by B. Avery
And she was still very young, far too young for him.
“What do you think?”
She put her hands on her hips and glared back, “I think you didn’t say no.”
She knew him entirely too bloody well. “Fine,” he conceded with a sigh, mentally cursing himself for a fool the entire time. This was a bad idea, and he would have no one to blame but himself when it all went wrong, but he wouldn’t lie to her, and he couldn’t say no to her, and he didn’t seem to have any other options. “Not in here though.”
Carmine looked around the crowded shop like she’d never seen it before then nodded. “All right. Where then?”
An empty lot butted up behind the shop, well-tended and recently mowed. It wasn't a dance floor, but for their purposes it would do. “Come with me.”
Carmine followed him through the back room, opening the back door when he gestured to it. Music, he assumed, would be helpful. They had an ancient record player wedged in the corner that occasionally worked, and after a minimal amount of prodding it came to life. He traded out Carmine's jazz record for something classical they could waltz to. If she could get the hang of the waltz, the rest would fall into place.
“All right, love.”
He turned to face her, one hand correctly on her waist, the other catching hers and holding it out to the side. “Put your other hand on my shoulder.”
She did as requested, and he wished he'd had the foresight to take off his jacket before they'd started this so he could feel the warmth of her fingers. “I'm going to step forward. Step back with your left foot when I do.” She took a large step back when he moved forward, throwing both of them off balance. Automatically, he pulled her closer, needing her support to keep from falling.
“Oops!” Carmine giggled, her nose pressed against his collar, “Sorry, Mr. Smith.”
She was pressed full length against him, her warmth and softness a nearly-unbearable temptation. With difficulty, he managed to force himself to take a half step back so they were once again in the proper form. “Perhaps a smaller step this time?” he suggested, his voice trembling slightly.
“Smaller steps, got it.” Carmine looked down, watching his feet in the dim light as he stepped forward, this time matching him perfectly. She did admirably as he talked her through the basic box step in one-quarter time, and by the time they’d completed the pattern a few times he decided they were ready to move things along.
Without warning her, he started moving faster, gradually picking up the pace until they were actually on the beat of the music. Carmine yelped softly, her fingers clinging to his shoulder as she held on for dear life, but she kept up, and soon they were spinning around the vacant lot like old pros.
Well, not quite. “Carmine?” he murmured to the top of her head. Too busy concentrating on watching his feet to answer, she managed a distracted hum of inquiry. “One of the joys of dancing is being able to look at and talk to your partner.”
“Hmm,” the noise she made was one of vague agreement, and he wondered if she’d even registered what he said, “Look at me, love.”
She glanced up, startled, her eyes locking with his. “That’s better, love. That’s much better,” he whispered hoarsely, barely aware of what he’d called her. “Keep looking at me.”
Her lips parted a little, and she darted her tongue out to moisten them, forcing him to bite back a moan. God, she had no idea what she was doing to him. She’d run a mile if she did.
Now that she wasn't looking down, she seemed to be having more trouble following him, their feet occasionally scraping together as she missed a step. “Don’t think, just listen to the music. Trust me, Carmine. Follow my lead.”
“I do,” she whispered, her eyes dark in the twilight. Without thinking, he pulled her closer, his hand moving from its very correct position to slide around her waist and hold her more tightly against him.
Their other hands dropped closer to their bodies as Carmine’s eyes slid closed, and he could hear her humming along with the record, her steps matching his as perfectly as if they’d been dancing together for years.
He tightened his grip on her, telling himself he needed her support, and she sighed, her head dropping forward to rest on his shoulder. Unable to resist, he lay his cheek on her hair, inhaling the sweet rose scent of her shampoo.
Desperately, he tried to pay attention to every sensation from the warmth of her breath against his throat to the softness of her curls, trying to commit every bit of it to memory, something to dream about while he waited for her.
