since they'd started delivering dinners just after four
o'clock. She'd begun to lose track. She had to admit that bringing food
to people who couldn't get
out of the house had taken her mind off her
own problems for a while. She was still somewhat surprised that there
were people like Jonathan who actually did this stuff. Certainly no one
had ever cared enough to bring her and Mattie a meal, not even when
they'd been really, really hungry.
Sarah didn't want Emily to ever know the kind of hunger pains that
gnawed at you until you'd actually consider catching and eating one of
the cockroaches that ran through your apartment. If she could
protect
her from that kind of life, wouldn't that be something? Wouldn't that
mean that giving her up
was the right thing to do?
"Ready for one more?" Jonathan asked, interrupting her thoughts.
She nodded. "Sure."
"You've been a big help today," he said.
"I haven't done much more than unwrap some plates."
"Some people never do that much."
She sent him a thoughtful look. "You're a good man. I guess you're
blessed or something, huh?"
He smiled at her. "We're all blessed, Sarah. Even you."
"I don't know about that."
"I do. I wish I could find the words to make you believe. That's always
been my biggest problem,
finding the right words."
Sarah glanced at him, struck by the weariness in his voice.
"What good is a preacher who can't find the right words to preach?" he
asked.
She didn't know what he wanted her to say. But then she'd never been
that good with words, either.
"I thought somewhere along the way I'd find the words, that God would
send them to me. not to help
me, but to help the people around me, the
ones I was meant to serve. But it hasn't happened, and it
may soon be
too late."
"What do you mean?"
"There's a possibility that the church may close if I can't increase
the attendance at Sunday services.
Real estate in this area has
skyrocketed, and the land the church sits on is very valuable. The
church could sell it and use that money to fund other programs, ones
they think would reach more people than the empty church is reaching."
"But they can't tear down the church," Sarah cried, not even hearing
the rest of his explanation. All she knew was that they couldn't close
down her church. She grabbed his shirtsleeve and twisted it with her
fingers. "You have to stop them."
He stared at her in surprise. "It's just a possibility. And I am trying
to do something about it. Are you
all right?"
She looked down at her hand and immediately let go.
"Why do you care if they tear down the church?" he asked, sending her a
thoughtful glance.
"I don't care," she said, but he didn't believe her. And why should he
after her reaction? It was just that the church, the steeple, it was
one of the few things in her life that was still around, that meant
something.
"You care. Look at you, there's a flush in your cheeks and a fire in
your eyes. I like it."
Sarah turned away from him. She couldn't believe she'd shown she cared
about something. It was a lesson she'd learned early on. Never let
anyone know that you want something, because that's the thing they'll
take away when they want to hurt you. Just like her mother had taken
away the candles.. . .
She looked out the window at the nearby apartment building, so similar
to the one she'd grown up in, which was just a few blocks away. Was
there a little girl somewhere inside, on one of the top floors,
who
looked out her window at night and saw a steeple and felt hope? What
would she see if they tore down the church? How would she feel then?
"Sarah? Tell me what's bothering you."
"I used to live around here."
Jonathan waited patiently for her to go on. That was something she
liked about him. He didn't jump into
a reply or an argument. Gary
always said she was slow, but Jonathan didn't make her feel that way.
He made her feel calm.
"I used to kneel next to my bedroom window at night, and I could see
the steeple of the church. Sometimes the moon would
light it up, and I thought God or the angels were sending me a sign
that it would be all right. The only times I couldn't see the steeple
was when it rained or when the fog came in. Then I'd just crawl under
the covers and wait for the morning to come so I could see it again, so
everything would be all right."
"I'm glad the church called to you when you needed it the most."
"But if you tear the steeple down, what happens to the little girl or
the little boy who lives up there?"
She pointed to the building. "What
will they see when they look out their window?"
She saw in Jonathan's eyes the same worry, the same fear. "I don't know
if I'm good enough to save it, Sarah."
"But you are good." She knew that with a certainty that she couldn't
explain. "Look at what you did today, bringing food to all these people
who can't get out."
"I need to do more. I need to fill my church every Sunday with people
who want to praise the Lord."
