So at eleven thirty, I called her favorite Italian restaurant and delivered a picnic lunch at noon.
“Nathaniel,” she said, looking up from the front desk, Martha at her side. “You didn’t have to bring lunch.”
“And if I hadn’t, when and what would you have done for lunch?” I asked.
She stepped out from behind the desk. “I would have had a stale protein bar about two hours from now.” She hugged me. “Thank you.”
“Anytime,” I said, delighting in her arms around me.
“Can you stay and eat with me?” she asked. “I can take thirty minutes, if you don’t mind eating in the break room.”
“I’d love to. Matter of fact, I’m counting on it. I have enough for two.” I reached into the bag. “I brought this for you, Martha. A little ‘thank-you.’” I handed the startled librarian a pale yellow rose.
“Why, thank you, Mr. West,” she said, taking the rose. “I can’t remember the last time a man bought me a flower.”
“That was very nice of you,” Abby said, as we walked out of the main room of the library, leaving Martha smelling her rose. “She’ll be all aflutter the rest of the day.”
“It was the least I could do. I told you, I never would have left you the rose in the first place if she hadn’t caught me with it. Speaking of which . . .” I reached back into the bag. “I think this one’s yours.” I took out the pale cream rose, just a hint of pink flush on the petal tips, and handed it to her.
Her mouth formed the most adorable O before settling into a mischievous grin. “Why, thank you, kind sir,” she said, taking the flower. “But I do believe you just gave my supervisor the same token of your affection.”
“I did no such thing,” I said with fake shock. “Hers was yellow. Yours carries considerably more meaning.” I patted my pocket, checking to ensure the box was still there. “Besides, I might have a little something else for you.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“After lunch,” I said.
She pushed open the door to the break room. “We’ll have to eat in here. There’s a grad student working on his thesis in Rare Books today.”
I followed her inside. “I suppose we should let him work.”
“I’d kick him out if I could.”
“It’s a long time until Saturday night. Don’t tempt me.”
I spread out our antipasti and gave her a fork. “How’s Felicia?”
She sat down. “Pissed at me.”
I looked up from my plate. “Why?”
“She’s upset I spent the weekend in New Hampshire.”
“Really?”
She waved her hand in dismissal. “She’s like that. I think every bride goes through it. I’m not sure what I could have done for her over the weekend anyway. She was with Jackson the whole time.”
I forked an olive. “I’m sorry our weekend away caused trouble between the two of you.”
“Don’t be. Like I said, she’s like that about anything and everything these days.”
“What are your plans for the rest of the week?”
“Bridesmaid luncheon tomorrow,” she said. “Dad gets in on Thursday. Elaina and I are taking Felicia to a spa on Friday before the rehearsal.” Her eyes sparkled as she looked at me. “What about you?”
“Todd and I are taking Jackson away for the day Friday.” Payback for what Jackson did to Todd when he married Elaina.
“You aren’t taking him to a strip club, are you?”
I waggled my eyebrows. “And if we are?”
She looked down at her plate, all nonchalant. “I might have to respectfully protest.”
“Respectfully protest? Not firmly reprimand?”
“If I protest, there won’t be a firmly anything.” Her hand brushed my upper thigh under the small table and worked its way up.
“You better move your hand. Unless you want me to jerk you up from the table, throw you over my shoulder, and bust into the Rare Books Collection, giving that poor graduate student the shock of his life.”
Her hand inched upward, lightly stroking the base of my cock. “You wouldn’t.”
“Abby,” I warned in the tone of voice I reserved for weekends.
She looked up at me for just a minute, perhaps trying to decide if I was teasing or not. I wasn’t. I started counting in my head—she had until three.
One.
Two.
She moved her hand. “Stupid grad student,” she mumbled under her breath.
We chatted a bit about the wedding, our plans for the weekend, how Todd and Elaina’s house was being transformed to accommodate the ceremony and reception. Maybe, I thought, we’d be so busy, the time would pass quickly until we could be together again.
My hand grazed hers across the tiny table, and it felt as though the box in my pocket was on fire. I shifted in my seat.
When we finished and cleared the table, she stood up. “I’d better be heading back to work. Thanks again for lunch.”
“Before you go, I have something for you.”
“Right,” she said, picking up the rose. “Something to make up for giving both me and my boss a flower.”
I slipped the pale blue box from my pocket.
Her eyes grew wide. She set the rose on the table. “Nathaniel.”
“It’s just a little something I found and wanted you to have.”
“From Tiffany?”
“Open it,” I said, passing her the box.
She took it with tentative fingers.
“The bow got a little squashed in my pocket,” I said.
She untied the bow and slowly lifted the lid. I knew exactly what she saw when her breath rushed out. Two diamond earrings. Large, flawless ones. My father had exceptional taste.
