“He kissed you? That’s it?”
Cat added creamer to her coffee and swirled the little stick.
“Yup. That’s it.”
“Hmm. You going to see him again?”
“I doubt it. He’s a nice guy, for the most part.” She shifted on the chair, casting a longing glance toward their usual booth. A college couple had taken it before Cat and Eliza could sit down, and were busy making moony eyes at each other. She and Eliza had had to settle for a smaller table near the far wall.
“But?”
“You mean I need more than those freaky coincidences? Wouldn’t those make you run?”
Eliza arched an eyebrow.
“Okay, fine. At times he seemed interested, but he often paid more attention to the people around us than to me. Not a good sign on a first date. And, in truth, I don’t think we have much in common. Most of his friends seem to be the same ones he had in high school.”
Most of her high school friends had drifted away over the years. Not that that surprised her; Cat was such a different person than she’d been then. In some ways, at least. She was more confident, less insecure. Happier in herself.
She frowned. Or at least she had been. Good Lord, had her ex-fiancé really stolen so much of her six years ago? She wanted it back, that spunk she’d found in her twenties. The loss of her father had put a huge dent in it, to be sure. Ryan’s betrayal had destroyed it. Anger flared in her briefly, but she doused it as she turned back to the conversation with Eliza.
“It’s clear he was part of the popular crowd, a social circle in which I certainly never ran. And he didn’t go to college.” Cat snorted to herself in disgust. “Listen to me, to how elitist I sound. I can go out with someone who didn’t go to college, right?”
“Sure,” Eliza enthused. “At least for a fling.”
Cat sipped her coffee before answering her friend. “I have to admit it felt wonderful to be desired again. To feel desire again. And, well, a fling—or something—does sound appealing. Lord knows it’s been long enough.” She cast a sly glance at Eliza. “For a minute there I actually considered inviting him up.”
Something crashed onto the floor with a loud thump, startling them out of their conversation. Cat turned toward the noise and saw someone at the table next to theirs leaning down to pick up a book that had fallen. It was the man from the previous week, the laptop guy. Today, no laptop was in sight. No girlfriend, either: just a mug of steaming tea and the book. Cat sneaked a peek at its cover.
“That’s a fantastic book,” she commented, hoping he hadn’t been able to hear her previous conversation. She didn’t like the idea of anyone hearing details of her sex life. Well, potential sex life, anyway.
“Is it? I started it this morning,” came a deep voice in reply. He ran his fingers over the cover. “It was a gift from my parents. They delight in sending me anything related to Benjamin Franklin.”
“Really? Why?”
A sheepish expression crossed his face. “Because they named me after him. My parents are obsessed with colonial America. My mom’s a proud member of the D.A.R., and claims a number of our ancestors served during the Revolutionary War.”
Cat grinned. “Do you have a brother named Jefferson?”
“No.” His lips thinned, and his eyes squeezed shut for a moment. “He was George Washington, actually.”
Recognizing that all-too-familiar look of loss, Cat impulsively reached over and rubbed his hand to soothe him. When his eyes dropped to her fingers, she pulled them away. What had come over her, touching a stranger like that?
“Sorry,” she said. “The look on your face reminded me of how I felt when I lost my dad.”
He gave her a brisk nod. He looked as if he were going to say something else, but didn’t. His eyes remained fixed on hers, however. Brown, Cat noted absentmindedly. His eyes were a milk-chocolaty brown.
“It’s been ten years,” she said. “I still miss him every day.”
He paused a moment before admitting, “Wash passed away last year. I miss him, too. Terribly.” He exhaled, as if releasing the painful memory. A smile curled the corner of his lips. “My sister didn’t escape the name game, either,” he said, changing the subject. “She’s Martha. After Jefferson’s wife.”
“Are you serious?” Cat laughed openly now. “You poor guys. Those names are a lot to live up to.” She fingered the rim of her coffee cup as she observed him. Was that a hint of a dimple when he smiled?
His eyes twinkled. “Believe me, I know. People always expect me to be out flying kites.”
Eliza broke in with a sideways glance at Cat. “Hi. I’m Eliza James, and this is Catherine Schreiber. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Ben Cooper. Or should I say Benjamin Franklin Cooper?” he added with a wink toward Cat. “Nice to meet you, as well. Sorry about the book. I didn’t mean to interrupt your ... conversation.”
Cat peeked at him curiously, noting his brief hesitation before that last word. Was that a pinkish tinge infusing his cheeks? Oh, good Lord. He had been listening. Her own cheeks burning, she said, “Not a problem. It wasn’t anything serious.”
Why was she embarrassed that he’d overheard her talking about Derrick? It wasn’t like anything had happened. Or like a stranger’s opinion should matter. Although since they’d now been introduced, she guessed Ben Cooper wasn’t exactly a stranger anymore.