"Folks around here probably don't think they got much to praise. No
offense."
"None taken. I know it's hard to see God in places like this." He
sighed. "Maybe it's impossible. I could be beating my head against a
wall. I hope if I keep showing up here, offering a helping hand, maybe
they won't just see me when I come, maybe they'll sec God, too. That
sounds idealistic, I know."
"It sounds nice."
"Well, nice won't deliver the last of our Sunday suppers. Can you stand
one more trip?"
"I think so."
Sarah followed Jonathan into the apartment building, down the dimly lit
hallways that smelled like cigarette smoke and beer, a scent with which
she was intensely familiar. A small
child, barely two,
played alone outside a half-open door. Inside, Sarah
could hear the sounds of an argument. She
wondered if anyone knew the
little girl with the dirty face was outside the apartment.
She was suddenly assailed by the old feelings of fear, uncertainty, and
loneliness. She didn't want to
raise Emily in a place like this. She
didn't want to see her child crawling around on a dirty carpet in a
place where no one cared about anything or anyone.
Matt's hallway had smelled clean. The carpeting had felt soft under her
feet, and there had been no graffiti on the walls, only pretty
pictures. That's the kind of place where Emily belonged. Suddenly,
the
confusion of the past few days was gone. Sarah knew exactly what she
had to do.
early Monday morning.
Barely awake, Caitlyn blinked rapidly, trying to clear her head. Brian
was the last person she'd expected to find in her hallway. She'd
assumed the pounding on her door was Matt. She drew her terry cloth
bathrobe more closely around her, distinctly aware of the
less-than-sexy gray T-shirt underneath, not to mention her tangled mess
of hair that she instinctively tried to pat down.
"I know what I have to do, what we have to do," Brian repeated, looking
far too awake in his tan
dockers and white polo shirt.
"What time is it?" she asked in confusion.
"It's seven-thirty. But that's not important. I have a proposition for
you."
"Maybe you could come back later, when I'm awake."
"I don't think so. You've opened your door, and I consider that a
victory. This is the perfect time."
"Perfect time for what?"
"'Getting reacquainted. I'd like to take you to breakfast. How about
Nini's? I know you love their vegetable omelettes, and I promise not to
say a word if you order the greasy potatoes."
Nini's? Caitlyn suddenly realized how long it had been since she'd gone
to the coffee shop near the university. In fact, she couldn't remember
...
"I haven't been to Nini's since before the accident," she said slowly.
Brian appeared surprised. "Really? But you love that place."
Did she? Or was he the one who loved it? Or was it her mother? She'd
been going there forever. Yet, once she'd broken away from her parents
and Brian, she hadn't once thought of going there. It was an odd
revelation but it seemed to mean something; she just couldn't quite
figure out what.
"What do you say?" Brian persisted. "Your mother told me you don't
usually go into the shop before
ten on Mondays."
Caitlyn silently cursed her mother's helpfulness. "That's true, but—"
"You can't avoid me forever."
Maybe not forever, but she'd been hoping for at least one more day.
"'We need to talk this out, Caitlyn, clear the air, so we can move
forward. My mother gave me a book
on male/female relationships, and I
can see that we've had a communication problem in the past."
'You think you can figure me out by reading a book?" she asked him. She
was both touched and
amused by his plan.
"I think the book has already helped me. I have to admit you've been
somewhat of a mystery to me at times."
A mystery he'd never tried that hard to solve, she thought cynically.
Still, he was trying now, and she supposed she should be flattered by
the effort.
"Why now, Brian? Why the sudden interest in figuring out what makes me
tick?"
"Because I want you back in my life."
"Why? What did you miss about us?"
"A lot of things."
"Like what?"
"Well, I missed this." He placed his hands on her waist and pulled her
against him, planting a determined and firm kiss on her lips.
Caitlyn was so amazed and dazed by the sudden action she didn't
immediately pull away. Her brain was trying to register Brian, kiss,
feeling . . . feeling what? It had been a long time between kisses. But
there was a familiarity to the embrace that made her wonder deep down
inside if there could still be something left to save.
Then a door slammed, and Caitlyn broke away from Brian like a guilty
teenager.
