The Legend of James Grey

by Jennifer Moorman

  “All taken care of,” he said.

  Emma shuffled her feet and watched words slide out from beneath her sandals. Don’t go. Closer. Hope. She cleared her throat. “Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” she said, rifling through her purse in search of her keys.

  James tilted his head at her and grinned. Then he reached out for her hand, twining his fingers with hers. “I’ll walk you home.”

  “In this weather?” she asked in surprise, even though the idea thrilled her.

  “Okay, so I’ll run you home. Probably at a balls-to-the-wall, full-out sprint, but, yes, I’d like to see you to Morty’s.”

  Emma nodded, afraid to allow the feeling of happiness to swell inside her, and he squeezed her fingers lightly. Emma flipped off the library’s lights, leaving the one light on over the circulation desk. Then she pushed open the back door only to have the wind slam it shut again.

  “This is going to be fun,” she said, pushing it open again. “I hope you know how to swim. It might be more water than land out there.”

  Emma and James rushed out the door and jumped down the stairs. They were soaked within seconds. The lawn between the library and Morty’s cottage was a soggy mess, and Emma imagined they were hightailing it through a marsh instead of across the grass. Her sandals gave her no traction, and she felt more like she was sliding over the ground on roller skates rather than running. When they reached the cottage, Emma stood beneath the sheltered side porch, wheezing and laughing. Her wet hair was plastered to her face, so she shoved it back. James’ face was shadowed in the darkness, but she could tell he was smiling. Watery words formed in the raindrops over his shoulder. Breathless. Whisper. Come here.

  “Thanks for running me home, James. I really—”

  His mouth pressed against hers, and his lips were warm and wet with rain. The desire that flickered in her belly felt like a lit sparkler. Then the tingling sensation spread like a slow, pins-and-needles-type of burn, waking up all the parts of her that had been sleeping, or hiding, or closed off from intimacy for months. She pressed her palms against his chest, feeling the warmth of him through his shirt. He slid his hand to the back of her head and pulled her closer. His arms went around her waist, holding her close. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been properly kissed. Thomas had kissed her, but they’d never found a rhythm that worked well, and she’d always thought of his kisses as a desperate escape for him, and they were always on a timer. James kissed her like he could go all night, and more than that, like he wanted to go all night.

  He pulled away from her and let his hands slide up her sides. She felt his warmth through the thin, wet fabric of her blouse.

  “I think I should come inside,” he said. “Make sure you get in safely.”

  “Oh, I’ll be fine—”

  “I’d like to come inside, Emma.”

  Emma’s lips formed a small o, and her heart banged in her chest, and not just from the sprint across the lawn. He wanted to come inside. A voice in her head said, No way. That’s treacherous territory. You know what’ll happen when you let him in. It’s the same thing that always happens. He’ll leave.

  “You’ll be gone in a few days.” Just saying the words tightened her throat.

  “But I’m here now. I don’t want to leave you just yet.”

  A louder voice in her mind pushed through the hesitation and fear. She responded, “I don’t want you to leave just yet either.”

  She fumbled for Morty’s key on her key ring and then slipped it into the lock. She unlocked the door, turned the knob, and looked over her shoulder at James as she pushed open the door. He looped his arm around her waist and tugged her toward him. He leaned down and kissed her as they stumbled through the open door, locked together, dripping water all over the hardwood.

  11

  James closed the door to Morty’s cottage with his foot and reached back to twist the lock on the doorknob, and he never once broke from kissing Emma. She dropped her purse on the floor, and he slow-walked them into the living room, moving as one, as though they couldn’t separate long enough to decide where to go.

  Emma couldn’t keep her hands off James. Every time her fingers grazed his skin she felt the pull to him grow stronger and more intense; she couldn’t get close enough to him. For the first time in a long time, Emma’s thoughts were full of one person and nothing else. There wasn’t enough space in her mind for anything but James—his kisses, his touch, his smell, his hands in her hair. Emma’s legs backed into the couch, and James stopped moving them. He pulled away and looked at her. The streetlights cast dim light into the room, but it was enough light that she could see his features.