Her expression changed from shock to amazement. “These are . . . They’re . . .” Her free hand danced around her throat.
“They were my mother’s,” I said. “I want you to have them.”
“Your mother’s?”
I nodded, even though she wasn’t watching me. Her fingertip traced one of the round stones. I’d remembered the earrings on Sunday night, one of the many pieces of jewelry left to me by my mother. Remembered how they sat in the locked box I had that held my parents’ wedding bands. As soon as I remembered the earrings, I knew I wanted her to have them.
Wanted her to have another piece of me. To own part of the past that made me who I was.
“I shouldn’t,” she started. “It’s too much . . . your mother’s.”
“Please.” I captured her hands in mine, enclosing the blue box within our grasp. “For me?”
She looked up at me with tear-filled eyes.
I caught a tear with my thumb. “I thought maybe you could wear them to the wedding. If Felicia hasn’t picked out other jewelry for you to wear.”
“No,” she said, and I feared she was rejecting my gift. “She said she doesn’t care.”
Silence filled the break room and I held my breath as I waited for her to say something else.
“Thank you,” she finally said. “I love them. I feel . . . really honored.”
“My mother would want you to have them,” I said, certain of the fact. “I wish she could have met you. She would love you.”
She smiled at me. The gorgeous smile that brightened my day in ways nothing else could. “I wish I could have met her, too.”
I wrapped my arms around her, wordlessly, and her hands came up to my shoulders, the box still in her grip.
“I love you,” I whispered, kissing her ear. “I’d give you the world if I could, but I’ll settle by offering little slivers of myself.”
“I love it when you offer me slivers of yourself,” she said. “Besides, I don’t want the world. I want you.”
I pulled back and kissed her. Long and slow and deep. She tugged me close, running her free hand through my hair, her h*ps pressed against mine.
Someone at the door cleared their throat, and Abby pulled away, but she kept her arms around me.
“Yes?” she asked the teenaged girl who’d opened the door without either one of us hearing.
“Sorry to interrupt, Miss Abby, but I’m supposed to tell you the computer’s no longer printing out 2007 due dates.”
“Good news,” Abby said. “But why did that require my attention?”
“It’s printing out 1807.”
Abby sighed. “I’ll be right there.”
The young girl left. “Sorry again,” she called through the closed door.
Abby dropped her head to my chest.
“Miss Abby?” I asked.
“Don’t ask.”
I kissed her forehead. “I better go. Let you deal with the nineteenth century.”
She lifted to her toes and kissed me. “Trust me, the nineteenth century wants nothing to do with me.”
“Call me tonight, okay?”
“I will,” she said, lightly brushing a hair out of my eyes. “I love you.”
I smiled when the doorbell rang at six thirty on Thursday night. Leave it to Abby to ring the doorbell of my house when she’d be moving in in a little more than a week. I knew she’d told her dad she planned to move in, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous about meeting the man.
Apollo rushed to the door, guessing Abby waited for him on the other side.
“Calm down,” I said, wondering how quickly it would take for him to get used to having her around permanently.
I opened the door and decided I’d never grow accustomed to having her live with me. Even having her over for dinner seemed too good to be true.
I took her hands and kissed her cheek, noticing she wore the earrings I’d given her. “You didn’t have to ring the doorbell. I wouldn’t have minded if you’ d used your key.”
She gave my hand a squeeze and returned the kiss. “Old habit.” She stepped back and directed me to the man at her side. “This is my dad.”
He was a strong, solid man. I knew from Abby he worked as a contractor and had done so for more than twenty years. I shook his hand. “Mr. King,” I said. “Welcome to New York.”
“Don’t call me Mr. King,” he said, a small smile playing on his features. “And thank you.”
I held the door open wider. “Please come in. Excuse Apollo. He’s a bit shy around strangers.”
True to form, Apollo stayed stuck to my side, moving only to nudge Abby’s hand when she passed him. I smiled, remembering how he’d reacted to meeting her the first time. His reaction to her father was much more normal. My eyes met Abby’s, and I nodded toward him.
See? I said with my eyes. He really doesn’t like strangers.
She rubbed his head as she walked into the foyer, rolling her eyes at me. “Can I help with anything in the kitchen?”
“I have the beef Wellington and potatoes in the oven,” I said. She’d told me her dad was a meat-and-potatoes type of man, and I’d planned dinner around his preferences.
“Beef Wellington?” She arched an eyebrow. “Maybe I should go check it out?”
“Your father and I will be in the living room.” Better to get this out of the way sooner rather than later.
We sat down—me on the couch, her dad on the love seat. He looked around the room, appraising. I gathered he was a quiet man, much like his daughter.
I cleared my throat. “Abby says you’re going to give Felicia away on Saturday.”
“Felicia has been like a second daughter to me. She’s had her share of hardships. I’m glad she’s finally found someone.”