Matt's face was grim and accusing as he stared at them both. "Maybe you
should find a bedroom,"
he said tersely.
"Matt, I—" Caitlyn didn't know what to say, nor did she know why she
felt like a guilty lover. It was none of Matt's business who she kissed
or where she kissed. "What do you want anyway?"
"I heard a noise. I thought maybe Sarah .. ."
"She's not here."
"Well, don't let me interrupt." He stepped back into his apartment and
slammed the door again.
"What the hell is his problem?" Brian asked, an unusual anger in his
normally calm eyes. "You keep saying you're just neighbors, but that
looked like more than neighbors to me."
"You're imagining things," she said, still staring at Matt's door. Or
was he? There had been a look in Matt's eyes, a look she'd never
expected to see—possessiveness. Why? He barely wanted to be neighbors,
much less anything more.
"Let me take you to breakfast, or at least let me come inside," Brian
said. "We could use some privacy."
The last thing she wanted was privacy, not when she was feeling
confused and unsure of what she wanted to do next. She needed coffee
and a shower and her clothes on. Then she could deal with Brian—and
Matt, too, for that matter.
"I can't do this now," she replied decisively. "You have to give me
some time."
"We've had too much time as it is," he complained.
"Another day won't make a difference. I turned everything off when you
walked out of that hospital room, Brian, and whether I told you to go
or wanted you to go doesn't change the fact that you went,
and I was
alone, and it hurt."' Her voice shook as she remembered in vivid detail
the pain of that long, lonely day. "It hurt a lot. I know that things
look better to you now. I'm walking. I'm healthy. You're
back in town.
So you think why noti get back together—take two, as they say. But this
isn't a movie.
We can't just so for another shot and get the same
emotion we had before."
"We can try.'' Brian took her hand in his, ""Maybe it won't be like it
was before. Maybe it will
be better."
"What would make it better?"
He seemed confused by her question. "What do you mean?"
"What do you think you want out of a relationship with me?"
"I just want you. That's what I want." He paused, a frown settling
across his features as he looked into her eyes. "That's not the right
answer, is it?"
"There is no right answer—"
"I should have brought that damn book with me."
"So you can use it like a dictionary, translating my words for you?"
"If you'd speak in plain English, it would be easier for me. I'll admit
that I'm a numbers man. Words are far more complicated." He squeezed
her hand. "Why don't you tell me what you want? Why don't we start
there?"
"I want you to already know what I want," she said, silently admitting
that wasn't particularly reasonable, but it was the way she felt.
He sighed. "That's what I was afraid of. Look, I'm going to go read
chapter seven again, but I will be back, because one thing I have
learned is that
go
does not
always mean
go
. So even
though you've said
no to breakfast, I won't assume that means you don't want another
invitation. That's right, isn't it?"
This time it was Caitlyn who sighed.
"Never mind," he said. "I'll be back."
Caitlyn watched him walk down the hall. Somehow she didn't think
relationships were supposed to be
this hard.
"Was that the investigator?" she asked.
"No, my editor, David Stern." Matt kicked the teddy bear out of the
armchair and sat down, watching them both for a long minute. "You've
got a natural touch with babies."
"It's easy when you have a bottle in your hand."
"It's more than that, and you know it. You have . . ." His voice
trailed away, and she wondered what
he was thinking.
"I have what?"
"A lot to give," he said somewhat cryptically. "Most people are more
comfortable with taking than with giving."
"Which are you? A giver or a taker?"
"That's easy, a taker."
"'I don't think so."
"Why not?"
"Well, for one thing, if you were a taker, I think you'd have more
furniture."
He smiled at that and tipped his head. "Point taken. Speaking of
taking, do you want me to take Emily?"
"No, I'm fine." Shed cuddle with Emiiy for a few minutes, then say
good-night and go home. Tomorrow, she would get her life back to
normal. "You can get me a fortune cookie, though."
"Deal." Matt got up and retrieved the bag of fortune cookies from the
table. He handed her one and sat down next to her.
She cracked the cookie with one hand, careful not to jostle the bottle
out of Emily's mouth. Then she pulled out the slip of white paper and
laughed out loud.