She smoothed her hair back from her face, casting a quick glance at Eliza, whose lips were pursed in amusement as she raised an eyebrow at Cat.
What?
She looked back at Ben. He was still watching her, his eyes open and friendly. Suddenly flustered, her gaze dropped to his lips, then his chin, lingering on the cleft there.
What was wrong with her? She’d gone from ignoring men to being thrown off-kilter by two of them, all in the space of a week. And this one was not available, whether or not she wanted him to be.
Did she want him to be? Augh.
Dipping her eyes, she took a quick sip of her coffee, relishing its sweet-yet-bitter taste. Away. She had to get away from this Mr. Cooper and his strange effect on her.
“We should get back to the bookstore now, right, Eliza?”
“The Treasure Trove?” He gestured out the window at the house across the street. “How long have you worked there?”
“I own it,” Cat replied, a sharp edge to her voice. Eliza stared at her, surprise at Cat’s tone written all over her face. Cat didn’t know why she was so testy, either. She just knew she needed space from Ben Cooper and his chocolate eyes; space from everyone.
Ben didn’t seem to notice. “Oh, that’s wonderful. I like the pirate sign.”
“That’s great,” she replied in her business voice, standing up to signal to Eliza she was ready to go.
He stood up, as well. “I’ve got to go, too. I’m meeting someone shortly.”
Cat’s thoughts flew to the woman she’d seen with him before, and she bit the inside of her cheek. Was he meeting her? She squared her shoulders, chiding herself. What did she care if he were meeting someone? She didn’t.
“Pleasure meeting you, Ben,” Eliza said quickly.
“You, too,” he answered as they walked out the door.
“What was up with that, Cat? And why are you walking so fast?” Eliza said, running a few steps to keep up with her friend, who was stalking across the street.
Cat slowed when she reached the other side. “I don’t know.” She blew out a breath. She didn’t want to admit she envied Ben’s companion the tiniest bit. Because that made no sense. “I guess I was embarrassed he’d heard me talking about sex. And it annoyed me that he assumed I just work here.”
“Like me?” Eliza tipped her head to the side.
“No, no. This is a part-time job to you, Lizzie. You’re a grad student and you’re going to be—”
“I was kidding,” Eliza interjected. “I know what you meant. And I know what I am. I don’t mind ‘just working here,’ as you put it. For now.”
Cat fumbled in her purse for the keys as they climbed the steps. Unlocking the door, she said, “You’re far from ‘just’ anything, Eliza. You’re amazing. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Nor I you. But hopefully someday we’ll find out.”
Cat whipped her head back around. “What?”
“You know I love you, Cat. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had and, now, my only family. But I do want to get married again. To have a family of my own.”
Holding the door while Eliza walked through, all Cat could do by way of answering was nod. What would she do without her best friend?
They’d met six years ago, less than a month after her wedding fiasco, when Eliza had come in looking for a particular Jane Austen biography for her senior thesis. They’d had such fun chatting about Darcy, Cat teasing her that Eliza’s last name ought to be Bennet instead of James, that they’d gone across the street for lunch, arguing over coffee and cake about what it would have really been like to live in nineteenth-century England.
Eliza had spoken longingly about riding in carriages, walking through beautiful gardens, and the fashions women wore. Cat had countered with reminders of no running toilets, no central heat, and no clue how women dealt with their periods, but it couldn’t have been as convenient or pleasant as modern tampons.
Eliza had laughed, calling Cat a pessimist without a romantic bone in her body. Cat had retorted that Eliza’s head was in the clouds, and then, to her own surprise, had told Eliza about Ryan. Eliza had shared about Greg. The two bonded instantly, and had continued their almost-daily coffee tradition ever since.
Five years ago, after Eliza’s parents died in a horrific automobile accident, Eliza had moved in with Cat. She’d needed the support. So had Cat, who secretly hoped Eliza would stay with her forever.
“I can’t lose you, Eliza!” Cat said in a half-joking, half-panicked voice as they crossed through the store.
Eliza tucked her bag behind the register desk and glanced at herself in the wall mirror, smoothing her hair down and lifting her chin to make it appear firmer. “Oh, silly, you’ll always be my best friend. But I still believe, still have to believe, that the right guy is out there waiting for me. The next right guy after Greg, at least.”
“You’re such a romantic, Eliza. You need to stop reading all those romance novels.”
“Says the woman who writes them.”
Cat huffed. “I don’t write smut! Those were silly scribblings from fifteen years ago.”
“Methinks thou doth protest too much. And no, I don’t need to stop reading them. They’re what keep my hope alive, that someday my duke will come.”
