by Kris Tualla
Hollis heaved a sigh. Her eyes stung with tears. “I understand, George. I was definitely not my best self the other night. I have to admit that.”
George was quiet.
“George?”
“I’m sorry Hollis. I guess I didn’t expect you to agree with me.” He huffed a little chuckle. “Most women I have declined a second date with come back with some zinger like, well if you were a better man…”
“That’s not fair.” Hollis rested her head in her hand and stared at the wood grain in her desktop. “At least not in my case. I was the one who failed. Miserably.” One tear dripped on her desktop.
“Not miserably.”
“But you don’t want to go out again.”
George hesitated again. “Let me think about it.”
Oh just cut it off cleanly, please. “Sure.”
He cleared his throat. “Can I ask you about something? Completely unrelated?”
Hollis frowned. “Go ahead.”
“Do you really have a first edition of Mansfield Park signed by Jane Austen?”
She lifted her head and her hand fell to the desk. “What?”
“Do you really have—”
“I heard you,” she interrupted. “How did you know?”
“I, uh, received an email from the Jane Austen Society of North America. They said it was going to be part of your museum’s new collection.”
A slow grin spread over Hollis’s face. “You’re a member of JASNA.”
George cleared his throat again. “I am.”
“Why?”
“Believe it or not, Hollis, those stories are not only about women.” His tone grew more authoritative. “And the gatherings need their Mister Darcies and Mister Knightlies as well, don’t they?”
“I never thought about it,” she admitted. “Do you dress up?”
Another pause. George was clearly deciding how much of himself to expose to her ridicule.
“There are occasions, at the national conference for example, where authentic period dress would be highly appropriate.”
“Spoken like a lawyer.” Hollis chose her words and her tone carefully. “And as a historian, I think that is absolutely wonderful.”
“You do?” His surprise was evident.
“Of course, I do. I—I just didn’t expect this side of you.”
“Why? Because I’m not gay?”
Hollis laughed at that. “No, of course not. It’s just… unusual.”
“Point made.”
“George, I personally think that any serious preservation of any part of history is good for our society,” she assured him. “I think it’s cool.”
“Thank you. I do enjoy it,” he admitted, his voice lifting with amusement. “I’m probably a thwarted actor underneath this sophisticated barrister’s exterior.”
Hollis laughed again. “Possibly.”
The time had come to end the conversation. Hollis hated this part—it was always so awkward. Then an incredible idea popped in her head.
It’s worth a shot.
At least, it might begin to repair some of the damage she had done. “Would you like to see it?”
She though she heard a little gasp. “See it?”
Hollis smiled, knowing she just hit pay dirt with George. “The book. The one she signed.”
“Is that allowed?”
“Of course it is.” Hollis shifted her word choice to sound Austen-ish. “As long as you don’t pull a pistol on me, good sir, and make off with it in a very untoward manner.”
Now George laughed. Hollis was glad to hear it. That meant she was making headway.
“I would absolutely love to come see the book,” he said. “And I am honored that you asked.”
“Great! When do you want to come?”
“Let me look at my calendar…”
“Tonight?”
“Yes!”
*****
Stevie shook her head. “This won’t do.”
Hollis looked at her friend, confused by her lack of enthusiasm. “What won’t?”
“This.” Stevie waved her finger from Hollis’s head to her feet. “You have to go home and change.”
Hollis looked down at her khakis and t-shirt. Her work was sometimes dirty, so she didn’t bother wearing fancy stuff that could get ruined. “Do you really think that’s necessary?”
“Yes.” Sveyn’s deep voice answered in tandem with Stevie’s perky soprano.
Hollis could not help but look at the Viking. She didn’t expect him to help George’s situation, and was startled by his agreement. “Well, if you’re sure.”
“Yes,” the dual voices responded.
“Fine. I’ll clean up my desk and then go home and change,” she conceded.
Both tiny Stevie and huge Sveyn crossed their arms over their chests and grinned at her.
Chapter Thirteen
In a bizarre scenario, Hollis tried on several outfits while Sveyn gave her his opinions.
“You don’t know what’s in style these days,” Hollis objected.
“I am a man, Hollis.” No kidding, mister. “And no matter where or when I manifested, I saw that all men want the same thing.”
She stood in her bedroom doorway. “And what’s that?”
He walked toward her. “We want women to look feminine. We want to see the shape of their bodies. And we do not want their beauty hidden by false attempts to enhance it.”
Wow.
“That was very eloquent, Sveyn.”
He gave her a knowing smile. “And it was also very true.”
Then he walked past her and into her bedroom for the first time. He looked around, and when he spied the open closet door he stood in front of it.
“Try this. It goes with your eyes and hair.” He pointed at a fitted lime green t-shirt with lace-appliqued embellishments.
“And this.” The navy pencil skirt was business-appropriate in length, and made of broadcloth mixed with spandex so it was super comfortable.
The Viking then sat on the end of her bed, waiting.
Hollis realized that Sveyn was not intending to leave the room, so she carried the clothes into her bathroom and closed that door.
