Chapter Seven
Iris paid close attention to Julian’s reactions as she ushered him into her condo late Wednesday afternoon. This was the first time she’d invited a male friend over to visit. They had the place to themselves; Aunt Lily would be out for the evening. Even so, he didn’t repeat the friendly kiss on the cheek and Iris tried not to feel disappointed.
Since Julian had walked in, his movements had been tight and his shoulders high and tense. She hoped he wasn’t regretting that he’d come. Yet he was the one who’d initiated this, by phoning in the morning to invite her out for dinner. Was he annoyed that she’d suggested he instead come over to her place?
After handing her a bottle of Destiny Cellars pinot grigio, he walked into the living room and set down the guitar case that she guessed he carried as automatically as she did a purse.
Iris stood by the island that divided the kitchen from the living room, watching Julian gaze around. In black jeans and a charcoal cotton shirt with rolled-up sleeves, he looked very masculine, yet, oddly, not out of place in the gentle, Japanese-influenced room she and her aunt had created. Tense, though. “We could still go out,” she offered. “If you’d prefer.”
He glanced over his shoulder at her. “No, this is good. Better.”
As he turned and walked toward the sliding glass doors onto the deck, he muttered something. It sounded like, “Even though the village would be safe tonight,” but that didn’t make sense, so she must have misheard. Tonight was no different from any other night in Blue Moon Harbor. If they ate at one of the several fine restaurants, a number of people would recognize Julian. Some would respect his privacy, but others would drop by to meet him, or to say hi to her. She’d feel anxious and wouldn’t relax into that comfortable space she often felt when she was alone with Julian.
He opened the doors. “The sun’s setting. Come look.”
She followed him onto the deck that ran the full length of the condo, shared by the living room, her bedroom, and her aunt’s corner room. There were a couple of zero-gravity chairs that adjusted for sitting or reclining, along with a small table and several potted plants. An Anna’s hummingbird whirred toward one of the three feeders, its ruby throat catching the fading light. Another male darted in to chase it off. They faced off, upright in the air, wings thrumming madly as they screeched in hummingbird language at each other.
The birds’ antics made Julian chuckle and his shoulders relax. He leaned forward, his forearms resting on the wooden railing.
Iris did the same, a couple of feet away, and gazed out at the ocean. The sun was almost down, painting a few puffy clouds with a peachy-pink glow. A fishing boat and a large pleasure craft were aiming toward the commercial marina at the head of Blue Moon Harbor. A few Christmas-anticipators had already strung lights on a handful of boats and shops, and their twinkle added a festive note. The view was always wonderful but tonight, glancing at Julian’s handsome profile, it was spectacular.
“You face east,” he said.
“Yes.” It was rude to stare at someone, so she turned back to the scenery. “The most we see of the sunsets is a reflected glow, but the sunrises can be dramatic.”
“I bet.”
“Though sometimes I prefer the sunsets. They’re more subtle. Like lyrics that have many levels, the kind of song that’s not only pleasing on the surface but resonates deeply on reflective and emotional levels.” Without looking at him, she added, “Your songs are like that.”
“I write the reflected glow of sunsets, not dramatic sunrises. That’s a lovely thought, Iris. Thank you.”
She sensed his gaze on her but, embarrassed by how spontaneous and loquacious she could be around him, and how tingly aware she was of his presence, she kept her gaze on the ever-changing sky.
“Tell me why you suggested The Tao of Pooh,” he said.
“Oh, well . . .” Surprised by the question, she took a moment to consider. “At the commune, and from your music, I sense you have the Tao in you. But I also sense an unrest that leads you to lose touch with it.”
His body tensed, and so she hurried to get to the point. “I do that, too, let myself be distracted by complexities rather than focus on what’s important. But when I calm and center my thoughts and emotions, then I can perceive things from the appropriate perspective.” Thinking of a previous month’s quote from her wall calendar, she added, “The individual leaves, the trees, and the forest.”
He had relaxed again. “The conventional saying suggests that the forest is what’s important. The big picture.”
“One must see the big picture, but shouldn’t ignore the details that go into making it.”
