She twisted her head back around to look at him, giving him a better view. Her face had a healthy glow, kissed by the sun as though perhaps she often came to the park. It did not appear that she wore makeup, other than a pink lip gloss. Her eyes were dark brown, and he found it unusual that he would even notice. Her hair was not wavy but appeared like strands of silk hanging about her shoulders. She reached up and tucked the strands behind her ear, saying, “I’m sure it is.”
It took him a few seconds to think about her reply, forgetting what he had said to her. Feeling foolish, he gave a quick nod and looked back down to his shoe. Sliding his foot in, he bent over, tying the laces.
“You must run often,” she said.
“It’s more comfortable to run in shoes that are broken in,” he replied, staring down at his worn, scruffy, favorite pair of running shoes. The thought crossed his mind that she might have been making fun of them, but when he twisted his head to look at her again, her face still held a gentle smile.
“I’m afraid I wouldn’t know anything about running shoes,” she said. “I just meant that you look like…well,” she laughed softly before continuing, “you look like a runner.”
“Oh,” he said, sitting up and looking back at her. A blush crept over his cheeks, and he felt his ears burning. Old habits die hard, but he was embarrassed that he had assumed she was making fun of his shoes. Hoping the shade of the tree nearby hid what he was sure were pink-tinged ears, he struggled to think of something to say. He mumbled, “Yeah. I like to run.” At that moment he wished he had Rafe’s or Jaxon’s easy conversational skills.
Grasping for something to say, his gaze dropped to the book in her lap. “I guess you like to read,” he said then blushed deeper. You like to read? That’s the best I can come up with?
He placed his hands on the bench beside his thighs, ready to jump up and continue his run, when she said, “Yes. I love to read. I especially like to read paperback or hardback books, even though I have an e-reader.”
“Me, too,” he admitted, relaxing his hands so that he could lean back against the bench again. “I’ll sometimes read on my phone if I’m waiting somewhere, but when I’m at home, I prefer the feel of the book in my hands.” Her smile widened, and he relaxed slightly. Dipping his chin toward her book, he asked, “What are you reading?”
Now it was her turn to blush, and he found the becoming pink on her cheeks matched the pink lip gloss she was wearing. Ducking her head, she closed the book and turned the cover so that he would be able to see what was in her hands. Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. “I’ve read it so many times,” she confessed, “but each time I find a new passage that seems to speak to me.”
Without thinking, he blurted, “’When I have a house of my own, I shall be miserable if I have not an excellent library.’”
She laughed out loud, her eyes seeming to sparkle with the reflection of the sun off the pond. “I can’t believe you know that! I think my only response can be, ‘I declare after all there is no enjoyment like reading! How much sooner one tires of any thing than of a book!’”
A chuckle rumbled from deep inside, and he smiled in return. “I suppose I should be embarrassed that I can quote from Pride and Prejudice.”
She shook her head emphatically and said, “Absolutely not. There is nothing embarrassing about reading a book, especially not a classic. I think there’s so much that we can learn from the words of others.” Cocking her head to the side, she added, “But while it’s not embarrassing, it is uncommon to find a man who can quote any book.”
Shrugging, he said, “I got that from my mom. She made sure I was well read, and she used to say that any passage that truly spoke to us was worth memorizing so that we could pull it up later in our lives at a time we needed it.”
He lifted his gaze from the front cover of her book, now laying back in her lap, to her face, seeing her stare at him. Her lips still curved gently, and a warm comfort settled over him. Unable to think of anything else to say, certainly nothing witty or amusing, he stood. “Well, I’ll leave you to your reading.”
As he began to turn away, she tucked her hair behind her ear again and invited, “I’m usually here in the afternoons with a book in my hands. If you’re ever running by again, I hope you’ll stop. If nothing else, we can always chat about a book.”
With a nod, he smiled in return before continuing his run down the path. Another quote from Darcy slid through his mind. “I certainly have not the talent which some people possess of conversing easily with those I have never seen before.” Except, maybe with her. Finishing his run as he circled the pond, he glanced over to the other side, and the bench was now empty.
Foregoing his motorcycle, he had driven to the park in his SUV. Climbing behind the steering wheel, he could not help but grin at the thought that tomorrow, a run in the park might be just what he needed.
That night, before sliding into bed, he searched through the many books he had stacked into bookcases. It took a while, but he found his old copy of Pride and Prejudice. He turned on the lamp by his bed, flipped off the overhead light, and settled his back against the pillows.
"It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.”
With that opening sentence, he grinned, continuing to read late into the night.
6
The next day dragged interminably, as though the world was conspiring against him. Asher received a call from one of his renters just as he was having his first cup of coffee. The kitchen sink had developed a leak, and they needed him to look at it immediately. Ascertaining that the water was not gushing onto the floor but was more of a drip, he told them he would be there soon.
Not having time to fix breakfast, he drove through the takeout line of a fast food restaurant, getting a breakfast biscuit and another cup of coffee. He hated to eat on the run, preferring to sit down for his meals the way Miss Ethel had always taught. Of course, when he was deployed overseas in the Army, meals were eaten wherever and whenever he could.