"What?" Matt asked.
" 'When fortune knocks, you should answer.' "
"Words to live by." He surprised her by leaning over and giving her a
quick kiss on the lips.
"What was that for?"
"I told you I was a taker. Your hands were full. I figured that was
fortune knocking for me."
"Oh." She paused, her mouth still tingling. "My hands are still full."
Matt's eyes darkened as he answered her unspoken wish with his lips.
This kiss was warm, tender, satisfying, like a long, cool drink after a
long, hot day. Caitlyn could feel the passion checked carefully between
them as only their mouths met in the promise of more—someday, but not
this day.
When Matt pulled away, he brushed the hair from her face with a gentle
caress. "You know those moments you were talking about, when everything
seems perfect? I think this might be one of those."
"I think you might be right." She only wished the moment could last
forever.
eleven
Sarah glanced out the window of the church minivan as Jonathan pulledup in front of yet another apartment building. It was the tenth one
they'd gone to since they'd started delivering dinners just after four
o'clock. She'd begun to lose track. She had to admit that bringing food
to people who couldn't get
out of the house had taken her mind off her
own problems for a while. She was still somewhat surprised that there
were people like Jonathan who actually did this stuff. Certainly no one
had ever cared enough to bring her and Mattie a meal, not even when
they'd been really, really hungry.
Sarah didn't want Emily to ever know the kind of hunger pains that
gnawed at you until you'd actually consider catching and eating one of
the cockroaches that ran through your apartment. If she could
protect
her from that kind of life, wouldn't that be something? Wouldn't that
mean that giving her up
was the right thing to do?
"Ready for one more?" Jonathan asked, interrupting her thoughts.
She nodded. "Sure."
"You've been a big help today," he said.
"I haven't done much more than unwrap some plates."
"Some people never do that much."
She sent him a thoughtful look. "You're a good man. I guess you're
blessed or something, huh?"
He smiled at her. "We're all blessed, Sarah. Even you."
"I don't know about that."
"I do. I wish I could find the words to make you believe. That's always
been my biggest problem,
finding the right words."
Sarah glanced at him, struck by the weariness in his voice.
"What good is a preacher who can't find the right words to preach?" he
asked.
She didn't know what he wanted her to say. But then she'd never been
that good with words, either.
"I thought somewhere along the way I'd find the words, that God would
send them to me. not to help
me, but to help the people around me, the
ones I was meant to serve. But it hasn't happened, and it
may soon be
too late."
"What do you mean?"
"There's a possibility that the church may close if I can't increase
the attendance at Sunday services.
Real estate in this area has
skyrocketed, and the land the church sits on is very valuable. The
church could sell it and use that money to fund other programs, ones
they think would reach more people than the empty church is reaching."
"But they can't tear down the church," Sarah cried, not even hearing
the rest of his explanation. All she knew was that they couldn't close
down her church. She grabbed his shirtsleeve and twisted it with her
fingers. "You have to stop them."
He stared at her in surprise. "It's just a possibility. And I am trying
to do something about it. Are you
all right?"
She looked down at her hand and immediately let go.
"Why do you care if they tear down the church?" he asked, sending her a
thoughtful glance.
"I don't care," she said, but he didn't believe her. And why should he
after her reaction? It was just that the church, the steeple, it was
one of the few things in her life that was still around, that meant
something.
"You care. Look at you, there's a flush in your cheeks and a fire in
your eyes. I like it."
Sarah turned away from him. She couldn't believe she'd shown she cared
about something. It was a lesson she'd learned early on. Never let
anyone know that you want something, because that's the thing they'll
take away when they want to hurt you. Just like her mother had taken
away the candles.. . .
She looked out the window at the nearby apartment building, so similar
to the one she'd grown up in, which was just a few blocks away. Was
there a little girl somewhere inside, on one of the top floors,
who
looked out her window at night and saw a steeple and felt hope? What
would she see if they tore down the church? How would she feel then?
"Sarah? Tell me what's bothering you."
"I used to live around here."
