Window on Tomorrow

by Joan Hohl

  Celia’s guests had arrived.

  Quickening her pace, Andrea shrugged off speculation and strode along the path. She was mounting the steps when the doorbell rang. She heard Blaine’s voice as she crossed the patio. The familiar sound of another male voice brought her to a dead stop at the open patio doors. Her eyes wide and haunted, Andrea stared into the face of her fantasy lover, the man who inhabited her dreams.

  * * *

  Chapter 3

  His eyes seemed to pierce into her soul.

  Feeling oddly suspended in space and time, Andrea stood as if rooted to the floor. The moment went on forever, and was over in an instant.

  The scene had absolute clarity within that isolated instant; Andrea’s senses seemed finely tuned; her vision was sharp, her hearing acute.

  She saw the easy camaraderie between Celia, Blaine, and the other man, heard distinctly each word of the warm greetings they exchanged. And yet her attention was riveted on the stranger who was no stranger in another reality.

  The resemblance was too complete to be believed.

  The man Andrea knew to be professor Paul Hellka was the living, breathing, laughing image of her fantasy lover.

  He was exceptionally tall, appealingly slender, and handsome to the unbelievable point of beautiful. Even his attire was similar to the clothes worn by her dream man.

  His narrow waist and hips and his long, well-formed legs were clearly revealed by tight, distressed jeans. A fine-knit V-neck pullover hugged the breadth of his shoulders and afforded a tantalizing peek at the swirling silky black hair on his chest. Expensive but beat-up running shoes completed his casual summertime ensemble.

  His longish, windswept, loosely curling black hair had obviously not felt the busy end of a brush since Andrea had seen him earlier that day. His incredible blue eyes had the look of having seen everything.

  And he saw Andrea an eternity before either of the others noticed her.

  “Ah, there you are, Andrea,” Blaine called when he spotted her in the doorway. “Come meet my friend.”

  Pulling her jangling senses together, Andrea forced her quivering legs to carry her into the living room. She somehow even managed a weak smile for Blaine.

  “I’d like you to meet Dr. Paul Hellka,” Blaine said. “Paul, this is the young woman I was telling you about. Celia’s niece, Andrea Trask.”

  Doctor? Andrea reflected, shifting her reluctant gaze to the professor. Doctor of what?

  “It’s a pleasure, Ms. Trask.”

  The sound of his voice reverberated through her entire being. How could it be? she cried in silent protest. How was it possible that his voice was exactly the same as that of the man she’d created out of loneliness? Feeling strange, unreal, Andrea reached out to accept the hand he offered.

  “Dr. Hellka” she responded in a dry-mouthed whisper. The touch of his palm against hers instilled a surge of conflicting sensations inside Andrea; in an inexplicable way she felt both soothed and wildly agitated. Withdrawing her hand in a natural manner required every ounce of control she possessed.

  His smile was mesmerizing. “I’d be pleased if you’d call me Paul.”

  “If you like... Paul,” Andrea murmured after a moment of uncertain hesitation. “And please call me Andrea.” As she spoke, she raised her eyes to his and was immediately adrift in a sea of deepest blue. The sound of her aunt’s voice was the lifeline that kept her from drowning.

  “The evening is much too beautiful to stay inside,” Celia said, motioning with a slim hand. “Why don’t you show Paul out to the patio, sugar, while Blaine and I get the wine and glasses?”

  Blinking herself out of the enticement of midnight blue, Andrea drew a breath and turned toward the sliding glass doors. “Of course.” She paused to moisten her parched lips. “This way, Dr.—Paul.” Without looking to see if he was following her, she made a beeline for the doorway.

  Andrea’s flight ended at the patio railing. She was trembling inside and shivering on the surface. Her breathing was shallow and erratic. Though he didn’t make a sound, she sensed him, felt him, an instant before he came to a stop beside her.

  “Sugar.” His whisper blended with the balmy late summer breeze. The nearly soundless murmur had the jarring effect of a shout on Andrea.

  “What?” She jolted around to stare at him.

  Paul smiled; Andrea bit back a sigh.

  ‘The endearment your aunt used,” he explained in a velvet-soft tone. “Sugar. I like it.”