What was he trying to do? Move their relationship up a notch in intimacy? Or maybe, he had been somehow watching her in her bedroom and bathroom all along. She always knew that was possible, even though she didn’t want to think about it happening.
Later.
One crisis at a time.
Hollis examined her reflection in the bathroom mirror before submitting to Sveyn’s scrutiny. She shyly admitted that she looked amazing. Office-appropriate and feminine at the same time.
Dang. He’s right.
She opened the door and walked past the closet into the room.
Sveyn grinned as he rose to his feet. “My lady, you are stunning.”
Hollis did a little-girl twirl. “Thanks for your suggestion.”
“Now your hair.”
She stopped and grabbed her ponytail. “What about it?”
“Loosen it.”
Hollis shook her head. “It gets too crazy.”
Sveyn leaned down until his eyes were level with hers. “Loosen it, brush it, and tie half of it back.”
“But—”
“Women have always done so with their hair. For centuries.” He straightened. “Please do as I say.”
Dang, he’s right again.
“I can’t wear it down like this every day, you know.” Hollis grabbed her purse and walked out the condo’s front door. “It’ll get in the way.”
Sveyn just smiled.
*****
Both Stevie and Miranda—who had been updated by Stevie concerning the unprecedented Mansfield Park viewing second date—stared open-mouthed at Hollis.
“You sure clean up well!” Stevie beamed at her.
“Stop it.” Hollis knew she was blushing; she could feel the fire burn in her cheeks. “You’ve seen me dressed like this before.”
/> Miranda shook her head. “There’s something different today.”
“It’s called hope,” Stevie stated with authority. “Hollis was able to salvage what she called an ‘awkward’ first date, and get a second one.”
“Using the museum’s resources,” Miranda pointed out.
Hollis scowled. “I had no idea when he called me back that he was as obsessed with Jane Austin as you are, Stevie. It was kismet.”
“Kismet, and…” She winked at Hollis. “The fact that I emailed JASNA about our find.”
Hollis had to agree to that. The timing turned out to be impeccable.
Sveyn sat with Hollis in her office as she wasted time waiting for George. She was too nervous to do any actual work, so she decided to clean out her desk drawers.
When a broken pencil sharpener clunked into the trash can, Sveyn frowned at her. “Is it only in America where people have so many things, that they throw some away?”
Hollis looked at him. “It’s broken.”
“Can it not be repaired?”
“Maybe. But it’s cheaper to buy a new one.”
Sveyn wagged his head. “I cannot understand this.”
“Look at it this way—making the new one gives someone a job.” She shrugged. “Didn’t you have someone in your village who made shoes?”
“And he repaired shoes, as well.”
“But there came a point where fixing them was more work than making a new pair.”
Sveyn’s eyes narrowed. “True. But after they were repaired more than once.”
Hollis leaned on the desk. “You will just have to trust me on this. Fixing things isn’t always the cheapest or most efficient way to deal with some of our things in the twenty-first century.”
He made a face. “I do not like that.”
Hollis opened the bottom drawer in her desk. An unopened box caught her eye, and she gave a happy gasp. “I forgot I had this…”
She grinned at the Viking. “One of our problems is solved!”
Sveyn was confused. “We have a problem that can be solved?”
Hollis lifted the box. “We do. And the solution is called Bluetooth.”
His expression twisted into one which clearly called her sanity into question. “How will blue teeth be of any help to anyone?”
Hollis opened the box. “Not blue teeth—Bluetooth. It’s the name of this little fellow.”
She lifted the earpiece from the box and inserted the battery. Sveyn stood and approached her, intently watching every move she made.
“This device allows people to talk on the phone without having to hold it in their hand.” Hollis chuckled. “When these first came into use, people looked completely insane using them.”
“Why?” Sveyn obviously did not understand anything she said so far, but asked the question anyway.
“Because they look like they are talking to themselves.” Hollis pulled out her phone and switched the Bluetooth connection on. “Now they are so common, that no one blinks an eye at someone having a one-sided conversation out loud.”
Sveyn’s brow lifted. “Show me.”
Hollis put the earpiece over her ear, then picked up the receiver of her office phone and dialed her cell. When it rang in her ear, she set the receiver down and answered it.
Hollis stood and walked to the other side of the office. “Talk to the phone.”
He leaned over the receiver. “Hello, Hollis.”
“Do you hear me through there?”
“Yes,” he said into the phone, then turned to look at her.
“You see that I have this in my ear.” She touched the Bluetooth. “And I’m having a conversation.”
“Yes…” Sveyn’s expression brightened.
“Even though you can’t hear what the other person is saying, you assume I’m not just talking to myself. Right?”
Sveyn clasped his hands together. “So you wear that, and when you talk to me, people will not think you are a lunatic.”
Hollis strode back to her desk. “Exactly. This is fantastic! I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before.”
She put the receiver back in its cradle and put the Bluetooth box back in the desk drawer. On her desktop, her phone lit up with George’s face.
