CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

I was still in bed Wednesday morning when my EarFone chimed, and Bram was on the other end. Despite the flirtatious interactions at the mansion, the dinners in Hawaii, we had never gotten in the habit of calling or texting on a regular basis. It was like we were still circling each other, figuring each other out, interacting only in person and then stepping away to take refuge in emotional distance.

So I was surprised to hear his voice on the phone. Surprised but pleased. “Hi,” he said. “I didn’t even get a chance to talk to you yesterday, what with one thing and another.”

I snuggled against my pillow to enjoy the conversation. “I noticed.”

“I’ve missed you,” he said. “I’ve been thinking about you.”

“I missed you, too,” I said. “Oh! And I never thanked you for the roses! They’re marvelous.”

“How was your birthday?”

“Nice. Dinner at my mom’s with some friends and relatives. A few trinkets and emails and phone calls. And roses.”

“I got a rose, too,” he said. “From someone. Very mysterious. Kind of pressed between some pieces of cardboard and smelling—huh. Now that I think about it, it kind of smelled like you.”

I giggled. “How did you find that poem? I can’t believe you just knew it off the top of your head.”

“It’s a poem? I thought it was a song.”

“It’s a song?”

He began singing in an exaggerated opera-star fashion. “‘Drink to me only wi-ith thine ey-eyes and I-I will pledge with mine . . .’ The bit about the roses is the second verse.”

“Huh. I did not know that it had ever been set to music. It’s a 17th-century poem by Ben Jonson.”

“Oh. Well, my mom used to sing it all the time.”

“How was your visit with your family?” I asked.

“Good. Laney seems happy. Her ex-husband has finally disappeared off the face of the earth and her oldest daughter’s about to enroll in college, and these were two miracles she never expected to witness, so she’s doing well. We stayed up till two in the morning talking Friday night. She wants to meet you.”

“She—so I guess you covered your personal life a little in this conversation.”

“Sure. Don’t you talk about me with your brother?”

“No, but he’s found out all about you anyway. He came over Saturday night to count the roses.”

Bram laughed. “I hope he was satisfied.”

“He seemed impressed.”

“Anyway, I wanted to check in on you and see how you were doing after yesterday.”

“Not great,” I admitted. “How about you?”

“Not great. Want to go out and talk about it? Tomorrow or Friday, maybe?”

“I can’t tomorrow,” I said regretfully. “I have a party in Atlanta.”

“Well, then—no, wait, I can’t Friday. Damn.”

“Saturday?”

“That seems so far away.”

I was sure he could hear the smile in my voice. “Well, I’m free tonight if you can be spontaneous.”

“Are you kidding? I’m the most spontaneous guy you ever met. Let’s do it!”

I think I might have squealed. “Let’s! This will be the highlight of my week. After the roses.”

“You just never know. There may be more roses where those came from.”

“I’ll have to be thinking of what I can give you in return,” I said.

He laughed, and I felt my whole face go red. That was not what I had meant. “I’m sure you’ll come up with something,” he said. “I’ll pick you up at six.”

*

By two, a chilly rain had moved in, and the weather forecast said it would last through midnight. I texted Bram. Kind of an ugly day to go out. If you just want to hang out here, I’ll cook dinner.

He responded in less than a minute. I was thinking along the same lines. Want me to bring a pizza?

Even better! I answered. I’ll make a salad.

Deal.

Of course, this meant I had to straighten the living room, scrub down the bathroom, and put away the seven pairs of shoes that littered the apartment. But I was humming with happiness as I did it.

At five, I laid out two outfits on the bed and tried to decide between them. A floaty sleeveless sundress or a pair of tan khakis and a soft, slouchy green shirt that flattered my face. I texted photos of each to Marika.

Bram’s bringing pizza over. What should I wear? I asked. Her first response was a string of exclamation points, her second said Call me the minute he leaves, and the third added Wear the dress. So I did.

Bram arrived exactly as the clock struck the hour. Rain had plastered his hair to his head and turned his navy shirt almost black, but he’d wrapped the pizza boxes in his jacket so our dinner was safe.

“ Two pizzas,” I said. “That seems ambitious.”

“Wouldn’t want you to go hungry.”

I’d set the table with the plates that weren’t chipped and the silverware that matched. I’d considered and rejected candles, which seemed to project romantic expectations, but set out a bottle of wine, which could go either way. I wasn’t nervous, exactly, but I was fluttery, a little off-balance, but in a good way. Bram seemed as rock-solid as ever.

“I’m actually starving,” I said.

“Me too.”