  “This is fast,” he said. “Too fast?”

  Emma couldn’t respond right away. She pressed her lips together and tried to gather her thoughts, but all she could think about was how nice it was to be kissed by him. Even though a part of her knew kissing James was a terrible idea and even though she had worked so hard to keep everyone out, she wanted more. She craved the closeness. It felt as though James had created a narrow crack in the dam, and strong currents of pent-up emotions were pushing forth, widening the fissure into a full-on breach.

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  His arms rested around her waist, and he moved one hand up to her neck and then to her cheek. “I can tell you good night. I’ve seen you to Morty’s safely.”

  She blinked up at him, still feeling his lips pressing against hers. “I don’t want you to go.”

  “I don’t have to.”

  “Then don’t,” Emma said, surprised at her boldness.

  James pulled her toward him and kissed her. He moved their bodies down toward the couch, but Emma hesitated and pushed against him.

  “We can’t,” she said.

  “Okay,” James said, releasing his hold on her and taking a step back.

  Emma moved toward him and looped her arms around his waist. “No, I mean, we can’t get on Morty’s couch. It’s leather, and we’re soaking wet.”

  James chuckled and leaned down to press kisses up the side of her neck. “I see. Well, then, I think we have a few options.”

  Emma’s eyes closed, and she leaned her head to the side to give him easier access to the sensitive skin on her neck. She slid her hands up his chest and sighed. “I’m interested in hearing them.”

  “There’s the floor,” he said, kissing along her jawline. “There’s Morty’s room, but that seems inappropriate.” He kissed her cheek. “There’s the couch, but we’d have to lose the wet clothes. Your choice.” He kissed her lips.

  Emma’s whole body quivered, and she had a moment when she thought, Is this really happening? Then anxiety clawed at her—a bitter, familiar warning—but happiness overshadowed it. Excitement expanded inside her, making her feel light and blissful—feelings so foreign that she felt momentarily startled. Instead of pushing them away, the desire to let go for a few minutes and be reckless overtook her good sense. She’d been playing it safe and disconnected for months since Thomas abandoned her. But now desire burned hot inside her, and she didn’t want to detach from it. She didn’t want to push James away.

  She unbuttoned the top button on James’ shirt and then moved down to the next one. He watched her, and his mouth tugged up on one side, causing Emma’s heart to thump.

  “I like your choice,” he said, and then he kissed her so deeply that she fisted her hands in his shirt and held on.

  The next morning Emma inhaled the scent of coffee and bacon cooking. She opened her eyes and stretched her legs on the couch. Then she pushed up on one elbow and glanced toward the kitchen where James was moving around, barely making a sound.

  She glanced at their discarded shoes and clothes on the floor and then down at her bare legs. She wore a white undershirt she’d pilfered from Morty’s dresser drawer. Even though the shirt was way too big for her and fell down to her mid-thigh, she reached down for the blanket and pulled it up to her waist. Sunlight poured through t
he bay window and filled the living room with pale, yellow light. She sat up and closed her eyes, replaying last night through her mind. Her body tingled with the memory.

  “Good morning,” James said.

  She opened her eyes and looked at him. “Hi.”

  “I hope you’re hungry,” he said. “I’ve made eggs, bacon, and biscuits. It’s almost ready. Want some coffee?”

  James stood in the kitchen wearing boxer shorts and a white T-shirt. Emma stared for a few seconds before answering. A cowlick in the back of his head caused his dark hair to stick up in that one spot, which Emma found to be completely adorable. She had trouble believing a man like James would find her interesting. And he had woken up and made breakfast for her?

  “This feels like a dream,” she said.

  James chuckled and returned to the stove. “If it is, I’d prefer to stay asleep. Don’t wake me up, okay?” He leaned over and glanced at the biscuits through the glass oven door. Then he looked back at her. “But for me, this feels like I’m truly awake, and the rest of my life has been a dream.”