Jonathan waited patiently for her to go on. That was something she
liked about him. He didn't jump into
a reply or an argument. Gary
always said she was slow, but Jonathan didn't make her feel that way.
He made her feel calm.
"I used to kneel next to my bedroom window at night, and I could see
the steeple of the church. Sometimes the moon would
light it up, and I thought God or the angels were sending me a sign
that it would be all right. The only times I couldn't see the steeple
was when it rained or when the fog came in. Then I'd just crawl under
the covers and wait for the morning to come so I could see it again, so
everything would be all right."
"I'm glad the church called to you when you needed it the most."
"But if you tear the steeple down, what happens to the little girl or
the little boy who lives up there?"
She pointed to the building. "What
will they see when they look out their window?"
She saw in Jonathan's eyes the same worry, the same fear. "I don't know
if I'm good enough to save it, Sarah."
"But you are good." She knew that with a certainty that she couldn't
explain. "Look at what you did today, bringing food to all these people
who can't get out."
"I need to do more. I need to fill my church every Sunday with people
who want to praise the Lord."
"Folks around here probably don't think they got much to praise. No
offense."
"None taken. I know it's hard to see God in places like this." He
sighed. "Maybe it's impossible. I could be beating my head against a
wall. I hope if I keep showing up here, offering a helping hand, maybe
they won't just see me when I come, maybe they'll sec God, too. That
sounds idealistic, I know."
"It sounds nice."
"Well, nice won't deliver the last of our Sunday suppers. Can you stand
one more trip?"
"I think so."
Sarah followed Jonathan into the apartment building, down the dimly lit
hallways that smelled like cigarette smoke and beer, a scent with which
she was intensely familiar. A small
child, barely two,
played alone outside a half-open door. Inside, Sarah
could hear the sounds of an argument. She
wondered if anyone knew the
little girl with the dirty face was outside the apartment.
She was suddenly assailed by the old feelings of fear, uncertainty, and
loneliness. She didn't want to
raise Emily in a place like this. She
didn't want to see her child crawling around on a dirty carpet in a
place where no one cared about anything or anyone.
Matt's hallway had smelled clean. The carpeting had felt soft under her
feet, and there had been no graffiti on the walls, only pretty
pictures. That's the kind of place where Emily belonged. Suddenly,
the
confusion of the past few days was gone. Sarah knew exactly what she
had to do.
* * *
"I know what I have to do," Brian told Caitlyn as she answered her doorearly Monday morning.
Barely awake, Caitlyn blinked rapidly, trying to clear her head. Brian
was the last person she'd expected to find in her hallway. She'd
assumed the pounding on her door was Matt. She drew her terry cloth
bathrobe more closely around her, distinctly aware of the
less-than-sexy gray T-shirt underneath, not to mention her tangled mess
of hair that she instinctively tried to pat down.
"I know what I have to do, what we have to do," Brian repeated, looking
far too awake in his tan
dockers and white polo shirt.
"What time is it?" she asked in confusion.
"It's seven-thirty. But that's not important. I have a proposition for
you."
"Maybe you could come back later, when I'm awake."
"I don't think so. You've opened your door, and I consider that a
victory. This is the perfect time."
"Perfect time for what?"
"'Getting reacquainted. I'd like to take you to breakfast. How about
Nini's? I know you love their vegetable omelettes, and I promise not to
say a word if you order the greasy potatoes."
Nini's? Caitlyn suddenly realized how long it had been since she'd gone
to the coffee shop near the university. In fact, she couldn't remember
...
"I haven't been to Nini's since before the accident," she said slowly.
Brian appeared surprised. "Really? But you love that place."
Did she? Or was he the one who loved it? Or was it her mother? She'd
been going there forever. Yet, once she'd broken away from her parents
and Brian, she hadn't once thought of going there. It was an odd
revelation but it seemed to mean something; she just couldn't quite
figure out what.
"What do you say?" Brian persisted. "Your mother told me you don't
usually go into the shop before
ten on Mondays."
Caitlyn silently cursed her mother's helpfulness. "That's true, but—"
"You can't avoid me forever."
Maybe not forever, but she'd been hoping for at least one more day.