They watched in companionable silence until the last blush faded from the clouds and the sky darkened. Iris, clad in a short-sleeved silk T-shirt her aunt had created, ivory with a pale pink peony on it, wrapped her arms around herself.
“You’re cold,” he said. “Let’s go inside.”
“I could get a sweater if you want to stay out.”
“No, let’s go in.” He took her arm, touching her for the first time that night, guiding her toward the door and sending heat rushing through her.
Once inside, she shut the doors but didn’t draw the rice-paper blinds. From the dining table by the window, she and Julian could watch the lights of the village and harbor.
“Your apartment’s like you,” he said.
“Like me?”
“Harmonious, elegant, relaxing.”
“Oh!” Flustered, she said, “I’m hardly elegant. If the condo is, then that’s due to Aunt Lily. She owned most of the furniture already. I’ve added only a few things.”
“You and your aunt live together?” He followed as she walked to the kitchen, where she set the oven to broil. Seating himself on a stool at the island, he asked in a neutral tone, “Will she join us for dinner?”
Iris felt a moment’s disconnect. JUNO-winner Julian Blake was sitting at her kitchen island, his shaggy hair golden under the track lighting, his skin burnished from sunshine, his body lean and masculine in charcoal and black. Did he only ever wear dark colors? If so, was it his professional image or for some personal reason?
Remembering his question, she said, “No, I would never spring something like that on you.” She took the filleted salmon from the bowl where it had been marinating, and put it under the broiler. “On Wednesdays, Aunt Lily has an early dinner with a couple of friends, and then they teach a mixed media art course.” Iris took the wine from the fridge and handed it to Julian, along with a corkscrew and two glasses.
Working the corkscrew, he said, “Your aunt’s an artist?”
“Fabric art.” She whisked the dressing she’d made earlier.
“Your blouse,” he guessed, putting a glass of wine beside her on the counter as she tossed the dressing onto the cabbage-fruit-nut salad she’d prepared earlier. “The scarf you were wearing in the store.”
“Yes. Wall hangings and pillows, too. She takes private orders and also sells some of her things at Island Treasures in the village.”
“Her work is beautiful.”
“I agree.” She raised her glass. “To a pleasant evening.”
His lips twisted, a wry smile that gentled. He touched his glass to hers. “I’ll definitely drink to that. And to you, for yet again providing me with exactly what I need.”
She read a deeper meaning to his words, and sensed he’d prefer she not ask. “I’m very happy to be with you.” Her lashes fluttered down as she reflected that those words, too, had a deeper truth she’d rather not reveal. Julian must have spent hundreds of evenings with women, but for her tonight was rare and special. A memory to treasure over the years.
Those dazzling blue eyes of his could be amazingly soft sometimes, as they were now when he gazed at her. “How about you, Iris? I think you have an artistic side, too.”
“Me? Oh no, sadly not.” A sip of wine made her smile approvingly. “Mm, this is good. Thank you for bringing it. But no, I’m afraid I have no particular talent. I content myself with thinking that the creators like you and my aunt need an appreciative audience. I can certainly fill that role.” It was her belief that the gift she’d been given was one of love: to be a generous, loving, loyal friend, wife, and mother. But that was too private a thought to share.
“An appreciative audience is a wonderful thing. When I’m onstage and things click between the band and the audience, there’s an amazing energy.”
“I felt it when I saw you in May.” She opened the oven and brushed marinade on the salmon, figuring it needed only a couple more minutes.
“You left right after the performance.”
“You noticed that?” He really had noticed her?
“I did. That was due to your shyness?”
“In part.” She spooned a mixture of grains from the rice cooker into a bowl with a cover, a lovely piece from an island potter. “During your sets, I was caught up in the music. After, I wanted to go home and”—fantasize about you—“let the music play over in my head.”
“Miranda stayed, though. Did she mention that we met?” An odd note in his voice made her glance up from her task. He gazed at her intently, as if her answer mattered.
“No.” Which was strange, after she and her friend had spent so much time gushing over Julian and his music. She put the bowl of rice on the island, beside the salad and two plates.