  “Do ... do you?” Her own voice held little substance.

  “Yes.”

  Fighting the disorienting sense of unreality, Andrea strove for a note of normalcy. “Aunt Celia is the only person who calls me that.” Even as she made the statement, Andrea heard the echo of a man’s voice, his voice, saying, “Hi, sugar.” Afraid of betraying the tremor the echo caused inside her, she turned to gaze sightlessly at the shimmering ocean.

  “Are you cold?” he asked softly, letting her know her ploy had been unsuccessful.

  “No!” she denied forcefully, much too forcefully. “I... er, no,” Andrea said in a calmer tone. “I’m not at all cold.” To herself she admitted that she was chilled from shock and disbelief, and from an insidious fear that she might be losing her mind.

  “Andrea.”

  Andrea stiffened; her heart skipped a beat. Paul’s voice had the exact intonation as... No! She clamped down on the thought. It wasn’t possible; all of her intellect and reason told her it simply was not possible for Paul and her fantasy man to be one and the same. The very concept was too bizarre, too far out to be contemplated.

  “Yes?” Hanging on to the patio rail for support, Andrea turned her head to look at him.

  His smile stole her breath and the small amount of sense she’d had left. “I understand that you’ve enrolled in my earth studies course for the fall semester.”

  “I... er, yes, I have, but...” Her voice faded under the intense blaze of blue from his eyes.

  “But. . . ?” Paul prompted.

  Confused, shaken, Andrea said the first thing to pop into her rattled mind. “I’m no longer certain. I might go back East... back home.”

  “Andrea!” Celia exclaimed from the doorway. “What are you saying?” Carrying the wine bottle in one hand and an ice bucket in the other, she crossed the patio to her niece. “You didn’t mention a word to me about changing your plans.” Her usually bright hazel eyes were clouded by concern.

  “I thought everything was settled,” Blaine said, setting a large tray containing four delicate long-stemmed glasses and several wooden snack bowls on the deck table before relieving Celia of the ice bucket and bottle. “I believed you had decided to stay here with Celia while you completed your postgraduate work at Parker.”

  Carefully avoiding looking at the disturbing cause of her sudden confusion, Andrea glanced helplessly from Celia to Blaine. “I ... I don’t know.” Andrea was floundering badly, and she knew it. Turning to face her aunt, she pressed back against the rail; the smooth wood dug into her spine.

  Celia peered at her through the romantic but inadequate glow provided by the decorative patio lights. “Andrea, are you feeling strange again?”

  “Strange?” Blaine repeated, frowning.

  “Strange?” Paul echoed, sounding interested.

  Andrea cringed inwardly. “Strange” aptly described her odd behavior. If she wasn’t careful, she advised herself, they might all decide she was one crumbling cracker.

  “She wasn’t feeling well earlier today,” Celia explained. She looked at Andrea, touching her heart with the gentleness of her smile. “I thought you were feeling better, sugar,”

  Taking control of her battered emotions, Andrea injected confidence into her voice. “I am.” She moved her shoulders in a helpless shrug. “Maybe I’m feeling a little homesick. I’m sorry I upset you.”

  “You’re missing your friends?” Celia asked astutely.

  “Yes.” In that instant, Andrea realized that it was
true; she was missing her friends, her sisters of the soul. Suddenly she ached for one of the into-the-morning exchanges of ideas and confidences she’d shared with Alycia and Karla, even if she couldn’t tell them about her dream lover. “Yes,” she repeated softly. “I am missing my friends.”

  “You could visit them,” Celia suggested, her eyes wistful, as if she had already lost her niece.

  “Of course,” Blaine agreed, correctly reading Celia’s expression. “Classes don’t start for over a week. You could fly east, visit with your friends for a week, and still be back in time for your first class.”

  Andrea was shaking her head before he’d finished speaking. “No, I can’t. They’re not there. Alycia’s with Sean on a lecture tour, and Karla’s hard at work setting up her art gallery in Sedona, Arizona.”

  Celia looked anxious. “Then you’ll stay as planned?”