"'We need to talk this out, Caitlyn, clear the air, so we can move
forward. My mother gave me a book
on male/female relationships, and I
can see that we've had a communication problem in the past."
'You think you can figure me out by reading a book?" she asked him. She
was both touched and
amused by his plan.
"I think the book has already helped me. I have to admit you've been
somewhat of a mystery to me at times."
A mystery he'd never tried that hard to solve, she thought cynically.
Still, he was trying now, and she supposed she should be flattered by
the effort.
"Why now, Brian? Why the sudden interest in figuring out what makes me
tick?"
"Because I want you back in my life."
"Why? What did you miss about us?"
"A lot of things."
"Like what?"
"Well, I missed this." He placed his hands on her waist and pulled her
against him, planting a determined and firm kiss on her lips.
Caitlyn was so amazed and dazed by the sudden action she didn't
immediately pull away. Her brain was trying to register Brian, kiss,
feeling . . . feeling what? It had been a long time between kisses. But
there was a familiarity to the embrace that made her wonder deep down
inside if there could still be something left to save.
Then a door slammed, and Caitlyn broke away from Brian like a guilty
teenager.
Matt's face was grim and accusing as he stared at them both. "Maybe you
should find a bedroom,"
he said tersely.
"Matt, I—" Caitlyn didn't know what to say, nor did she know why she
felt like a guilty lover. It was none of Matt's business who she kissed
or where she kissed. "What do you want anyway?"
"I heard a noise. I thought maybe Sarah .. ."
"She's not here."
"Well, don't let me interrupt." He stepped back into his apartment and
slammed the door again.
"What the hell is his problem?" Brian asked, an unusual anger in his
normally calm eyes. "You keep saying you're just neighbors, but that
looked like more than neighbors to me."
"You're imagining things," she said, still staring at Matt's door. Or
was he? There had been a look in Matt's eyes, a look she'd never
expected to see—possessiveness. Why? He barely wanted to be neighbors,
much less anything more.
"Let me take you to breakfast, or at least let me come inside," Brian
said. "We could use some privacy."
The last thing she wanted was privacy, not when she was feeling
confused and unsure of what she wanted to do next. She needed coffee
and a shower and her clothes on. Then she could deal with Brian—and
Matt, too, for that matter.
"I can't do this now," she replied decisively. "You have to give me
some time."
"We've had too much time as it is," he complained.
"Another day won't make a difference. I turned everything off when you
walked out of that hospital room, Brian, and whether I told you to go
or wanted you to go doesn't change the fact that you went,
and I was
alone, and it hurt."' Her voice shook as she remembered in vivid detail
the pain of that long, lonely day. "It hurt a lot. I know that things
look better to you now. I'm walking. I'm healthy. You're
back in town.
So you think why noti get back together—take two, as they say. But this
isn't a movie.
We can't just so for another shot and get the same
emotion we had before."
"We can try.'' Brian took her hand in his, ""Maybe it won't be like it
was before. Maybe it will
be better."
"What would make it better?"
He seemed confused by her question. "What do you mean?"
"What do you think you want out of a relationship with me?"
"I just want you. That's what I want." He paused, a frown settling
across his features as he looked into her eyes. "That's not the right
answer, is it?"
"There is no right answer—"
"I should have brought that damn book with me."
"So you can use it like a dictionary, translating my words for you?"
"If you'd speak in plain English, it would be easier for me. I'll admit
that I'm a numbers man. Words are far more complicated." He squeezed
her hand. "Why don't you tell me what you want? Why don't we start
there?"
"I want you to already know what I want," she said, silently admitting
that wasn't particularly reasonable, but it was the way she felt.
He sighed. "That's what I was afraid of. Look, I'm going to go read
chapter seven again, but I will be back, because one thing I have
learned is that
go
does not
always mean
go
. So even
though you've said
no to breakfast, I won't assume that means you don't want another
invitation. That's right, isn't it?"
This time it was Caitlyn who sighed.
"Never mind," he said. "I'll be back."
Caitlyn watched him walk down the hall. Somehow she didn't think
relationships were supposed to be
this hard.
BOOK: Barbara Freethy - Some Kind Of Wonderful
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