Slowly, a new sensation filtered in, breaking through his fixation on the girl in his arms. They were being watched. He opened his eyes, trying not to alarm Carmine as they continued their circuit until he could see the councilor standing on the grass next to the shop, her face sharp.
He stiffened, gently easing Carmine away from him as she spoke. “Mr. Smith, I saw that you closed early, but I heard the music. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
For someone who hadn’t meant to interrupt, she was showing no inclination to leave. With a sigh, he released Carmine. “Run and turn off the record, love.”
She nodded, keeping her eyes averted from the councilor, then disappeared into the shop, the music dying in the air a moment later. “Pretty girl,” Angelica commented, looking after her, “She’s- what? - seventeen now?”
“Eighteen,” he corrected through gritted teeth, not liking the amusement in her tone.
“Of course, eighteen,” she purred, letting her gaze linger a moment longer.
The councilor had always set his teeth on edge but never more than now when she was taking such apparent interest in Carmine. They'd done nothing wrong, but he couldn't help but feel it wouldn't save them if she decided to press the issue. “Was there something you wanted, Councilor Clarence?” he prompted, attempting to sound civil.
“Oh, no, I just wanted to browse,” she bestowed a smile on him that would have looked more at home on a shark, “See what I could see.”
From the gleam in her eye, she seemed to think she'd seen plenty. “Perhaps another time then,” he said coolly, wanting nothing more than to see the back of her, “As you said, we're closed.”
“Quite,” the councilor nodded, then moved off into the darkness, leaving him staring after her, disquieted. Once satisfied that she'd truly gone, he made his way back into the shop, leaning heavily on a nearby chair, feeling like shards of broken glass were moving in his back. He'd be done up for the next week, but he wouldn't have traded a single moment of their dance.
“I hate that woman,” Carmine's voice greeted him as soon as he shut the door behind him.
He couldn't argue the sentiment, but he couldn't remember Carmine ever voicing a negative opinion about anyone. “Why's that, love?”
“It's the way she walks around.” Carmine stuck her nose up in the air, and did a passable job at imitating Angelica's rigid posture, “She acts like she's royalty, and we're her subjects.”
The comparison was an apt one. Angelica certainly did seem to think herself ruler of their town. “I see you more as the warrior type, not a field hand. Heaven knows, you don't have a green thumb.” It was perhaps the only thing Carmine couldn't do. She'd made a few attempts at bringing plants into the shop over the years, and they'd all gone out with the trash within a month.
She chuckled, “I thought you'd say I was the court jester.”
“I do believe that's my department.” With an extravagant gesture, he picked up three bits of wood from the workbench and managed a quick and clumsy juggle before bowing to her.
Carmine applauded like he'd done a full routine, then shook her head, “No, you'd be sorcerer. You'd have a tower where you did all sorts of mysterious spells, and everyone would come to you for help.”
It was a pretty fantasy, and he found himself charmed. “And what would you ask me for?”
“Magic lessons, of course!” she exclaimed, “I'd be your apprentice.”
Even in their fan
tasy world she saw herself at his side. Swallowing down hope, he pressed, “You don't want a kingdom of your own? Or a prince?”
She laughed a little at the question, but it was an odd sound. “Magic lessons,” she said firmly, before smirking at him, “Besides, you need an assistant. You wouldn't last a day without me.”
“Quite right,” he agreed softly, meaning the words more than she could possibly know, “Good night, love.”
“Good night, Mr. Smith.” It was past her usual quitting time, but Carmine didn't seem to be in a hurry to leave, gathering her bag slowly and looking around the back room like she'd never see it again. “Thanks for the dance lesson.”
“My pleasure.” The smile she gave him was incandescent, and then she was gone.
What he wanted more than anything was to sit down and just relive the evening, solidify it in his mind to ensure he never forgot a single detail, but if he did that with the state his back was in, he'd never get back up. Instead, he gathered his things and locked up, making his lonely way home.