“Jackson’s completely in love with her. He’s never been happier.”
“Nathaniel,” she said, looking up from the front desk, Martha at her side. “You didn’t have to bring lunch.”
“And if I hadn’t, when and what would you have done for lunch?” I asked.
She stepped out from behind the desk. “I would have had a stale protein bar about two hours from now.” She hugged me. “Thank you.”
“Anytime,” I said, delighting in her arms around me.
“Can you stay and eat with me?” she asked. “I can take thirty minutes, if you don’t mind eating in the break room.”
“I’d love to. Matter of fact, I’m counting on it. I have enough for two.” I reached into the bag. “I brought this for you, Martha. A little ‘thank-you.’” I handed the startled librarian a pale yellow rose.
“Why, thank you, Mr. West,” she said, taking the rose. “I can’t remember the last time a man bought me a flower.”
“That was very nice of you,” Abby said, as we walked out of the main room of the library, leaving Martha smelling her rose. “She’ll be all aflutter the rest of the day.”
“It was the least I could do. I told you, I never would have left you the rose in the first place if she hadn’t caught me with it. Speaking of which . . .” I reached back into the bag. “I think this one’s yours.” I took out the pale cream rose, just a hint of pink flush on the petal tips, and handed it to her.
Her mouth formed the most adorable O before settling into a mischievous grin. “Why, thank you, kind sir,” she said, taking the flower. “But I do believe you just gave my supervisor the same token of your affection.”
“I did no such thing,” I said with fake shock. “Hers was yellow. Yours carries considerably more meaning.” I patted my pocket, checking to ensure the box was still there. “Besides, I might have a little something else for you.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“After lunch,” I said.
She pushed open the door to the break room. “We’ll have to eat in here. There’s a grad student working on his thesis in Rare Books today.”
I followed her inside. “I suppose we should let him work.”
“I’d kick him out if I could.”
“It’s a long time until Saturday night. Don’t tempt me.”
I spread out our antipasti and gave her a fork. “How’s Felicia?”
She sat down. “Pissed at me.”
I looked up from my plate. “Why?”
“She’s upset I spent the weekend in New Hampshire.”
“Really?”
She waved her hand in dismissal. “She’s like that. I think every bride goes through it. I’m not sure what I could have done for her over the weekend anyway. She was with Jackson the whole time.”
I forked an olive. “I’m sorry our weekend away caused trouble between the two of you.”
“Don’t be. Like I said, she’s like that about anything and everything these days.”
“What are your plans for the rest of the week?”
“Bridesmaid luncheon tomorrow,” she said. “Dad gets in on Thursday. Elaina and I are taking Felicia to a spa on Friday before the rehearsal.” Her eyes sparkled as she looked at me. “What about you?”
“Todd and I are taking Jackson away for the day Friday.” Payback for what Jackson did to Todd when he married Elaina.
“You aren’t taking him to a strip club, are you?”
I waggled my eyebrows. “And if we are?”
She looked down at her plate, all nonchalant. “I might have to respectfully protest.”
“Respectfully protest? Not firmly reprimand?”
“If I protest, there won’t be a firmly anything.” Her hand brushed my upper thigh under the small table and worked its way up.
“You better move your hand. Unless you want me to jerk you up from the table, throw you over my shoulder, and bust into the Rare Books Collection, giving that poor graduate student the shock of his life.”
Her hand inched upward, lightly stroking the base of my cock. “You wouldn’t.”
“Abby,” I warned in the tone of voice I reserved for weekends.
She looked up at me for just a minute, perhaps trying to decide if I was teasing or not. I wasn’t. I started counting in my head—she had until three.
One.
Two.
She moved her hand. “Stupid grad student,” she mumbled under her breath.
We chatted a bit about the wedding, our plans for the weekend, how Todd and Elaina’s house was being transformed to accommodate the ceremony and reception. Maybe, I thought, we’d be so busy, the time would pass quickly until we could be together again.
My hand grazed hers across the tiny table, and it felt as though the box in my pocket was on fire. I shifted in my seat.
When we finished and cleared the table, she stood up. “I’d better be heading back to work. Thanks again for lunch.”
“Before you go, I have something for you.”
“Right,” she said, picking up the rose. “Something to make up for giving both me and my boss a flower.”
I slipped the pale blue box from my pocket.
Her eyes grew wide. She set the rose on the table. “Nathaniel.”
“It’s just a little something I found and wanted you to have.”
“From Tiffany?”
“Open it,” I said, passing her the box.
She took it with tentative fingers.
“The bow got a little squashed in my pocket,” I said.
She untied the bow and slowly lifted the lid. I knew exactly what she saw when her breath rushed out. Two diamond earrings. Large, flawless ones. My father had exceptional taste.
Her expression changed from shock to amazement. “These are . . . They’re . . .” Her free hand danced around her throat.