Arriving at the house, he brushed crumbs from his T-shirt while trying to not spill his coffee and carried a toolbox in the other, he greeted the renters as he moved into the kitchen. It did not take long to fix the leak, but while he worked, they had several other things they wanted him to check. Pulling out a small pad of paper, he jotted down the list, determining that nothing was an emergency. Promising to get to the items within the week, he packed up and had just gotten back into his truck when another renter called.
He had wanted to start on the minor repairs needed for the first-floor apartment that was vacant but had to put it off until he could make a visit to another of his homes. Grabbing lunch on the go, he finally made it to the apartment building.
Glad that there was little to do to get it prepared for another renter, he managed to get the two bedrooms painted without any other interruption. Working for himself, he set his own hours and usually worked late. But today, he was anxious to take another run in the park. Glad he had thought to bring his running clothes with him, he changed before leaving the apartment.
Parking in the same area, he started to run straight toward the pond but did not want to seem too eager. Turning toward the woods, he followed the path that meandered through the trees. Unlike yesterday, he barely noticed the bounty of nature around him, instead focusing on whether or not the woman with the book would be sitting on the same bench.
Coming to the clearing, he followed the trail around the pond, his eyes straining to look ahead. Finally, making another curve, he could see the bench nestled at the end of the pond under the shade of a large tree. And there she was. Sitting on one end of the bench with a book resting in her lap.
His heart skipped a beat, and he was surprised that his feet did not trip in his haste to run toward her. As he neared, she looked up, and he was suddenly afraid that perhaps her invitation had not been sincere, and she would not want to see him. But her smile widened, an
d she lifted a hand from the pages of the book and gave a little wave.
Heart light, he jogged closer before slowing down and walking to the bench. Just like yesterday, he sat on the opposite end, both aware that the odor from running might be overpowering as well as not wanting a petite female to feel overwhelmed by a large man sitting too close into her space.
“Hello again,” she said, her voice soft and melodious.
“Hey,” he replied, swiping his hand through his hair then realizing it was probably sticking straight up. He thought about trying to finger comb it to the side but had long since given up on getting his hair to do anything he wanted it to.
“How was your run?”
Nodding, he said, “Good. It was good. Kind of humid today, but still a good run.” Wishing he could think of something witty to say—hell, anything to say—he dropped his gaze to her book and asked, “Still reading about Miss Bennett and Mr. Darcy?”
“Yes, although I’m almost finished. I didn’t get to read as much last night as I was hoping to.”
Dipping his chin toward the book, he asked, “Where are you in the book, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Oh, not at all. I just finished the chapter where Elizabeth sees Pemberley for the very first time.” She looked over at him and said, “You know how when you see a movie after reading a book, it’s hard if they’re not aligned exactly?” Gaining his nod, she continued, “Well, the same was for me in reverse. In the book, when she sees Pemberley, Elizabeth is very impressed. Jane Austen does a beautiful job describing the large house and grounds, and there is the moment when Elizabeth realizes that she could have been mistress of all of that. In the movie, you get the feeling that she is regretting her decision to turn down Mr. Darcy because she could have been a great lady over a great house.”
He nodded again and laughed. “I know the scene you’re talking about. In the miniseries, there’s definitely a look on the actress’ face that makes you think that she’s kicking herself for not being able to have everything.”
She turned toward him, her eyes bright as she agreed. “Absolutely. But in the book, she thinks that her relatives, who are not wealthy, would never have been able to visit her there because of Mr. Darcy’s pride. So, she’s actually glad that she remembered that and could go and view Pemberley without thinking that it could’ve been hers.”
She tucked her hair behind her ear as she ducked her eyes, and he found the simple movement endearing. Wanting her eyes back on him, he asked, “Do you have a favorite quote…or a favorite passage from the book?”
Her brow furrowed as she bit her lip in concentration. She looked back down at her book and began flipping through the pages, and he waited patiently while she searched. Alighting on a page, she ran her forefinger down until she must have found what she was looking for. Lifting her gaze to his, she said, “It might seem like a strange passage, but to me, it really has everything to do with what the book is about, including the title. We’re taught that pride is a bad thing, but it really wasn’t so…at least not to them.” Looking back down at the page, she quoted, “’Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously. A person may be proud without being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, vanity to what we would have others think of us.’”
He pondered the quote for a moment then said, “I guess I never really thought too much about the difference.” Mesmerized by the way her eyes lit at his comment, he hoped she would keep talking.
She did not disappoint as she said, “I once looked in a thesaurus for other words besides pride. What I found were words like dignity, satisfaction, self-confidence. Then I looked up other words for vanity and found arrogance, conceitedness, pretension. And that’s when I realized that there is nothing wrong with having pride and being proud of oneself and one’s accomplishments. It’s when we are vain and are constantly wanting adulation from others that can be a problem.”