“Then I hope for that, too. But not too soon, please.” Eliza raised an eyebrow.
Cat squeezed her close. “Because knowing me, I’d end up dueling him for your affections. And I’m no good with a pistol.”
Later that morning, Cat was walking back to her desk when she heard a soft, low voice. “You’ve got a wonderful poetry section here.”
Startled, Cat turned to her right, where the poetry books were shelved. A tall, lean man with dark, charmingly disheveled hair stood leafing through a book.
“Thank you,” she said. “My mother is a poetry fan and enjoys adding to our collection. Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?”
He glanced up from the book. His face rendered her mute—here was a beautiful man. He had chiseled cheek-bones, the kind you only saw on models, with full lips and stunning blue eyes. Cerulean, or maybe azure. Definitely something beyond simple blue. Only the slight crookedness of his nose saved him from Greek god status. The stubble gracing his face and the casualness of his hair suggested he didn’t much worry about his appearance, though. She guessed him to be somewhere in his twenties.
“Your mother has good taste. Listen to this.”
He began to read, but Cat wasn’t really listening. She watched his lips move and wondered what it would be like to touch them. She marveled at the beauty of his features and the melodic tone of his voice. God, she wanted to listen to him all day. Or kiss him. But if I kiss him, he’ll stop talking. She tried to tune back into the words, but everything in her remained focused on those magnificent lips.
He stopped. “Isn’t that awe-inspiring?” His face lit up as he talked.
His voice hypnotized her, lulling her as if by some secret spell. She attempted to focus on what he’d read, something about having no fear. She locked eyes with the mysterious stranger. “It’s wonderful,” she mumbled. “Who wrote it?”
“W.S. Merwin.” At her blank expression, he added, “Former poet laureate of the United States. It’s called A Contemporary. I’ve loved that poem for years.” He looked back at the book, flipping pages as if searching for a specific piece. Cat struggled to think of something more intelligent to say, as her pulse raced and her nostrils flared at the clean, delicious scent of him.
What was wrong with her? A week ago she’d insisted to Eliza that she wasn’t the least bit interested in a man, and here she was, having gone out on a date with one—although said date turned out to be a bust—and now fantasizing over another, thinking thoughts that reminded her of the smutty story Eliza had found. She hadn’t paid attention to men for six years; what had her reacting to two in such a short time period?
Make that three. You can’t deny Ben Cooper caught your attention, too.
The door opened and an older couple walked through. At the sound of their voices, the man looked up and then checked his watch.
“Oh, I’m late.” He gave her a wolfish grin. “Gotta scoot.” Tucking the book back onto the bookshelf, he winked and sauntered out the door.
Cat stood there, breathing slowly to calm her flaming senses. Anyone would react to that man, right? Right? That mouth. She’d wanted to touch it, to feel those lips on hers. Goose bumps prickled her skin.
She didn’t understand what was happening to her, why she was suddenly so aware of men, when before she’d managed to convince herself they were just part of the scenery. No doubt her sister would say it was her biological clock, tick, tick, ticking away.
Cat wasn’t so sure. Maybe it was her stories, the ones Eliza had unearthed from that box. She had written them, after all. Perhaps reading them again had sparked something within her, made her realize that at one point, at least, she’d been very, ahem, interested in men and sex. And love.
She glanced around the store, noting the couple bent over a book together, their heads nearly touching. The woman was chatting excitedly about something in the book, her finger pointing at it. The man gave her a quick kiss on the forehead.
He looked up, noticing Cat watching them. He tipped his head in greeting, and Cat could see his brown eyes sparkling. “Still the love of my life,” he said, as his wife tittered beside him.
Cat smiled in return, but it was forced. A wave of loneliness engulfed her. Would someone love her like that when she was their age?
Chocolate brown eyes swam before her.
The next afternoon, Cat handed Eliza a stack of fluorescent-colored papers. “Help me hang these up, will you? We’ll put a few here in the store. I was hoping you could also tack them up around your department and the university libraries. The coffee shop, too.”
Eliza took the papers and skimmed the top one. “Poetry Night. Sounds fun. I bet we’ll get all sorts of interesting types in here. Some people will use any excuse to get up in front of a mic.”
“Yeah, well, we’ll see. I got the idea from my mystery poetry guy. I thought maybe it’d help pull in the college crowd.”
“Oh, yeah, Mr. Merwin.”
“Not Mr. Merwin, silly. He read me Merwin.”
Eliza studied her. “Are you hoping he’ll come?”
“You’d be hoping he’d come, too, if you’d seen him, Lizzie. He is that good-looking.”