“They were my mother’s,” I said. “I want you to have them.”
“Your mother’s?”
I nodded, even though she wasn’t watching me. Her fingertip traced one of the round stones. I’d remembered the earrings on Sunday night, one of the many pieces of jewelry left to me by my mother. Remembered how they sat in the locked box I had that held my parents’ wedding bands. As soon as I remembered the earrings, I knew I wanted her to have them.
Wanted her to have another piece of me. To own part of the past that made me who I was.
“I shouldn’t,” she started. “It’s too much . . . your mother’s.”
“Please.” I captured her hands in mine, enclosing the blue box within our grasp. “For me?”
She looked up at me with tear-filled eyes.
I caught a tear with my thumb. “I thought maybe you could wear them to the wedding. If Felicia hasn’t picked out other jewelry for you to wear.”
“No,” she said, and I feared she was rejecting my gift. “She said she doesn’t care.”
Silence filled the break room and I held my breath as I waited for her to say something else.
“Thank you,” she finally said. “I love them. I feel . . . really honored.”
“My mother would want you to have them,” I said, certain of the fact. “I wish she could have met you. She would love you.”
She smiled at me. The gorgeous smile that brightened my day in ways nothing else could. “I wish I could have met her, too.”
I wrapped my arms around her, wordlessly, and her hands came up to my shoulders, the box still in her grip.
“I love you,” I whispered, kissing her ear. “I’d give you the world if I could, but I’ll settle by offering little slivers of myself.”
“I love it when you offer me slivers of yourself,” she said. “Besides, I don’t want the world. I want you.”
I pulled back and kissed her. Long and slow and deep. She tugged me close, running her free hand through my hair, her h*ps pressed against mine.
Someone at the door cleared their throat, and Abby pulled away, but she kept her arms around me.
“Yes?” she asked the teenaged girl who’d opened the door without either one of us hearing.
“Sorry to interrupt, Miss Abby, but I’m supposed to tell you the computer’s no longer printing out 2007 due dates.”
“Good news,” Abby said. “But why did that require my attention?”
“It’s printing out 1807.”
Abby sighed. “I’ll be right there.”
The young girl left. “Sorry again,” she called through the closed door.
Abby dropped her head to my chest.
“Miss Abby?” I asked.
“Don’t ask.”
I kissed her forehead. “I better go. Let you deal with the nineteenth century.”
She lifted to her toes and kissed me. “Trust me, the nineteenth century wants nothing to do with me.”
“Call me tonight, okay?”
“I will,” she said, lightly brushing a hair out of my eyes. “I love you.”
I smiled when the doorbell rang at six thirty on Thursday night. Leave it to Abby to ring the doorbell of my house when she’d be moving in in a little more than a week. I knew she’d told her dad she planned to move in, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous about meeting the man.
Apollo rushed to the door, guessing Abby waited for him on the other side.
“Calm down,” I said, wondering how quickly it would take for him to get used to having her around permanently.
I opened the door and decided I’d never grow accustomed to having her live with me. Even having her over for dinner seemed too good to be true.
I took her hands and kissed her cheek, noticing she wore the earrings I’d given her. “You didn’t have to ring the doorbell. I wouldn’t have minded if you’ d used your key.”
She gave my hand a squeeze and returned the kiss. “Old habit.” She stepped back and directed me to the man at her side. “This is my dad.”
He was a strong, solid man. I knew from Abby he worked as a contractor and had done so for more than twenty years. I shook his hand. “Mr. King,” I said. “Welcome to New York.”
“Don’t call me Mr. King,” he said, a small smile playing on his features. “And thank you.”
I held the door open wider. “Please come in. Excuse Apollo. He’s a bit shy around strangers.”
True to form, Apollo stayed stuck to my side, moving only to nudge Abby’s hand when she passed him. I smiled, remembering how he’d reacted to meeting her the first time. His reaction to her father was much more normal. My eyes met Abby’s, and I nodded toward him.
See? I said with my eyes. He really doesn’t like strangers.
She rubbed his head as she walked into the foyer, rolling her eyes at me. “Can I help with anything in the kitchen?”
“I have the beef Wellington and potatoes in the oven,” I said. She’d told me her dad was a meat-and-potatoes type of man, and I’d planned dinner around his preferences.
“Beef Wellington?” She arched an eyebrow. “Maybe I should go check it out?”
“Your father and I will be in the living room.” Better to get this out of the way sooner rather than later.
We sat down—me on the couch, her dad on the love seat. He looked around the room, appraising. I gathered he was a quiet man, much like his daughter.
I cleared my throat. “Abby says you’re going to give Felicia away on Saturday.”
“Felicia has been like a second daughter to me. She’s had her share of hardships. I’m glad she’s finally found someone.”
“Jackson’s completely in love with her. He’s never been happier.”