“It was when she and Luke had broken up, but it was obvious she still cared for him.”
“Oh, yes. She was very unhappy. She and Luke weren’t communicating well.” Iris took the salmon from the oven and transferred it to a platter.
“I realized that when I talked to him the next day. I’m glad they sorted things out. Luke’s a good guy. It shattered him when Candace died.” He cleared his throat. “I should’ve been more supportive. But we’d never been all that close.”
“That’s a pity. I always wished I had a sibling. I envy my dad and Aunt Lily their relationship. When I have children, I want more than one.”
“I bet you’ll make a great mother.”
“I will do my very best.”
“Don’t be too much of a perfectionist,” he teased. “One thing I’ve seen with Luke and his twins is that kids are messy and parenting’s an imperfect art form.”
She would love to have her ordered life disrupted by children. “Wise advice. Now, dinner is ready. Please, help yourself.”
He slid off the bar stool and topped up their wineglasses. “Everything looks delicious. And beautiful. The food itself, the serving dishes. Don’t deny being an artist, Iris.”
Feeling herself flush, she said, “It’s just dinner.”
“That’s like saying that blouse your aunt made is just a T-shirt.” He served himself.
She followed behind, and then they took their plates and glasses to the living room. She had set the table with woven place mats, sage-colored linen napkins, and a tiny crackle-glazed vase holding a sprig of deep red leaves from the Japanese maple on the deck. “Sit down while I put on some music.” Earlier, she had debated what to play for a talented musician, and had selected several of her grandmother’s albums. If the first didn’t suit his taste, she’d try another.
Now, as she put a record on the turntable, Julian said, “Vinyl?”
“Grandmother Rose adored music and had over two hundred albums. Everything from the Beatles to Cleo Laine to Pete Seeger, Ricky Nelson, and this.” Band music began to play, the kind that made Iris imagine a dark, smoky club with men and women in old-fashioned evening dress swaying on the dance floor. A woman sang that she was traveling light.
“Billie Holiday,” Julian said.
“Yes. Is that alright?”
“A smoky, sultry female voice singing the blues? You bet.”
Relieved, Iris took her seat. “I grew up listening to music with my grandmother.”
“I’d love to look through her collection. When I was a kid, Forbes never had a lot of money, but there was always enough for food, shelter, and music. He had eclectic taste, too.”
“She heard some of your songs, you know. She said you had an old soul.”
“I’m flattered.”
Iris waited anxiously as he tasted each dish. Then he grinned. “It doesn’t just look pretty, it tastes terrific. I know there’s soy sauce in the salmon marinade and the salad dressing, but what else?”
“Soy, sesame oil, balsamic vinegar, honey, and ginger. The vinegar and honey are local.”
“And what’s the rice pilaf? I’ve never had anything like this before. Are there nuts in it?”
“No. It’s a blend of white rice, brown, wild, and quinoa.” Suddenly remembering something, she said, “Oh, would you like butter? I forgot to put it out.”
“No, it’s great as it is. I love the combination of stuff in the salad, too. The only cabbage salad I’ve ever had is coleslaw. I like the Asian tang, and the cranberries, cilantro, sesame seeds, and other things you’ve put in there.”
“Thank you. Do you have a favorite kind of food? I imagine you eat out a lot, especially on tour.”
“Oh, yeah. Too many fast-food hamburgers and delivery pizzas, but some good meals as well. Everything you can imagine, from sushi to steak to Indian and Mexican food. I like them all. Greek’s a favorite. And Italian. Sonia cooks damned fine Italian food, courtesy of a bunch of old family recipes and her own experimenting.” He sipped wine and smiled. “She collects recipes. I’ve never been into cooking, but I’ve taken over doing it on weekdays. There’s pleasure in that, isn’t there? Putting together a meal and having folks sit down and enjoy it.”
“There is.” Her vivid imagination had her coming home from work to a meal prepared by Julian. That would be almost as incredible as having him play music for her. “You brought your guitar. Will you play something after dinner?”
“Sing for my supper?”
