by Carol Grace
It was her dress and her hat but it was also her voice and her manner. She made history come alive. She was wonderful. He wasn’t the only one who admired her.
The students crowded around Sarah, and she answered their questions patiently and with good humor. She seemed genuinely interested in them. No matter how silly or trivial their questions, she answered them all.
“Where’s the bathroom?”
“Did they sell candy at the store?”
“Did the kids have to go to school?”
“Did everyone have a horse?”
“How much did stamps cost?”
“Are you married?”
The last one made her blush and look down at her laced-up, period-style boots. Then she gracefully changed the subject.
She launched into stories of some of the colorful characters like Captain John Greer, who explored San Francisco Bay, and Juana Briones, the most famous woman of her time. The kids knew her name, because there was a school named after her, but they didn’t know why she was famous.
Then there were tales of the men and women who’d braved a long trip from the East Coast to make new lives for themselves. She told funny stories and sad stories about the owners and the customers of the store.
Then it was over. The class chanted, “Thank you, Miss Jennings,” and they filed out of the dusty old general store into the sunlight to picnic on the grounds.
Sarah gave a sigh of relief. Max closed the door after the last child had walked out and carefully lifted her large, ridiculous hat off her hair. His warm fingers grazed the side of her cheek and she felt the color rise in her face. Then he hugged her. She nervously looked out the windows, not sure what the kids would think if they’d seen that, but they were busy opening their brown lunch bags at the picnic tables.
“You did good,” he said, his eyes bright, a big smile on his face.
His enthusiasm was contagious. She was pleased with the way it had gone. She was also relieved. She felt like throwing her arms around Max and dancing around the general store, like Juana Briones would have done, but she wasn’t anything like the pioneer woman. She was a staid and studious historian.
So instead of dancing, or acting out of character, she took a deep breath and went to change out of her dress. When she was able to breathe normally again, she straightened the shelves and locked the doors behind her. Max was waiting for her just outside the door in the sunshine.
“You were so convincing as a frontier woman,” he said, “I could have sworn you came from a different time. You looked the part, you acted the part and the kids loved it.”
“Really?” She beamed happily. He made her feel like a Broadway star when all she’d done was to tell the true stories, the same stories that made her love history.
“You know, I’ve given talks before, but never here and never to little kids. I was nervous. I’ve seen Trudy give the talk. She’s really good and the dress fits her.”
“She couldn’t be better than you were. You heard the kids’ questions. They were really interested. You may have inspired a whole new generation of future historians.”
“That would be nice, but even if they just have an appreciation of how hard life was then and how easy it is now, it will be worth it.”
“Now what?” he asked. “I see the kids brought their sack lunches, but we didn’t. What if we had a picnic down by the bay, down where they floated their logs to San Francisco? In the interest of history, of course. I’m not ready to return to the twenty-first century. Maybe we could eat sourdough bread like the miners did.”
Sarah felt exhilarated. She’d done a good job. Even without praise from Max, she knew she had. She didn’t want to go home and go back to writing her paper. The idea of a picnic was enticing. “You know there were dairy farms up in the hills. So we could have cheese and eat the way they did.”
“And wine. They had wine, didn’t they?”
“Definitely. Of course they kept livestock, so we could have a pork or chicken product.”
“Wouldn’t we have to raise it first?” he asked.
She frowned. “If we want to be authentic.”
“I’m kidding. Let’s hit the real store and see what they’ve got. That history lesson has given me an appetite.”
“But are you sure you don’t have work to do?” she asked. It occurred to her he was spending a lot of time with her. Was he really that interested in history, or…why would he be interested in her, unless he still felt he owed it to her aunt?
She wasn’t his type. She’d been duly warned about him and she took Lila’s warnings seriously. Not that she cared whether he was a love ’em and leave ’em type of guy. She wasn’t looking for love, just a little lightening up of her life. Just a little flirtation. The problem was she didn’t know how to flirt. But he did. Maybe that was good enough.
“I have to ask you something,” she said as they walked toward his car.
He stopped and looked at her. She thought there was a flicker of alarm in his eyes. Was he afraid she expected something from him? Was he going to tell her how they could only be friends and nothing more? She knew that. She took a deep breath. She had to know. Even if the answer was yes.
“Are you being nice to me because you owe it to my aunt?”
Chapter Nine
“Of course not,” he said.
“But she did do some favors for you, didn’t she?”
“She signed for my deliveries when I wasn’t there, she let the carpet installers in. She has a key to my house. I have one to hers. She did all kinds of favors. What does that have to do with anything?”
“Because if you’re only doing this…”
“This hanging out with you, goofing off in my pool, sharing my leftovers, is that what you mean?”
“And coming with me today,” she added. “Because if you are,” she continued, ignoring his question, “you don’t have to. Your obligation is fulfilled.”
“You think so?” he said. “I’ll have to check with your aunt about that. And since she isn’t here, I’m afraid you’ll have to continue to put up with my attempts at recompense.” He opened the car door for her, got in and started the engine.
“Maybe I should ask you something,” he said as he pulled out of the parking lot. “Did you offer me a ticket to the opera only because your aunt insisted on being nice to me, or do you really want to go with me?”