  Emma stared down at her lap and smiled. While he was occupied in the kitchen, she got up off the couch and went to the bathroom. She searched through Morty’s bathroom cabinets until she found an unopened toothbrush, and she brushed her teeth. Then she combed her tangled hair. When she walked out of the bedroom, James stood in the kitchen, holding a mug of coffee for her. She self-consciously pulled at the T-shirt, trying to tug it lower.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said.

  Emma glanced at the floor and then back up at him. She wanted to argue, to tell him all the reasons that couldn’t possibly be true, but why? Why not take the compliment without trying to deconstruct its meaning or doubt its sincerity? She walked to him and grabbed the mug. “Thank you.”

  James leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I could get used to this, seeing you first thing in the morning wearing a T-shirt, making you breakfast, drinking coffee with you.”

  Emma allowed her mind to imagine what that life would be like—a life where a handsome man wanted to be with her every morning. It had been so long since she’d allowed herself to have daydreams about being in a real relationship that the hope that arose inside her felt hesitant and rusty, as though it wasn’t sure if it was safe to expand and stretch out. She sipped the coffee and hummed in approval as the warmth slid down her throat and filled her chest.

  James had set the table for two, and Emma sat in one of the chairs. “Can I help you with anything?”

  “No, ma’am. I have this under control.” He glanced at her over his shoulder after he removed the biscuits from the oven. “How’d you sleep?”

  Emma glanced at the couch and felt her cheeks warm. “Not bad.” She’d never slept on a couch with anyone before, which she would have thought would have been uncomfortable and cramped. But it hadn’t been at all. She’d been perfectly content to sleep pressed up against James’ side with her head on his chest. Once she’d fallen asleep, she hadn’t remembered anything else about the night other than having a sense of peace and relaxation. “You?”

  “Like a dream,” he said and smiled at her. “Like I said, I could get used to this.”

  While he finished making breakfast, Emma reached for a paper napkin and a pen left behind on the table. She looked up at James’ back while he worked as thoughts formed into words, which traveled to her hand and she wrote:

  Your shadow on the wall quickens my pulse,

  the outline of your sleeping form,

  illuminated by the starlight.

  The heat of you stretching across the couch,

  reaching me and pulling me nearer.

  The steady rise and fall, the calming sound,

  of your sleepy breaths,

  pressing me into sleep.

  In this half dream,

  if we can make promises

  that we don’t have to keep,

  will you promise to never leave?

  She folded the napkin in half and slid it to the side of the table. Then James brought the food over, and Emma filled her plate with scrambled eggs, pieces of bacon, and biscuits covered with melting butter.

  “This feels extravagant,” she said. “I can’t remember the last time I had a decent breakfast. Maybe it was when we celebrated Morty’s birthday and went over to Scrambled, the diner up the street.”

  James slathered jelly on his steaming biscuit. “My brothers couldn’t be bothered with the kitchen, but I remember being fascinated by my mama cooking and baking. She’d pull a chair over to the counter when I was young, and she’d let me help her with the easy stuff—rolling out dough or mixing cookie batter. Then when I got older, I cooked a lot because I enjoyed it.”

  Emma swallowed a mouthful of eggs and reached for her coffee. “I’m a whiz with the microwave.”

  James laughed. “I’ll teach you how to cook.”

  Emma almost smiled, but she instantly realized that if James were to teach her how to cook, he’d have to be around, and according to the time clock in her head, he would be gone in less than two days. Gone.

  He must have sensed the change in her because he reached over and touched her arm. “You okay?”

  She breathed past the tightening in her chest. Enjoy yourself while you can. You knew this was temporary. But life is temporary. Hold on to this moment. She let her eyes trail over his handsome face, the straight lines of his jaw, the fullness of his lips. “Just thinking about what a terrible time that would be for you. I’m a disaster in the kitchen. All thumbs, I think. Bobby and I tried to make a cake one year for Daddy’s birthday, and it was flatter than a pancake and tasted like dirt. Well, it actually tasted like pine tar, but I’m pretty sure that’s because Bobby used too much molasses because we didn’t have brown sugar.”