She held up her hand and pressed the button on the earpiece. “Hi, George. Are you here?”
Hollis looked at Sveyn while she listened to George’s voice.
“Great. I’m on my way. See you in a second. Yep. Bye.” She pressed the button to disconnect the call and beamed at Sveyn. “See? That’s how it works.”
He wagged his head, awestruck. “That is unimaginable. What will come next, I wonder?”
*****
George held the musty volume in his white-gloved hands. The reverential look on his face might have been comical on anyone else. “Jane held this book, and signed it with her own hand.”
“Yes, she did.” Hollis understood his emotion. In her line of work, it was almost a daily occurrence.
“Wow.” He lifted the volume and inhaled the scent of its pages. “Is it possible that I smell perfume?”
“It might be—though I doubt it would be Jane’s scent. More likely that is the scent of the owner.”
He slid his gaze to hers. “Who owned it?”
“We don’t know. Our hoarder, Ezra Kensington the fifth, bought this, and several other signed first editions, at a bookstore in London. This purchase was made in nineteen-twenty-nine.”
George’s eyes widened. “How old was he?”
Hollis smiled at that. “Mr. Kensington died at the age of one-hundred-and-five years, seven months.”
“Wow.” George turned to the flyleaf page and read the words out loud. “Printed for T. Egerton, Military Library, Whitehall. Published in eighteen-fourteen.”
He ran his cotton-covered index finger over Jane’s signature. “It’s funny—even then they said ‘by the author of’ as substantiation of the book’s worthiness.” He looked up at Hollis, his hazel eyes pinched at the corners. “Do you have volumes two and three?”
“We do, but she only signed the first one.”
“Too bad.”
“They will still make a nice display,” Hollis said. “The stack of three first editions, and the top one open to show the signature.”
George closed the book and handed it back to Hollis, his hazel eyes pinched at the corners in a very attractive way. “You said there were other signed first editions that you found?”
Hollis and George spent the next hour perusing the other volumes found in Ezra’s hoard. Conversation flowed easily with such a centerpiece, and Hollis relaxed in the man’s pleasant company.
Sveyn thankfully stayed out of her sight and remained quiet.
As Hollis adjusted her skirt, she was once again reminded of how nice he was being about the whole George thing. First apologizing for trying to sabotage her date, and then helping her dress for tonight. If she read George’s reaction to seeing her correctly, the lawyer was impressed.
Now the Viking was somewhere in this storeroom, no doubt poking his head into things.
Literally.
Hollis smiled at the thought.
George looked at his watch. “I suppose I should be going. We both have work in the morning.”
Hollis nodded and replaced the volumes in their box. “This was fun.”
George threw his arms wide. “I can’t thank you enough for letting me come see this. The JASNA girls will be green when I tell them.”
Hollis chuckled and led George back through the labyrinth to the storeroom’s only door. “Some of them might get their turn. Miranda is considering a Regency high-tea fundraiser specifically for JASNA members.”
She stopped and turned around. “Don’t tell them, though, in case it doesn’t happen.”
George laid a hand over his heart. “You have my word.”
Hollis stopped at her office to grab her purse and turn off the lights. She escorted George to the back door and stopped at
the alarm panel.
“I assume the sections outlined in red are already alarmed,” he said, pointing at the schematic.
“Yeah, the galleries are automatic.” Hollis dug in her purse for her I.D. “It’s a pretty sophisticated system, actually. It counts bodies, and once the guests are all out of the building, the front doors lock, and it notifies the guard desk.”
George nodded. “Then staff members leave the galleries through the admin area.”
“And once they’ve checked out of the public area, all the doors in those parts of the building lock, the alarm is armed, and gallery motion detectors go on high sensitivity. The cameras are always on, of course.”
George nodded his understanding. “That’s why you had me meet you back here.”
Hollis lifted the white plastic card. “Found it!”
George grinned. “Let me see your picture.”
Hollis rolled her eyes but complied.
“Not bad at all, considering the medium.” He handed it back to her. “But I can’t imagine you ever taking a bad picture.”
“Then your imagination is sadly lacking, counselor. Are you ready?” She held her card under the alarm panel’s scanner.
All the office doors locked with a synchronized snick and the hallway lights went out. George held the heavy steel door for her as the alarm panel counted down, its high-pitched beeps echoing in the stark hallway.
When he let go, the door clunked closed and the whoop of the alarm let Hollis know the museum was secured. Theirs were the only two cars in the employee parking lot so late on this hot night.
Sveyn was leaning against hers.
George turned to face her and took one of her hands in his. The full moon and the parking lot lights cast opposite blue and orange shadows over his features. “Thank you again, Hollis.”
“I’m glad I could do this for you.” She was suddenly shy, wondering if he was going to kiss her.
He was.
George leaned in and Hollis lifted her chin. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the feel of his lips against hers, and the smell of his aftershave—faint after a full day, but still clean and spicy. She had not been kissed so tenderly for a very long time.
He pulled away and looked into her eyes. The expression on his face was hard to read, especially with the colorful shadows masking it.