Her cheeks immediately burned, and she pressed her hands to them. “No, of course not. I’m so sorry, that’s not what I meant. You should never feel obliged to play for me.”
* * *
Julian felt a little guilty for flustering Iris, but she was adorable when she blushed. Actually, she was just adorable, period. “Iris, relax. I was teasing.”
“Oh. Really?”
Sometimes she was so articulate and so perceptive, yet other times her shyness inhibited her—particularly when it came to male-female stuff. Since he’d met her, he had wondered how experienced she was when it came to men. After a few more bites of the delicious meal, he hadn’t come up with a subtle way of asking, so he just said it. “Do you date much?”
Her eyes widened, then she lowered her gaze. Her hair was loose today, so those black wings slid forward to frame her oval face. “No,” she said quietly, breaking off a bite of salmon but not raising her fork.
She was beautiful, smart, and sensitive, a highly desirable woman. Gently, he said, “Either you’re really picky, or your shyness gets in the way.”
She nodded. “I’m awkward with men.”
“Maybe a little, but not so much when you get to know the guy.” When she raised her head, eyebrows arched, he said, “At least that’s how it seems with you and me.”
“Yes, but that’s rare. You’re patient and kind, and for some reason I feel comfortable with you.”
“I’m glad. I feel comfortable with you, too, on a level I don’t with most other people.”
Her lips curved and her eyes glowed. She moistened her lips with the delicate pink tip of her tongue, an innocent yet sensual action that sent arousal thrumming through him. “You give me hope,” she said softly. “You see, I’ve always believed that when the right man comes into my life, he’ll value all aspects of my personality including my shyness.”
The right man? Did she think—
“No!” she said quickly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that I thought you were that man. I know we’re just friends. But you see me, strengths and flaws, and you accept me.”
Relieved that she wasn’t hoping for things from him that he was incapable of giving, he said, “I accept and value you. Never settle for anything less than that, Iris.”
“I won’t. Besides, that’s how it’s worked before.”
“You mean with past boyfriends?” The idea of Iris sharing her gentle, sensitive soul with other guys gave him an odd pang of jealousy.
“No, I mean that’s how it worked for my father and grandfather.” Her brow furrowed. “Not for Aunt Lily yet, but I still hope she’ll find someone to love and share her life with. Maybe next spring, when we go to Japan.”
“You’re planning a trip? Have you been before?”
“Yes, she and I plan to go. And no, I’ve never been. My aunt has, once. Mom’s parents have come here, and my family’s in touch with the family in Japan. It will be nice to see them in person, and see the country. But it will also be stressful for Aunt Lily and me.”
He remembered her saying that shyness was part of her heritage, that her aunt, father, and grandfather all shared the trait. Intrigued, he leaned forward. “How did your father and grandfather meet their wives?”
Her smile told him he’d hit on a subject she was happy to talk about. “Good things can come out of terrible situations. In the Tashme internment camp, my grandfather Harry wasn’t outgoing enough to make friends, but then a Japanese-Canadian girl, Akahana, befriended him. They became inseparable, and as they grew older they fell in love. But after the war, Akahana’s family was deported to Japan. The two teenagers wrote, keeping in touch for ten whole years.”
Her brown eyes glowed, the romantic in her clearly loving this story. “Her family wanted her to marry a man in Japan, but she refused, saying her heart belonged to Harry. In the mid–nineteen fifties, when Grandfather Harry was twenty-five, he went to Japan. Meeting again, their love was even stronger. Her parents accepted him, and they married and she came back with him. Akahana means red rose. Wanting to fit in, my grandmother anglicized her name to Rose.”
Julian shook his head in wonder as his muse seized on an inspiration for a song. “When I hear stories about a love that survives against horrendous odds, it’s hard to believe them. But I wonder if sometimes hardship can make people persist when otherwise they wouldn’t.”
“You mean that if my grandparents had been typical kids who went to high school together and fell in love then, their love might not have lasted?”
“Well, teen love often doesn’t, right?”
