The Echo of Old Books(103)
“It means I want to be here when you wake up tomorrow. And maybe the day after that. If it’s what you still want. Me with all my baggage.”
His mouth curved, slow, delicious. “I guess that means we’re an item.”
“I guess it does.”
She pulled his mouth down to hers then, both a promise and a plea. She still couldn’t say how far she was willing to leap, but she had forced herself to look down and at least judge the distance of the fall. It was a start. And maybe, this time she wouldn’t fall alone.
EIGHTEEN
ASHLYN
Maintain a safe distance from known threats.
—Ashlyn Greer, The Care & Feeding of Old Books
October 28, 1984
Rye, New Hampshire
Ashlyn opened her eyes to an achingly blue sky and sunlight streaming through unfamiliar blinds. It took a moment to get her bearings, to remember where she was—and why.
Ethan.
The space beside her was empty now, but the sheets were still warm. He hadn’t been up long. She lingered beneath the sheets, savoring the moment. It had been years since she’d awakened in a bed that wasn’t hers, years since she had allowed herself to be touched, held, loved. Now the memory of Ethan’s lovemaking was seared into both her memory and her flesh. Like the echoes of a book, never to be erased.
She waited for the inevitable wave of regret, the realization that it had been a mistake to let him into her life—and into her heart, because he was there too—but none came. Instead, she felt a dreamy and delicious languor, the whole-body tenderness of muscles newly awakened.
When she finally threw back the covers, she was startled to find her clothes scattered across the carpet, hastily shed last night along with Ethan’s. She left them, opting for the thick terry-cloth robe draped over the foot of the bed. She slipped it on, inhaling the scent of him as she wandered to the sliding glass doors overlooking a small terrace and the harbor beyond. Was the view always this stunning, or was it the events of last night that made the world look so fresh and bright?
Following the scent of brewing coffee, she padded downstairs to the kitchen. Ethan was at the stove, wielding a spatula. He turned when he heard her enter, flashing a sheepish smile.
“Coffee?”
“Yes please.”
He filled a mug and handed it to her, along with a spoon, then pointed to the cream and sugar. She doctored her mug, then sipped. “This is good,” she said, not meeting his gaze. She wasn’t well versed in morning-after conversation.
“Thanks.” He sipped from his own mug, eyeing her over the rim. “Everything okay? With us, I mean. With . . . last night?”
She grinned, charmed by his awkwardness. Apparently, he was no more versed in morning-after conversation than she. “Everything’s very okay.”
“No buyer’s remorse?”
“None.”
His shoulders relaxed as he turned back to the stove. “You might want to revise your opinion after breakfast. I’m making pancakes—or attempting to—and the jury’s still out. Want to grab us some silverware?”
Ashlyn laid out the place settings while Ethan churned out a stack of pancakes and a plate of perfectly browned sausage links. In eight years of marriage, Daniel had never made her so much as a piece of toast. On impulse, she slipped behind Ethan and pressed a kiss to his shoulder.
He turned, surprised but smiling. “What was that for?”
“Pick something.”
“What would you like to do today?” he asked as they settled down to breakfast. “Assuming you don’t have to work, that is.”
The question caught her off guard. She hadn’t thought beyond breakfast. “I don’t, actually. It’s Sunday. But shouldn’t you try to get some writing done now that we’ve wrapped up the Belle and Hemi mystery? Your publisher awaits.”
“I probably should, but I’d rather spend the day with you. And I’ve finally started making some progress, so I’ve earned a break. We could hit Hillcrest Farm for cider doughnuts and music. Maybe see a movie?”
“Or . . . we could go to a bookstore.”
“Ah. I forgot we talked about that last night.”
“I just think it’s worth checking to see if Hugh Garret ever used Belle and Hemi’s story as inspiration for one of his books. And then after, we can hit Hillcrest. I never turn down a cider doughnut.”
The phone rang before Ethan could respond. He put down the syrup bottle and held up both hands. “Grab that, would you? I’m all sticky.”
Ashlyn did as asked, though she felt awkward answering Ethan’s phone. “Hello?”
“Ashlyn, is that you? It’s Marian.”
“Yes, it’s me.”
“Whatever are you doing at my nephew’s house at this hour?” She laughed then, making it clear that the question had been a rhetorical one. “I’m glad you two finally figured it out.”
Ashlyn’s cheeks went hot. “Ethan’s right here. I’ll put him on.”
“No, no. That isn’t necessary. Listen, I’ve had a thought. Why don’t the two of you come to Boston next Thursday? Ilese will be there with the girls and I’d love for her to meet the two of you. You could stay over and come to the blasted awards dinner on Friday, maybe even make a weekend of it. Take in a show or see some of the museums.”