“Both,” she said without thinking.
“Okay, here are some more questions for you. Are you tired of my interfering with your work? Do you wish I wouldn’t come knocking on your door with my leftovers and tagging along with you today? Say it, you won’t hurt my feelings. If it does, I’ll get over it. It won’t be the first time.”
“I don’t believe you. I don’t believe anyone’s ever told you to buzz off. Any woman, that is.”
He shot her a puzzled look. “Why do you say that? You weren’t talking to Lila, were you, because she has a warped vision of me.”
“I wouldn’t say I was talking to her, but she was sure talking to me.”
“About me,” he said grimly.
“Well, yes,” she admitted. Now she was sorry she’d ever started this conversation. It was getting far too intense. “Don’t worry, it was nothing personal.” That was a lie. It was all personal. “You know a lot more about me than I do about you.”
“You’re referring to what I learned while reading your palm, is that it?”
She slanted a glance in his direction, relieved to see he was grinning at her.
“It was a very impressive display of your many talents. I had no idea my whole life could be revealed via my palm.”
“Look, Sarah,” he said, suddenly serious. “Whatever Lila said about me, I’m not the kind of guy who hangs around when he’s not wanted. Is it so hard to realize that I don’t need an excuse to spend time with you? Sure, I owe your aunt big time, but that has nothing to do with us.”
Sarah blinked. Did he say us? Surely there was no us. Wh
at did it mean?
“Let’s pretend you’re the neighbor, not your aunt,” Max continued. “Let’s say I don’t owe you anything and vice versa. I like you. I’m having a good time. Are you?” He slanted a glance in her direction.
“Me?” Now he’d turned the conversation and his gaze back to her. She wasn’t used to talking about herself. She wasn’t used to being looked at the way he looked at her when she was squeezed into that too-tight dress. She wasn’t used to being kissed, either. But he must know that. It must be abundantly clear she’d had no experience with men. Especially men like him.
“Yes, you.” He reached over and put his hand on her thigh. She felt the warmth of his palm right through the light cotton fabric of her capri pants. She licked her dry lips and tried to catch her breath.
“You’re cute and funny. And you’re different.”
Cute? Funny? She’d been called many things, mostly smart, interesting, or hardworking, but never cute or funny. “You mean I’m different from your clients? Like Lila? I hope so.”
Instead of answering he leaned over and brushed his lips across her cheek. She swallowed hard. She never knew what he was going to do next.
“I’m glad to hear it otherwise I’d feel sorry for you.”
He pulled into the parking lot of an upscale grocery store used by Silicon Valley types who lived in this woodsy suburb. They stood in front of the deli case trying to decide what would be appropriate.
“You said pork was all right,” Max said. “Because they had livestock. Then how about some pâté laced with port wine?”
She nodded and they also selected a wedge of Brie cheese. They picked up a fresh baguette from the bakery section and a then filled a sack with vine-ripened tomatoes, a basket of strawberries and a pound of white peaches. And a bottle of chilled Pinot Grigio.
“Fortunately I have a Swiss Army knife in my car,” he said as they drove toward the Bay, “and a blanket.”
“Sounds like this isn’t your first impromptu picnic,” she said lightly. But she felt a pang of unattractive jealousy hit her. What was wrong with her, why couldn’t she just accept him for what he was, a commitment-shy divorce lawyer who, according to him, enjoyed her company, thought she was entertaining and cute.
It was ridiculous, but he made her feel like a different person. He made her feel cute. It even made her act cute. When she wasn’t acting jealous, that was. Suddenly she imagined dozens of women picnicking with him on his blanket. Drinking wine and feeding each other strawberries while the juice dribbled down their chins.
“As a matter of fact, it is my first impromptu picnic,” he said. “But it may not be the last, if all goes as planned.”
“Planned?”
“I plan to sit on the grass, with a bottle of wine, a loaf of bread and thou beside me,” he said, sending her a glance that was half teasing, half serious and that made her grip the leather seat tightly with stiff fingers. It was one thing to be nice to her because her aunt asked him to. Or because he was enjoying a break from his work, or because California’s history was so fascinating.
But this was out-and-out flirting, and she didn’t know quite how to handle it. She realized that one-sided flirting didn’t work. Flirting was more fun when both parties took part. She didn’t know how to flirt back. And even if she did, should she? Wasn’t she just setting herself up for a huge letdown when she left and went back to her real life?
“How many divorce lawyers can quote Khalil Gibran?” she wondered out loud.
“Were you impressed? I hope so. You’re not the only one who lives in the past. I always wanted to be a caliph.”
“So you could have a harem?”
He shook his head. “I can hardly handle one woman at a time, let alone a harem.”
She wished she could think of a reply to that, but she couldn’t, so they drove in silence toward the Bay. From time to time she sneaked glances in his direction, admiring his profile, the firm jaw, the wide mouth and his hands on the steering wheel. She could still feel the brush of his lips on her cheek. She remembered the touch of his hands on her back as he fastened her dress this morning. And she wondered how they’d feel on her bare skin if she’d wriggled out of the dress.