We talked easily over the meal, avoiding for the moment any conversation about Duncan Phillips and concentrating on happier topics. My birthday dinner, his visit with his sister, a few funny stories about episodes in our pasts. We only ate one of the pizzas, but we finished off the wine.

“I have another bottle,” I offered. “Or a beer, if you’d rather.”

He had sprawled back in his chair, looking as relaxed as I’d ever seen him. “Maybe one beer,” he said.

I fetched bottles for both of us. “So how’s Quentin?” I finally asked.

“Hard to say. He seems the same as always, but he doesn’t want to talk about what happened yesterday. And Bordeaux has stuck close to him all day, watching him every minute. So I think she’s a little worried about him, but when I had a chance to ask her, she said, ‘He’ll be fine.’” He shook his head. “So I don’t know.”

“I’ll be back on Friday. Maybe we can do something special. I don’t know what.”

“Everybody seemed to like the ice cream.”

“Maybe we could go back to the beach?”

“Not if it’s still raining.”

“Well, we’ll think of something.”

He gave me a serious look. “I’m a little worried about you coming back to the house, to be honest.”

No point in pretending I didn’t know what he was talking about. “Trust me, I will never again in my life be stupid enough to be alone in a room with Duncan Phillips.”

“I thought you had already learned that lesson.”

“I had, but Francis was right there—”

“I’m not sure Francis could have stopped him,” Bram said quietly. “I’m thinking maybe I need to be the one to meet you at the gate and escort you through every hallway.”

“It’s not like I’d mind having you around all the time, but it seems a little extreme.”

His expression was even more grim. “Under any other circumstances, I’d tell you not to come back. Not to risk yourself in what is clearly a dangerous environment. But my worry for you is just this much less than my concern for what would happen to Quentin if he never saw you again.” He held up a hand, his finger and thumb just a quarter inch apart. “So all I can do is try to keep you safe.”

I leaned forward and placed my hand on his wrist. “Bram. I’ll be careful. I won’t take a step from the gate unless you’re right beside me.”

“I was thinking,” he said. “I could teach you a few self-defense moves. Might be useful.”

“I suppose. Sure. Right now?”

He glanced around. “We can push the coffee table back—and get that butterfly statue out of the way—make a little room to move around.”

So we rearranged the furniture in the living room, and Bram carefully walked me through a few defensive strategies. The goal was not to disable my attacker, he said; the goal was to get away. Hit, kick, distract, do anything I could to get free, and then run like hell. A purse could be a weapon if I threw it in someone’s face hard enough to temporarily blind him. A scream could rouse a household.

But if I was unlucky enough to be physically caught, he said, there were a few tricks I could use to break someone’s hold. He showed me how to twist my arm from a hard grip, how to employ a knee or a heel or an elbow.

“It’s important not to panic,” he said, standing behind me, his cheek brushing against mine. He had one arm around my waist, and he held my wrist with his other hand. “It’s important to remember what leverage you have and use it to break away.”

I leaned back so that my head grazed his shoulder. I could feel the slight scrape of his stubble against my skin, smell the faint clean scent of his soap. “What if I don’t want to break away?” I murmured.

He tilted his face closer to mine. I could feel the shift in the grip of his hands, I could sense when the attacker’s trap became the lover’s embrace. “You better keep fighting,” he said, “unless you’re sure the person who’s holding you is safe.”

“I’m pretty sure.”

“You have to be positive.”

I wriggled in his arms, and he loosened his hold enough to let me turn. I lifted my hands to lay them on his shoulders. “I’m positive.”

He watched me for a long moment, his dark eyes scanning mine, his face completely sober. “Big step,” he said.

I couldn’t hold back my own smile. “Why do I get the feeling you usually move faster than this?”

He acknowledged this with a small grin. “You’re right. Once I make up my mind, I don’t waste much time.”

“Why so cautious with me?”

“You know why.”

I sighed. “Quentin.”

“You and I start dating and then break up, maybe you get so mad you never want to see me again. You won’t even come to the house anymore because you don’t want to risk running into me. I don’t want Quentin to lose you because I messed up.”

Now I lifted my hands to his cheekbones, cupping his face. “What makes you think I won’t be the one to mess up?”

“I’ve got two busted marriages behind me. You’ve only got one.”

“And a few other disastrous short-term relationships.”

“You’re not making your case any stronger.”

Impulsively, I stretched up to kiss his mouth. He responded hungrily, pressing one hand against the back of my head to lock me into the kiss. I slipped my arms around his neck and fitted my body more tightly against his. He was the one to pull back.

“All right,” he said a little breathlessly. “Maybe you could convince me.”