  Tears of shame for upsetting Celia burned Andrea’s eyes. “Yes,” she said huskily, “I’ll stay.”

  “I promise you won’t regret your decision.”

  Startled by the guarantee Paul offered, Andrea forced herself to look at him. The patio lights reflected the sheen of amusement in his dark blue eyes. Her heartbeat increasing at an alarming rate, she pressed her spine harder, painfully against the wooden rail and infused a note of teasing into her voice. “How do you know you can deliver on your promise?”

  “I teach a wild earth studies course.”

  Andrea stared at him for a moment, then burst into laughter. “I can’t wait,” she said, realizing at that second that it was true. Another realization struck her in the very next second. If she let herself, Andrea knew she could like this man.

  The tension humming on the air dissolved in the liquid sound of Andrea’s laughter.

  “Well, shall we drink this wine before it gets warm?” Blaine asked, his relief almost palpable. Not waiting for a response, he filled the four glasses and parceled them out. When each of them held a glass, he raised his. “Now, what should we drink to?” His rugged face took on a quizzical expression.

  “The weather?” Celia asked ingenuously.

  Blaine favored her with a wry look.

  Paul grinned.

  “The new fall fashions?” Andrea inquired with elaborate innocence, joining the fun.

  Blaine snorted.

  Paul laughed out loud.

  “Aw, come on, guys,” Blaine groused. “You can do better than that.”

  “Guys?” Celia widened her eyes.

  “Guys?” Andrea fluttered her long eyelashes.

  “Hardly,” Paul drawled. “But I’ll give you a toast.” He held his glass aloft. “To the president”—he tilted his glass at Blaine—”the faculty”—he tipped the glass toward himself—”and the students at Parker”—he moved the glass once more to indicate Andrea—”and to an interesting and productive fall semester.” Raising the glass, he took a long swallow of the sparkling gold liquid.

  With murmurs of appreciation and agreement, Andrea, Celia, and Blaine followed suit. The ice now completely melted, they made themselves comfortable on the padded lounge chairs grouped around the deck table.

  Curling into a chair, Andrea sipped her wine and nibbled on the cheese-flavored crackers from one of the snack bowls. She heard but registered little of the animated conversation between her companions. She was much too distracted by the tall man reclining lazily in the chair opposite her own.

  Despite the ambiguity of her feelings and the shock she experienced every time she looked at him, Andrea had to admit that Paul Hellka fascinated her. Even with her inattention to the varied discussions, it soon became evident to her that he was erudite and amusing.

  In fact, Paul, the physical man, was every bit as similar in character to Andrea’s fantasy lover as he was in appearance. The similarities both unnerved and enthralled her.

  At one point during a conversation concerning computers and software—a subject about which Andrea knew absolutely nothing, but Paul apparently knew a great deal—he moved his hand in a gesture so achingly familiar to Andrea she had to bite her lip to keep from gasping aloud.

  He habitually moved his hand in precisely the same way when making a point.

  He embodied perfection of appearance.

  He was erudite and amusing.

  But he was a figment of her imagination.

  Paul Hellka was flesh and blood, real, a physical entity.

  Logically, Andrea knew that meeting a real man who resembled a dream man was unlikely, and that meeting a real man who was an exact replica of a dream was impossible.

  And yet, incredible as it seemed, Andrea found herself seated directly opposite a living, breathing impossibility.

  It was enough to blow a fuse in any rational person’s mind, Andrea decided, sipping the last of her wine. Before she could set her glass on the table, Paul sprang from his chair with the supple grace of a cat. Plucking the bottle from the ice bucket, he tilted it over her glass.

  “More?” He arched perfect black eyebrows.

  Startled, Andrea glanced up and felt her gaze become entangled in a soft web of velvet blue. “Ah ... yes, thank you.” In breathless amazement, she watched him fill her glass without spilling a drop or shifting his eyes as much as a flicker from hers.

  “You’re welcome.” His voice was as soft and as velvety dark as his eyes.

  Andrea’s breath eased from her lips when he released her gaze to return to his chair. She felt touched in an odd way, as if his piercing gaze had looked through the windows of her eyes into her mind and her heart and her soul. Shaken by the weird sensation, she rested her head against the cushioned chair back and closed her eyes.