Cat moved over to the table, setting a Poetry Night table topper at its center. The door opened and a man walked through. Cat glanced at him briefly, and then her eyes flew back to him in shock. It was the poetry guy, the man about whom she and Eliza had just been speaking. How was that possible? Her cheeks tingled, though she knew he hadn’t heard them.
“Hello, again.” He addressed Cat, coming to stand before her.
“Hel-lo!” interrupted Eliza, eyeing her friend as she hurried over to them both.
The man turned toward Eliza. “Hi,” he said.
Cat was surprised when his gaze came right back to her. Usually men lingered on Eliza. “Do you have any works by Anne Haselhoff?” he asked her.
“Hrm. The name is not familiar. Is she a poet?”
“Yes. I’m considering including some of her works in my dissertation.”
“Dissertation? So you’re in the English department here, too? How have I not seen you before?” Eliza interjected. Cat regarded her friend with surprise, as if she’d forgotten Eliza was there.
“ ... Right.” Eliza held up the papers in her hands, giving Cat a knowing grin. “I’ll take these flyers on over to the library, then. It was nice meeting you...”
“Grayson.” He stuck his hand out in introduction.
Eliza shook it. “Right. Grayson.” Then, with a wink at Cat, she walked out the door.
Grayson turned back to Cat. “I should have introduced myself earlier. I’m Grayson Phillips. You can call me Gray.”
“Catherine Schreiber. Or, as most people call me, Cat. Nice to meet you. I could check the computer, but it’s probably faster to look this way.” She walked over to the rows of poetry books. “Haselhoff, Haselhoff,” she muttered as she ran her fingers along the book spines. “Hey, we do,” she noted with surprise. “My mom must have ordered it for us.”
“Great.” He pulled the volume off the shelf and started scanning through its pages. Cat stood there awkwardly, unsure whether to try to make more conversation as he immersed himself in the text.
After a moment he looked up at her and smiled. The force of his grin nearly made her heart skip a beat—a notion she’d only read about in books, and which she’d mocked Eliza about plenty of times in the past. But there was something about him. He was so ... intoxicating.
“Here, listen to this,” he murmured.
“‘An arm passes a leg in darkness.
I feel you move over me, slowly, carefully.
I brush your face and your stubble kisses my fingertips.
Your mouth descends onto mine in soft hello.
I move my hand across your back, feeling the muscles
turn as you dip to greet my stomach with your lips,
your beautiful lips.
Your hair whispers across my chest, telling me of love.
I am listening.’”
“That’s nice,” Cat mumbled lamely, not sure what to say. “I like ‘your mouth descending onto mine ...’”
Gray’s eyebrows went up and a slow, suggestive smirk spread across his face. Realizing what she had implied, Cat wanted to sink into the floor as her cheeks burned a Code Red. “I ... uh ... that’s not what I meant. Um ...”
“I know,” he said, still grinning. “But the imagery is striking, isn’t it?”
Cat wasn’t sure if he was referring to the poem, or to what she’d inadvertently said. She smiled weakly and turned to walk back to her desk. Anything to get away from the mixture of embarrassment and desire that was flooding through her veins.
“I’m researching various twentieth century female poets,” he continued as he followed her, once again the intellectual. “I’m writing about their takes on sexuality and feminism and how these views have evolved and changed in their works over the course of the last fifty to one hundred years—the kind of pre- and post-feminist movement view, as it were.”
“Really?” Cat asked, her voice echoing her surprise. “I wouldn’t think that topic would interest most men. The feminist part, at least.”
“What a sexist statement!” He chuckled as she nearly dropped the remaining flyers she still held in her hands. “Do you mean men can’t be interested in feminist thought? Or that men are only interested in sex?”
His eyes raked her as he waited for her answer.
Good Lord, when he looks at me like that, I feel as if he’s about to devour me. She folded her arms and the papers across her belly in a defensive position. “You really want me to answer that?”
“You just did,” he retorted. “But it’s fine. You’re certainly not the only one to think that. Any modern magazine would say the same.”
Cat relaxed a bit.
“I blame my mother,” he went on. “She was quite active in the feminist movement in the 1970s. She never thought she’d get married. Didn’t have me until she was in her forties. Said she was too old to have more, so I ended up an only child.”
He turned back to the book without seeming to want a response.
“Well, um, maybe you’d like to come to our first Poetry Night?” Cat thrust a flyer into his hands, wanting him to look at her again with those gorgeous azure-colored eyes.
He took the flyer and examined it. “Sure. It’s a date.”
“It is?” she said. “Oh, I mean, yes, we’re hoping to have lots of people there. It’d be great if you could read something.”
He grinned again, seeming to enjoy her discomfiture. His eyes dropped to her lips, and then rose back to her eyes. “It’s been a pleasure seeing you again, Cat. I’ll take this book. And I’ll see you next Tuesday.”