Maybe one day it wouldn't be a lonely walk. He'd have Carmine at his side clinging to his arm or holding his hand as they made their way back to their home. Even if all he could talk her into was taking one of the guest rooms as her own, it would be enough to simply not have to send her back to her parents each night. She belonged with him.
He went to bed early, hoping the added rest would mean his back would be at least somewhat functional the next day. As he closed his eyes, his mind returned to their dance, remembering the feel of her body pressed against his, the way their steps matched so perfectly, the scent of her hair and the softness of her curls.
Memory slipped into dream, and he was back with her again, twirling around the vacant lot only this time she was clad in the dress she'd found in the chest instead of her usual jeans and casual shirt. She looked like a dream. Before he could place it on her head, the councilor was suddenly there, wagging a reproving finger at him. “No,” she smirked, putting an arm around Carmine's shoulders and in the time, it took him to blink, both of them were gone. He looked around frantically, tore through the shop, and ran into the street, but there was no trace of Carmine. She was gone as thoroughly as if she'd never been there at all, leaving him with a racing heart and shaking hands.
He came awake with a jerk, shaking his head to clear it. Despite his best efforts, he lay awake for the next hour, trying to forget the gleeful smile on the councilor's face as she took Carmine away from him. Even when he finally dropped off again, his slumber was uneasy for the rest of the night.
CHAPTER TWO
Although he rarely remembered dreams, this one stuck with him the entire following day, leaving him unsettled and out of sorts. People gave him a wide berth as he made his rounds through the town, watching the clock impatiently, willing it to be three thirty-five. It had just been a dream brought on by the unpleasant surprise of having the councilor intrude on what up until that point had been the best hour of his life, but he couldn't shake the feeling that Carmine was in danger.
He was acting like a paranoid old fool, but it wasn't until he heard her cheery, “Good afternoon, Mr. Smith!” that he felt like he could draw a full breath. She was back where she belonged, smiling and chattering and bearing a batch of shortbread cookies to thank him for the dance lesson, and all was right with his universe again.
Trying to salvage something out of this waste of a day, he went back to work on the clock, listening to her hum as she dusted (The red cloth was for dusting). He lost track of time, only glancing up when the bell chimed and he didn't hear Carmine greet the customer. He waited a moment, then dragged himself out of his chair, back protesting after yesterday's exertions.
There was no one in the shop, but when he walked closer to the door, he caught sight of Carmine standing on the sidewalk talking to a dark-haired boy who he knew without being introduced was Corbin Farley.
His jaw tightened as he sized up his competition. The boy was tall, well-built, handsome, and most importantly- her age. Really, he couldn't be expected to tolerate this; he was willingly parting with her so she could go to her dance, but it wasn't Friday yet. This was his time with her, and he wasn't inclined to share. Even so, he gave her a moment, hoping she'd end the conversation herself and send the boy on his way. It wasn't until she reached out to put her hand on the side of his face that he lost control.
Refraining from slamming the door open, he instead opened it with deliberate calm and stepped onto the sidewalk. The tall boy smiled politely at the sight of him, obviously attempting to make a good first impression, not knowing that he was already far too late for that. “Mr. Smith-”
“I have a strict no loitering policy,” he cut the boy off. Turning to Carmine who was looking at him in disbelief, he added, “I don't pay you to flirt.” He held the door open for her, not moving until she proceeded him into the shop.
As soon as the door shut behind them, Carmine's finger stabbed him in the chest. “That was humiliating,” she hissed, genuine anger in her eyes.
“You left the shop unattended,” he counted, staring her down.
“I was two feet from the door. Do you really think anyone was getting in without me noticing? What is the matter with you?” Not giving him a chance to respond, she threw her hands in the air, “You know what? Never mind. I don't care. I don't want to talk to you for awhile.”