He was silent for a moment, thinking carefully on the two words when he noticed her closing the book and staring down at her hands, her hair now creating a curtain, hiding her from him. “Hey, are you okay?”
She glanced his way, her face red with blush, and said, “I should apologize for monopolizing your time. I didn’t mean to get carried away.”
Rushing to put her at ease, he said, “No, no. You don’t have to apologize for anything. I came by today hoping that you were going to be here and that we’d be able to talk some more.”
He observed uncertainty in her eyes and continued, “In fact, I actually pulled out my copy of Pride and Prejudice last night and started reading it again.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly as though she did not believe him, and he nodded emphatically, lifting his hands. “It’s true, I promise.”
She nodded slowly, her fingers nervously clutched together. “I’m not usually very good at talking with people,” she confessed. “I tend to get lost in books…sometimes I think the characters are my best friends.”
He twisted his body so that he was fully facing her on the other side of the bench, one long arm along the back, and said, “I’m the same way.”
Rolling her eyes, she said, “Somehow, I doubt that.”
“It’s the honest truth,” he said. “I never know what to talk about or how to make small talk. Books are easy, but not everyone shares that interest.”
She sucked in her lips and nodded, saying nothing.
Warming to the subject, he added, “Even when I left here yesterday, I found myself thinking of Mr. Darcy’s quote, ‘I certainly have not the talent which some people possess of conversing easily with those I have never seen before.’ All I could think of was how true that was. I never seem to have the gift of gab that others have.” She laughed, and he breathed easier seeing her relax.
“Well, that certainly describes me,” she said, still smiling. “I left here yesterday thinking that I was probably the only girl in the world that would sit next to a hot guy and start talking about an old classic.”
Her words startled him. It was not that he had never had a woman indicate that they thought he was good-looking, but they were usually either somewhat intoxicated or appeared to be on the prowl for a night of sex-only fun. When he and his brothers were younger, he quickly expected them to be the first to be pulled onto the dance floor. But for someone as unpretentious as…I don’t even know her name!
All other thoughts jumped from his mind except the fact that he wanted to know who she was. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask, but the words halted in his throat. The last thing he wanted to do was make her feel like he was stalking, or prying, or digging for information. He looked over at her again, this time unable to read what was moving through her mind. He realized that he had been quiet while his mind had been racing, and she was staring at him, blushing brightly.
“I can’t believe I said that,” she whispered, swallowing audibly.
Now it was his turn to blush, and he chuckled. “I guess this is a perfect example of that description. When a girl calls you hot, most guys could come up with something witty to say. Instead, my mind starts stumbling over itself.”
Her worry lines relaxed, and her smile widened. Once again, her pink lip gloss caught his attention, and he had to blink to pull his mind away from her lips. Her warm eyes sparkled, and today he could see that they were not only brown, but with the sun’s reflection off the pond, he could see flecks of gold around the edge. He could not remember the last time he noticed a woman’s eye color, but hers seem to draw him in. Still wanting to know more about her but not able to think of anything else to say, he reluctantly stood and said, “I’m afraid I need to finish my run and then get a little more work done.”
She nodded, and he hastened to add, “I don’t want to intrude on your reading time, but I really enjoyed talking to you—”
“Oh, it’s no intrusion at all. I’m usually here most afternoons, so if you’re ever running by you’re more than welcome to stop and we ca
n chat. Who knows what I’ll be reading next?”
“Then I’ll have to stop by,” he agreed. With a small wave, he said, “I wish you happy reading until we meet again.” The smile she bestowed on him soothed through him in a way that he had not felt since Miss Ethel used to hug him as a child.
Continuing his jog, he was almost to his truck when he realized she had called him hot, and he did not give her a compliment in return. Standing next to the driver’s door with his palms resting on the metal, he banged his head against the window. Jesus, how stupid can I be? Climbing behind the steering wheel, he vowed that tomorrow would be different. Tomorrow I’m going to find out her name and tell her she’s beautiful.
7
Rain. Fuckin’ rain. Two solid days of rain.
For two days, Asher had taken care of the items on his list of repairs for rental houses, ordered new cabinets for the apartment, and finished painting all of its rooms. And groused and grumbled throughout the two days.
He had not even gone by the park, knowing that she would not be sitting on a bench in the pouring rain with a book. And without knowing her name, he had no way to even know what part of town she lived in so that he could just happen to pass her by on the way to a coffee shop.
Heaving a sigh, he walked through the apartment with an assessing eye to see what else needed to be done. It was a nice apartment, even if the building was older. The two-story brick building housed two apartments upstairs and two identical ones downstairs. The two downstairs were slightly more expensive because they had a back door that opened to a small, private patio surrounded by a tall, brick wall. The previous owner had been an older man who enjoyed gardening and had planted a weeping cherry in both corners, with pots of flowers all around. Now that it was fall, the flowers were gone, but Asher decided to keep the pots since they appeared to be fairly new.
Asher: Heroes at Heart Page 5