I laughed against his lips. “What if I promised,” I whispered, “I promised not to let anything interfere with my relationship with Quentin? No matter what happens between us, even if I come to hate you, which I don’t think I will, I will still stay in Quentin’s life for as long as he needs me? Will that be good enough for you? What if I say I’ll hurt you before I hurt Quentin?”

His response was a breath of laughter. “I’m sure all your friends would tell you that’s a terrible bargain to make.”

“I’m not asking them for their opinion. I’m asking you .”

He kissed me again. “I think it’s the best deal anyone could offer me.”

“Well, then,” I said and lifted my mouth to his again.

We stood there maybe fifteen minutes, kissing, clinging to each other, rubbing against each other just to get a sense of how our bodies responded. Bram seemed in no hurry to move on to the next phase, but I could feel my heart growing impatient as my body tingled with nerves.

“Mmm,” I finally said. “Time to go to the bedroom. Time to take some clothes off.”

“No rush,” he said but he followed me without protest.

This early on a midsummer evening, it wasn’t quite sunset, but what little light was left in the stormy sky barely had the strength to make it through the gauzy curtains. I was just as happy to be in near total darkness as I pulled the sundress over my head, slipped out of my underthings, and dropped to the bed. The cotton coverlet felt cool against my bare skin.

Bram was beside me in a moment, pulling me back into his embrace. “You’re so warm,” I said, running my hand up and down his arm. “Should I turn down the air conditioning?”

“I’m fine,” he said. His own hands were playing down my back, gently exploring. “I’m happy.”

“You have such impressive muscles. I’ve noticed that before.”

“Have you?”

“When we were swimming.”

“Huh. I never thought to look at your body when we were all in the pool.”

I swatted him on the shoulder. “That’s a lie.”

“That is most definitely a lie.”

“But this is better.”

“And you want to know the best part about being in bed with you?”

I held my breath. “What?”

He lifted an arm and felt along the headboard. “I can take a sip from your fancy little water reservoir system.”

I started laughing helplessly. I could see just well enough to observe him as he found the spigot, sat up a little, and took a swallow. “I was so thirsty,” he added.

“This was not what I expected from you at this moment, I’ll be honest. Goofy humor.”

He ostentatiously wiped his mouth and dropped back to the pillow, turning onto his back. “What were you expecting?”

“A little more focus. I thought you’d be, shall we say, more goal-oriented.”

From the sound of his voice, I could tell he was grinning. “I am goal-oriented. But this—” He waved a hand to indicate the bed, the room, the apartment, everything. “Is part of the goal. The whole experience. Not just a few minutes at the end.”

I rolled closer and lifted my body to cover his. His arms instantly went around my back with satisfying pressure. “It’s going to be more than a few minutes,” I whispered against his mouth, “but it’s going to start now.”

*

So often that first time with a new person is awkward, uncertain, maybe uncomfortable. Did he like that, am I responding the right way, should I be clearer about what I want?

But everything was easy with Bram. He noticed all my nuances, he gave clear signals of his own. He was appreciative and mirthful—more light-hearted than I had ever seen him. And our bodies fit together with exquisite precision.

Afterward, we curled up together, face to face, hands still roaming, mouths still occasionally meeting, but mostly lost in our own thoughts. Outside, true dark had fallen and the city lights had come on; the room was actually brighter than it had been when we first walked in.

“What are you thinking about?” Bram asked after a while.

I sat up enough to prop my chin on his shoulder. “A line from a poem.”

He snorted with laugher. “Of course you are.”

“It’s by William Stafford. It seems like he’s describing how hard it is to climb up a mountain and how people tell him he probably can’t do it. But really he might be describing what it’s like to write a poem. And the last line is, ‘Made it again! Made it again!’” I peered down at his face. “That’s what I always feel like after good sex. Made it again.”

He kissed me and drew me down beside him. “You,” he said, “are like no one I’ve ever met in my life.”

“Eh. Hang out in a few English departments and you’ll find a lot of people who spout quotations at you under the most extraordinary circumstances.”

“It’s not just the poems,” he said. “It’s the whole package.”

“Well, I’m glad to be unique in your experience.”

“So when can we get together again? Not tomorrow, not Friday. How about Saturday?”

“I’m free.”

“And Sunday?”

“Ooh, we could spend the whole weekend together.”

He was smiling. “That’s kind of what I was thinking.”

“You could stay the rest of the night, if you wanted to,” I offered.

“I would,” he said, “but I have to leave by five. I don’t want to wake you up.”

“I bet I could fall back to sleep.”

He tightened his arms around me. “Then I’ll stay. I’d rather be here than anywhere else in the world.”