by Julia Ariss
"What other things? I mean other than those things," she asked, after a pleasant interlude.
"Well if it weren't for you, I would never have picked up those books, for instance. I was curious and I wanted to puzzle you out and in the process I ended up diagnosing myself."
"Ha! I knew you were one - an introvert. I figured it out at book club."
"I won't ask how. Or why. God you're strange and so... sublime."
"So we understand each other - our quiet sides?" she asked.
"We do," he replied, kissing the soft underside of her arm.
She leant on her elbows. "But I'm not the sort of person who likes sitting around being content all the time. I've come to enjoy the peaks and troughs."
"No. Complacency is not your thing."
"Not any more. I suppose I've made that abundantly clear."
"Tempers will flame and cool, Fanny. We're bound to have our differences of opinion too. To be in a relationship where you could never scrap would be too tame a life for me."
"Mmmm... our scraps." She collapsed beside him, enraptured. Her eyes drifted along the ceiling with its fussy sculpted plaster and intricate cobwebs. Richard would have a field day decorating the place, she mused, but if Evie got wind of things she'd want to pitch white tents in the backyard and call in the caterers; this was justification for keeping things quiet to allow Jack and her - and his tempestuous new rescue cat - to become better acquainted in private, to wander about the glorious emptiness seeking out their separate nooks and favourite cushions, reuniting as they so desired.
It was Evie, she reflected, who had persuaded her to put herself out there. If she hadn't acquiesced she might never have become tangled up with George, but neither would she have spattered wine on Jack, and to that extent an invaluable service had been rendered.
"There's something I should confess," Jack said. "There's a gaping hole in my culinary education."
"What kind of a bed and breakfast is this anyway? Now that you mention it, if you have eggs and bread," she said, pulling on her shirt, "I'll just glide serenely to the fridge."
Jack tugged at her shirttails, pulling her toward him again. "Hold that thought. There's this great little place that serves brunch-"
"But... I'm the kitchen goddess of the mornings. It all goes horribly downhill after that."
"I know you are, Fanny. I've tasted your wares. The thing is," he said, clasping her hands, his eyes wide and beseeching, "It has a bookstore attached."
THE END