  James shook his head. “Somehow I doubt Bobby was the best teacher for cooking.”

  “Definitely not. He excelled at nearly everything, but cooking was not his forte. Hence, why I’m a whiz at the microwave.”

  As they finished breakfast and carried their dishes to the sink, Emma glanced at the calendar Morty had pinned to the refrigerator with a “I’m a Librarian. Don’t make me shush you.” magnet. Morty had drawn a blue circle around Sunday’s date. She stopped and stared. Within seconds her brain understood the significance of the day.

  “This Sunday is the Mystic Water Veteran’s Festival,” she blurted. “I’d completely forgotten.”

  James took the plate from her hands, ran it under the water, and scrubbed it clean. “He brings me out every year for it, but with everything that’s been going on, I hadn’t thought about it again. What do we need to do?”

  “Morty always spearheads it.” Emma rubbed her hands down her face. “I don’t even know where to start. There’s so much that goes on. So many vendors and people and activities. This is Morty’s brainchild. He spends nearly all year planning and organizing and coming up with new ways to make it successful.”

  James dried the plates and placed them back in the cabinet. “You’ve been his co-pilot for years. You can do this,” he said. “Doesn’t he have a file where he keeps everything?”

  Emma nodded, grabbed her unfinished coffee, and poured the rest into the sink. She walked toward the kitchen window and stared out at the lawn between the cottage and the library, which would be crowded with people who were expecting a completely functional festival in less than two days. Her breakfast shifted in her stomach. How would she ever pull off such a major event without Morty?

  James placed his hands on her arms and turned her toward him. “First thing you should do is go home, shower, and change clothes. Call Vicki and make sure she plans on helping out on Sunday. In fact, if she’s not already coming in today, see if she can manage a few hours to help with the preparation. You might swing by the hospital and talk to Morty about specifics. I’ll clean up here and meet you in the library. You have a couple of hours before the library is supposed to open. While you’re gone, I’ll find the
file and start sorting through it.”

  The image of a silver hook flashed into her mind. “What about Hook? We can’t have him running amok during the festival. What if we can’t find him? What if he gets out of the library? What if he’s already out?”

  “I’ll handle it,” James assured her.

  Emma blinked up at James but didn’t respond. Just looking at him eased her mind, and she felt her worry lessening. Her expression softened, and she sighed.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For making me feel like we can actually make this work,” she said, reaching out and sliding her hand into his.

  James pulled her closer to him. “I have no doubt that we will make this work.”

  All Emma had to do was prepare for and successfully execute a major festival that would draw in the entire town of Mystic Water and likely hundreds of people from the surrounding towns, make sure Captain Hook didn’t ruin the event or kidnap unsuspecting women, and not fall in love with James Grey, who would be gone from her life in less than two days. Easy, right?

  12

  Emma arrived at the library half an hour before it was time to open the doors. She’d called Vicki, who would be coming in around lunchtime, and she’d spent nearly forty-five minutes being briefed by Morty about everything he could think of concerning the festival. Her brain was so full that her temples throbbed with the overload. She found James sitting behind the circulation desk where he’d made separate piles of papers.

  “How’s it going?” she asked as she dropped her purse on the desk.

  A light in the top corner of the desk phone blinked red, which indicated messages were waiting to be listened to.

  James noticed her looking, and he nodded. “Phone’s been ringing since I got here. I have a feeling it’s going to be ringing constantly all day. Come around here, and let me show you what I’ve done.”

  Emma leaned over his shoulder as he pointed out the different piles and what each one represented. There were separate piles for food vendors, merchandise vendors, musical guests, speakers, children’s activities, and the charity’s information. He’d organized which booths would be set up in the library and which ones would be outdoors on the lawn or down the street in the park at the end of Main Street. He talked about the groups who would be there to set up this afternoon, both indoors and out, and which vendors wouldn’t be able to set up until first light Sunday morning.