“I think if it’s true love, not merely a crush, it will last. I didn’t know Luke and Candace well, but when I saw them together I sensed that even though they were each other’s first love, their love was true and would have lasted forever. Don’t you think so?”
He felt crappy having to admit, “I’m afraid I didn’t know them that well either.” Rather than discuss his failings as a stepbrother, he said, “Tell me how your shy dad met your mom.”
Her eyes twinkled. “It was facilitated by family. Dad almost never dated, and when he was twenty-five, my grandparents said that he and Aunt Lily, who’s three years younger, should visit Japan. The Yakimuras are loyal Canadians, but every generation has stressed the importance of our historic and cultural roots. So Dad and Aunt Lily were sent on a tour of Japan, staying with relatives and friends of the family. Dad was introduced to several hand-picked Japanese women, including my outgoing mom. Despite, or perhaps because, of their differences in personality, they fell for each other.”
Was this what Iris’s parents had in mind for her? Julian tried to be generous enough to hope that it worked out, and Iris found the love she longed for. “Your parents married in Japan?”
“No, he came home, but they wrote and made long-distance phone calls. Mom came to visit Destiny and to meet Dad’s parents. Everybody got along, Mom loved the island and Dreamspinner, and Mom and Dad got married.”
“Your aunt didn’t meet a Japanese man and fall in love?”
“No, unfortunately. She was introduced to several eligible ones, but nothing clicked. I’ve always wondered if she should have gone again, when she was twenty-five. Not that I believe in magic numbers or anything, but I have to wonder.”
“How old are you?”
“I turn twenty-five at the end of this year.”
“Are you going to Japan to meet a man?”
Her long lashes fluttered down and she said quietly, “I’m open to that possibility.”
“If it happened, would you move to Japan?”
“No.” She gave her head a quick shake. “I can’t imagine that. If the man was the right one, I believe he would want to move to Destiny and build his life here, with me. As happened with my mother and grandmother.”
She was a romantic, alright. But who was he to judge? Of course he wanted Iris to find the love she deserved, and that person wasn’t him, couldn’t be someone as broken and flawed as him. He focused on another aspect of her stories. “Does your family really want to, uh, stay Japanese? I mean, not marry someone of another race?”
“No, but none of us ever seems to meet anyone here in Canada.”
“I guess there aren’t many eligible men on this tiny island. Unless you count tourists, and they’re probably not the greatest prospects.”
“Some visitors do fall in love with locals and move here, as Forbes did. And Aaron’s wife, Eden. And it’s not like I’ve never left the island. I got a B.A. at the University of Victoria.”
“Really? You weren’t anxious about going away to school?”
They’d been eating as they talked, and now she put down her fork and sipped wine. “Oh yes. But my family’s big on education and they were persuasive.”
“What did you study? Philosophy?” She was such a deep, thoughtful person.
“Yes, and also English lit, French, linguistics, psychology, sociology, whatever interested me. Dad has a degree in library science, Mom’s is in accounting, and Aunt Lily’s is in business admin. They taught me everything about running the store, from when I was a kid, so it seemed silly for me to get one of those degrees.”
“Did you enjoy university?”
“My classes were interesting but I was uncomfortable being around all those strangers. Thank heavens my longtime best friend was my roommate.” She wrinkled her nose. “My only friend, actually. Doesn’t that sound pathetic?”
“Well, it’s more than I had.”
“Really? How awful, Julian.”
“When I was little, Forbes and I were mobile, traveling for gigs, moving to different apartments when his finances got better or worse. I changed schools, missed school when we went on the road. But we were a team and I hung out with his musician friends, so it was cool. Then we moved here and—” He hunted for semi-accurate words. “Forbes had Sonia, Luke had Candace, and by then I was pretty much a loner.” He had remained one.
“I value my alone time,” Iris said thoughtfully, “but I also value people. I’ve never had many friends, but they matter a great deal to me. Like Miranda and Eden now, and Shelley back in school.” Her eyes twinkled. “We were two odd ducks, Shelley and me.”
Odd ducks. Iris occasionally used an unusual, but charming, expression. “How so?”