A vague sense of shame was stealing over him. He was a bastard on a good day, and jealousy didn't bring out his best qualities. “Love-”
“No!” she snapped, giving him a look that could have cut glass, “I'm going to dust. You go do whatever you were doing. I do not want to talk to you right now.” She turned on her heel, yanked her cloth out of her pocket, and made her way to the furthest corner of the shop, keeping her back firmly toward him.
It might have been a blessing that she refused to talk to him, because Smith didn't know what he'd say if she did. There was no acceptable explanation for his behavior, and he didn't think, 'You shouldn't talk to other men, because you're mine' would go over particularly well. After their dance yesterday, this was not at all how he'd wanted the afternoon to go.
Perhaps a gesture would help. Slipping into the back, he put the kettle on, preparing a pot of the sweetened cinnamon tea she loved and he hated. Tea should taste like tea, not candy. While it steeped, he made his way back into the shop, relieved she was still staying as far from him as she could get. That gave him the chance to locate the handsome volume of Chaucer she'd been admiring for months. He placed the book on the counter with a cup of tea on top of it and sat down in the back to wait.
A few minutes later, Carmine joined him, her cup of tea in one hand and the book in the other. “You're still a bastard, you know,” she told him conversationally as she took the opposite chair.
“But I'm a bastard who make an excellent cup of tea,” he pointed out, lifting his own cup in a toast.
“You're drinking it too?” she asked in surprise as she took a sip, “You are sorry.”
He took a long swallow of the revoltingly astringent liquid and let that serve as confirmation of her words. “Corbin wanted to know what color my dress was, so he could get me a corsage,” she told him, “If you'd given me two more minutes, I would have gotten rid of him.”
He liked her choice of words. Hopefully she'd be promptly getting rid of him tomorrow night after she went to her dance. “Tell him you want orchids,” he advised, “They'll go with your frock, and it's a high profit margin for the local florist. Support local businesses and all that, you know.”
Carmine snorted, the last tension in her body relaxing, and he knew he had her forgiveness. “If we live to be a thousand, I will never understand what goes on in your head.”
“Constant strategizing.” 'Half of which is about you,' he added silently. “Any situation can be turned into an advantage, love.”
Carmine's smile was enigmatic as she finished off her tea. “Back to work for me,” she announced, dep
ositing her cup in the sink and the book into her backpack, flicking his shoulder with her cloth as she passed him. He smiled to himself at the teasing gesture, relieved to have their fight over with so easily. He occasionally thought that the real reason for the success of his association with Carmine was her complete and total inability to hold a grudge. It came in handy considering his own tendency to snarl.
She was quiet for the rest of the evening in a pensive way, no longer shutting him out. While he would have dearly loved to know what she was thinking, he opted not to push his luck by asking. If she wanted him to know, she’d tell him; Carmine wasn’t one to keep things to herself.
At the end of the day, she leaned in the shop doorway, watching as he got things together for the next day. It felt strange knowing she wouldn’t be in the next afternoon. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone a full day without seeing her. It wasn’t a situation that he relished.
“Don’t forget that Denis is coming in tomorrow to pick up those dolls,” she reminded him, “And Dr. Randolph wanted to know if we had any books on bird-watching.”
He gestured to the wrapped packages on the counter that she couldn’t have missed. “Done and done.”
Still she lingered, the street lights hiding her face from him. “Are you sure you won’t need me tomorrow night?”
Her voice was so hopeful, as though she couldn’t believe her luck that he’d actually given her the evening off. “Go dance, love,” he said softly, pleased that he could make her happy even if it meant letting her go, “Have fun.”
“Thank you, Mr. Smith,” she murmured, not sounding as pleased as he’d expected. She disappeared into the night without another word, leaving him gazing after her, disquieted.
He slept fitfully again that night, his sleep once again interrupted by vivid dreams. This time, however, he would have been quite happy to remain asleep. He was alone in the shop, just closing up, when the bell jingled and Carmine floated in, a vision of loveliness in her lacy dress.