  Was she losing touch with reality?

  Andrea stirred uneasily as she contemplated the thought that swam into her mind.

  But which reality? she wondered. The reality of a full year of nightly dreams of a fantasy lover? Or the waking reality of the man seated near her?

  Her fantasy man, her love, was very real to her, so real that she had still felt the quaking aftermath of their love-making inside her body after waking from her dream.

  But Paul Hellka was real, too, Andrea reasoned. Paul was a friend of Blaine’s and Celia’s. She could not have imagined him.

  But her nocturnal lover was imaginary, Andrea acknowledged. She had created him out of her own idea of perfection. Yet Paul was the living image of her nocturnal lover.

  It would all make sense, Andrea mused, if she had met Paul before her first meeting with her dream man. A lot of people dreamed about other real people. But she hadn’t met Paul, had never even seen him before today. And so it didn’t make any kind of sense to Andrea.

  Giving up the fruitless exercise of trying to make sense out of no-sense, Andrea tuned out of her own circular thoughts and into her companions’ conversation.

  Celia was telling the men about Andrea’s reaction to her first sight of sharks.

  “... We could see them clearly from the beach.” Celia gave a backward wave of her hand to indicate the crescent beach at the base of the cliffs below the house. “I could actually see the shudder that ran through Andrea’s body.”

  Three pairs of compassion-filled eyes turned to gaze at Andrea. She smiled and shrugged.

  “You’re afraid of sharks?” Paul asked.

  “Umm.” Andrea nodded. “Just the sight of those fins slicing through the water gives me the creeps.” She shivered. “I haven’t so much as wet my feet in the ocean since.”

  Celia laughed. “It’s true. She refused to go in even when Blaine’s down at the beach with us.”

  “Needless to say, my masculine ego is in shreds,” Blaine drawled.

  “Which is preferable to having your body in shreds,” Andrea retorted.

  “Oh, sugar,” Celia murmured, “you’ve always loved the ocean, and as long as you’re careful, it’s perfectly safe to go into the water.”

  His movements as fluid as the tides, Paul turned his attention from Celia to Andrea. “If y
ou’d like, I’ll stop by one afternoon to take you swimming,” he said. “I assure you, you have nothing to fear from the sharks.”

  A memory bell rang inside Andrea’s head, but before she could follow the ringing to its source it was muffled by the melodic sound of her aunt’s laughter.

  “I don’t know how you could resist accepting, sugar,” Celia laughed. “That has got to be the most original approach I’ve ever heard.”

  Appearing unperturbed by Celia’s teasing, Paul smiled and raised a questioning eyebrow at Andrea.

  “I don’t know ...”Andrea’s voice faded on a note of uncertainty that arose from something more intimate than her fear of sharks.

  “Your aunt’s right, Andrea,” Blaine drawled, shooting a speculative glance at his friend. “You must admit that the professor’s approach is original. It’s also a singular honor ... and in a state that’s famous for beautiful women.”

  Singular honor? Beautiful women? Andrea frowned. Was Blaine implying that Paul was, if not actually celibate, very, very selective? she pondered, shifting her narrow-eyed, skeptical glance from Blaine to Paul.

  Blaine nodded and grinned.

  Paul continued to look unperturbed, highly amused, and curious about how she’d respond.

  Andrea was certain she could say “Thank you, but no, thank you” and the subject would be dropped—at least by Celia and Blaine; they knew, had witnessed, how adroitly she evaded any and all male advances. But she wasn’t certain of anything as far as Paul Hellka was concerned.

  But Andrea was intrigued by the man. How, she asked herself, could she be other than intrigued? She had made the most electrifying, satisfying love with his imaginary double that very afternoon!

  What to do?

  Andrea endured the gentle regard in the depths of his blue eyes while she mentally teetered on the brink of decision. She saw his eyes flicker an instant before Paul issued a challenge that tipped the scales in his favor.

  “Why are you afraid?” His voice was soft, tender, but contained a thread of provocation. “An afternoon at the beach, Andrea. Within sight of the house.” His smile taunted. “I promise I won’t lure you in over your head.”