“I was skinny as a reed, tall for my age, and of course looked Japanese. Shelley was short and plump, with frizzy red hair and freckles. I was the academic, reflective type and she was into movie stars and so on. But she was shy, too. We were the kids who never got invited to join others for lunch.”
“The other kids teased you?”
“A little. Not bullying, though. Destiny Islanders pride ourselves on our diversity and we don’t try to mold everyone into the same shape. But kids will be kids. If Shelley or I had had the spine to stand up to the teasing, we’d probably have been okay. Instead, we just hung out together as BFFs and pretended we didn’t care that we were social outcasts.”
“Are you still good friends?”
“Only via email and Facebook. She kind of deserted me, our last year at UVic.” She grinned. “By which I mean she found her happily ever after. She met this great guy— the first guy she ever dated, but he was wonderful—and suddenly she was spending every free moment with him. They got married right after they graduated, and now they live in Kelowna and have a baby and a golden retriever.” She gave a firm nod. “More support for my belief that there’s a man out there who’ll find me special.”
“Iris, you are special. Any man would be damned lucky to have you in his life.” The words flew out before he thought them through. What he did register was her expression, the sudden gleam of light, of hope, in her bottomless eyes. Oh damn, did she think he meant that he was romantically interested in her?
Damn again. He was. He wanted her. More than he could remember ever wanting anyone. But it was wrong. He reached across the table and captured her hands. “I wish that man could be me, but it can’t.”
She shook her head quickly, midnight waves rippling around her face. “No, of course not. I never thought you’d be attracted to me, not as anything more than a friend.”
“Iris.” He gripped her hands, needing to make her understand. “I am attracted to you. Really, really attracted, but—”
“Seriously? You are?” There was that glint of hope again.
“I am. But, Iris, it could never work between us.”
Her eyes darkened, the glint dying, which plucked heartstrings he was usually only aware of when he composed and sang. “No, of course it couldn’t,” she said. “You’re a celebrity and I’m plain old me. You’re—”
“You’re the opposite of plain. You’re lovely. I could gaze at you forever. You turn me on, but you also bring peace to my soul.” His muse registered the words and filed them away.
“That’s . . .” She did one of those head-duck things.
He let go of one of her hands and reached across to raise her chin. Even then, her gaze slipped downward rather than meeting his. He waited until finally her eyes lifted.
“That’s the truth,” he said. “But it’s also the truth that even if you might be a little bit attracted to me, really you’re looking for a different kind of man.” A decent one. “One who’ll fit into your life on Destiny. I’m right, aren’t I?”
She nodded slowly. “I can’t imagine living anywhere else, much less being part of the life you live. Travel, performances, the media, interacting with different people all the time.”
“Things that are necessary for my career.” He released her chin and her hand, and sat back in his chair. “I do enjoy performing, with the right audience. It’s a high like nothing else. Travel has pros and cons; exploring new places is stimulating. The media, well, that’s not my favorite part of the job. Interacting with different people can be fun or not so great, but it’s often a source of song ideas.”
Listening to him, she nodded but didn’t speak.
“You’d rather I was just a songwriter,” he said. “A guy who hangs out at home writing music and never has to go away.”
Her gentle features morphed into something fierce. “No, Julian. I’d never want you to be different from who you are. Of course you must perform. You have a gift to share. The travel and media and all of those things are part of the package, to bring that gift to the world.”
“So, I like you just the way you are, and you like me just the way I am, but our two ways are incompatible. Not to mention, I don’t buy into that romantic dream of yours. I don’t see myself ever getting married and having kids.” Julian’s brain conjured an image of Luke, Miranda, and their three children, and his heart throbbed in a bass note of regret. Even if he’d been capable of trust and love, he didn’t deserve a future like that.
“I’m so glad you like me. But yes, what you say is true. It’s important to know one’s own nature and respect it.”