What if she’d been one of those real California seductresses with dark flashing eyes and dozens of suitors? If she were, she’d have let the dress pool around her ankles on the floor. Then she’d have turned and offered her bare breasts to the man she loved. He would have covered them with his hands, teased her nipples and buried his face in the hollow between her breasts. What if that had happened today, and they’d been alone in the old store, no schoolchildren on their way? Then what?
Her heart pounded at the possibilities. Even though she knew they were just that. Possibilities and not probabilities.
For the first time in her life, she admitted that was what she wanted, even needed. She wanted his hands on her skin, his mouth on hers, his arms around her, pressing his body to hers. He’d be good at it, she knew he would. According to Lila, he’d had years of experience with loads of women who he’d eventually dumped. That’s what she needed, a man of experience, to teach her how it was done.
By the time he turned off and went down a bumpy road she was breathing hard and staring out the side window trying to pull herself together. Max drove his car into a lot next to a marshy area with a wooden boardwalk and nature signs pointing to the Bay. They carried their grocery bags and their blanket toward a grassy knoll overlooking a duck pond as if they’d been doing it this way for eons. But all the while her pulse was racing. A picnic, she told herself. Nothing to get excited about. A picnic in a public place. What could happen? What did she want to happen?
There were a few children with parents feeding the ducks, but they moved on after a few minutes, and then the only sounds were the water lapping against the shore of the pond and the scrub jays screeching at each other in the trees overhead.
Instead of cutting the bread, he ripped off a hunk, cut a piece of cheese and gave them to her. Then he opened the wine with the corkscrew attachment on his Swiss Army knife and handed her the bottle. His hand brushed hers. This time she thought it was deliberate, and she felt a jolt of awareness. She thought he did, too.
A jug of wine, a loaf of bread and thou beside me…
“No glasses, sorry,” he said.
She shrugged and drank the wine straight from the bottle. The cool, fruity essence slid easily down her throat and left a warm trail. Above their heads was a canopy of silver maples. A few more sips of wine and she felt light-headed and reckless.
She reached for a tomato and bit into it. It was tart and sweet and tasted like it had just been picked in someone’s garden. She glanced at him and saw he was watching her.
“What is it? Do I have tomato all over my chin?” She grabbed a napkin and rubbed it across her chin.
“You have ‘I’m having a good time’ written all over your face. Why don’t we do this more often?” he asked.
She laughed. “You can do this every day,” she said lightly, “since you claim to work at night. But unfortunately I work during the day. In fact, I should be working now.”
“You were working. You’re allowed a lunch break, I hope.”
“Sure,” she said. But she thought, a lunch break, yes, but a picnic with wine and a handsome, flirtatious neighbor? She felt like she was in a movie, beautiful scenery, wonderful food and a movie-star-look-alike companion. Where did she fit in to the picture? If this were a movie, she’d be the technical consultant, making sure the historical details were accurate. But the star? The romantic interest? If she spent any more time with him, she’d begin to believe it might be possible.
Max’s cell phone rang. He frowned and looked at the number. No one he knew. He switched it off. He didn’t want to be reminded of his work, his clients and his other life. He was having too much fun hanging out with Sarah, living her life for a change. He shoved the phone into his back pocket. Maybe he’d lost a new clien
t. Maybe not. Right now he didn’t care.
He really wondered why he couldn’t do this more often. He could. Then why couldn’t she? Just because her aunt was returning at the end of the week didn’t mean he couldn’t see her again. As friends of course. He had no intention of coming on to her. That one kiss didn’t mean anything. Not to him, not to her, either. She wasn’t the type for a flirtation or a brief affair. She didn’t date and if she did, she would take it seriously. He knew that.
What he should do was forget about her at the end of the week. He knew, or he ought to know, that friendship between men and women was difficult if not impossible. But just a glance in her direction, seeing her hair tossed by the breeze, dark wisps on her cheek, and watching her bite into a ripe strawberry, her lips stained red, he was not ready to say goodbye to her for good.
He drank from the wine bottle and tasted her lips there. It wasn’t enough. He wanted more than a taste. He needed more. Maybe it was the sun. Maybe it was the warm air. Maybe it was her. He leaned across the blanket and framed her face in his hands. Her eyes widened. Such huge blue eyes filled with questions. He had no answers, but he had some questions of his own.
What’s wrong with a kiss between friends?
Do you really want me to back off?
Can’t we just relax, stop worrying, and see where this leads?
Are you having as good a time as I am?
What if we did have a brief fling, would that be so bad?
Yes, was the answer to that last question. Yes, it would. It would be bad for everyone. Her aunt would find out. She’d get excited. She’d want to know why it couldn’t last. Mary liked Max, but she liked her niece even better. Mary would blame him for leading Sarah on. He’d feel guilty. It would be awkward living next door to Mary, dodging her, not knowing what to say.
And worst of all? Sarah would realize what a deliciously desirable woman she was and she’d find someone to take his place when they broke it off. She was so attractive, she just didn’t know it. One taste was not enough. But sooner or later they would break it off. No two people could be less alike than Sarah and him. She thought what he did for a living was somehow unworthy. She thought he took advantage of people’s weaknesses and greed. She could be partly right.