“As the Tao book says.” Reading that, Julian had reflected on his own inner nature. It consisted of opposites: a creator who brought value to the world and a coward whose failure to report Jelinek had quite probably resulted in the abuse of other boys. Julian hated the dark side, but he’d accepted his brokenness, his guilt, and learned to live with it. Thanks to the old lady in Vancouver who’d changed his life when he was fifteen, he also saw his positive side. That gave him a reason, day by day, to carry on. “If your inner nature has imperfections, do you respect those, too?” No way could he ever do that.
“I think you must. No one is perfect, Julian.”
“That’s the truth,” he said bitterly. But he appreciated the effort she put into trying to help him. “You’re a good friend, Iris.”
“I’m very happy to be your friend.” When she spoke again, her voice was so soft he barely heard it. “I wish . . . there could be something more.”
A hot rush of arousal washed away all thoughts of his flawed inner nature. “So do I,” he said fervently. “But I respect you. You’re not the kind of girl who hangs around after shows, wanting to hook up with a celebrity.” He didn’t want to insult her, so proceeded cautiously. “It sounds like you’re not, uh, very experienced.”
She nodded. “I’ve dated one man. Six whole dates. We kissed and fooled around a little, but it was clear to both of us that it wasn’t working.”
He swallowed. It had occurred to him, from her bashful manner and serious nature, that she might be a virgin. “So you’ve never . . .” Used to being with women who engaged in sex as casually as in a coffee date, he now found himself searching for a delicate way of phrasing his question. “Never been with a man?”
Her lips quirked. “What a delightfully old-fashioned phrase. No, Julian, I’ve never had sex. I’m a virgin. I don’t find that fact the least bit embarrassing.”
“Nor should you,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean to imply—”
Her laugh tinkled like a delicate wind-chime. “It’s alright. I know I’m an anomaly, but who wants to come from a cookie-cutter mold?”
“No one would ever accuse you of that. You’re unique and fascinating.”
The woman who had no trouble admitting to being a virgin now ducked her head and whispered, “Thank you.”
“So”—he returned to his original train of thought—“you’re a virgin. And you have that big romantic dream.” A dream that no doubt included losing her virginity to the love of her life, in some deeply emotional, hearts-and-flowers scene. “A dream that I’m sure one day will come true. But you know I’m not the man for that dream.”
Her gaze was on his face again. “I do know. Julian, I may have a romantic dream, but I’m also an intelligent, realistic woman. I have no foolish illusions about our relationship.”
Reassured, yet for some inexplicable reason a little disappointed, too, he said, “Good.”
“So, given that, I wonder if we might, well . . .” She swallowed and her cheeks took on a pink tinge. “Take things slowly, but, well, let our relationship evolve in ways other than just, um, verbal communication?” Now her cheeks were rosy.
His body heated again. “You mean in physical ways? Intimate ways?” Just how far, moving slowly, might she want things to evolve? There were many, many things a couple could do, short of actual intercourse.
She pressed her hands to her cheeks. “I feel so forward, even thinking this, much less suggesting it.”
“Are you really such an old-fashioned woman?”
“No!” Her hands dropped and her eyes sparked. “I’m a feminist. Yes, I believe in respecting my elders, obeying the law, and treating people with politeness, but those aren’t old-fashioned values. They’re solid ones. I also believe in equal rights for everyone and I don’t think it should always be up to the man to initiate a relationship.”
Her uncharacteristic tirade made him grin. “Good.”
“It’s not being old-fashioned,” she insisted, “it’s my intrinsic shyness. Something that I’m overcoming quite a lot, with you. You’re good for me, Julian.”
He was flattered. Honored, to use one of Iris’s words. “You’re good for me, too. And yes, I would love to . . .” She had invited him to move past words to action, so he stopped talking and captured her hand. He explored it with his own, sliding his bigger fingers between her slim ones, running guitar-callused fingertips across her palm, circling her fine-boned wrist and coming to rest there, where he couldn’t tell if it was her pulse or his own that vibrated prestissimo—almost as fast as a hummingbird’s wings.
Still holding her hand, he rose and came around the tiny table to draw her to her feet. He took her other hand, held both sets of clasped hands down at their sides, and stepped toward her.
She gazed up at him, her brown eyes alive with curiosity and heat.