Though he didn’t seem to notice me watching him, Russell’s gaze peered over the top of Lemonade and Lies, studying Andrew and Joel with obvious fascination. A tingle of jealousy swirled in my gut. I couldn’t blame him; the two men really were model perfection. Then I noticed Russell’s attention shift over to where the couple’s daughter, Sandy, was sitting on the floor, happily pulling books from the kids’ section shelves. Something about the sight caused his brows to knit in what appeared to be confusion.
So he wasn’t simply scoping out how hot the dads were.
Suddenly those brown eyes flicked to me, and I flinched. He did as well, but he didn’t look away. Though I was tempted, I didn’t either.
We studied each other across the space of the bookshop. Things had been tense that morning, little more than respectful greetings and then tiptoeing around each other.
I couldn’t tell if he needed me to apologize for assuming so much about him the night before, or if he thought I required more of an apology for his outburst in the group. Or maybe he simply felt exposed at how much he’d shared with me.
He blinked, his gaze softened, and he gave a little smile and nod before returning to the pages of the book.
I continued studying him and didn’t try to disguise it. Certainly he knew that I was.
I wasn’t surprised there was more to the man. Not in the least. Any lover of books knows that with any good novel, there’s so much more depth than just a pretty cover. I’d never assumed that Russell Wallace was simply a smoldering, sexy bodyguard I’d happened to fuck so many years ago. The man would be fifty in three years; of course he had stories. Probably endless stories. Even so, I hadn’t predicted the one he’d shared with me the night before. But the emotion he displayed… that hadn’t surprised me at all.
I think I’d sensed that depth in the few moments we shared in the bathhouse years ago, though so few words had been exchanged. And it had been displayed over and over again in our few short days together as he watched over me. Even the complete sense of safety as I’d slept in his arms. With his obvious physical strength and bravery came conviction and passion… and pain, apparently.
As soon as he shared his story the night before, it made sense. And though I barely knew him, I wasn’t surprised to discover that he’d been a police officer nor that his career had ended the way it had—in an outburst of violence, and an outburst of protection.
What I hadn’t predicted was the object of that protection. A young, fragile kid. One who had been effeminate and probably delicate.
Though I hadn’t dabbled in makeup, in a lot of ways, I imagined he’d been a kid like me. Only he hadn’t had a mother who loved unconditionally. Hadn’t had an older brother to step up and protect and shield once that mother passed away. That kid had no one. Until Russell. And while Russell hadn’t been able to save the kid’s life, he’d defended it, done everything in his power to protect him.
I couldn’t help wondering how much of that kid Russell saw when he looked at me.
“Can I have this book, Daddy?”
Sandy’s voice brought me crashing back to the moment, and luckily gave me the time I needed to compose myself before needing to speak.
“How do you ask, Sandra?” Andrew smiled down at her but didn’t take the book as he waited.
She only had to consider for a moment. “Please. Can I have this book, please, Daddy?”
“May I have this book, please.” Andrew knelt and took the book from his daughter, looked at the cover, and then gave a laugh as he shook his head. He handed it up to Joel. “Have you been playing brainwashing tapes in her room while she sleeps?”
Joel took the book, looked at the cover, and then beamed in pride at his redheaded daughter. “That’s my girl. The answer to that question is yes. You may most definitely have this book.” He handed it to me. “Ring this up for us, my good man.”
As soon as I saw the cover with Elmo and Cookie Monster on it for myself, I laughed and grinned at Andrew. “Take Us Out to the Ballgame wouldn’t be your first choice?”
He nodded. “My daughter literally looks like the Little Mermaid and was named after Sandra Bullock in Practical Magic, but she couldn’t be less interested in princesses or witches. It’s all sports, all the time. And given that all three dogs are addicted to playing fetch, I’m completely outnumbered in my own home.”
Joel pulled out his credit card and handed it to me before smirking at his husband. “Just more proof that she was actually named after Sandy Koufax, like I’ve said the entire time.”
Andrew shot him a glare and then lifted his brows at me. “You know, I think I’m feeling that seven-year itch coming on even as we speak.”
When Joel gave an exaggerated gasp, I heard Russell chuckle from his spot in the corner. Glancing over, I caught him inspecting Andrew and Joel again, though his gaze quickly flicked back to the book as if trying to pretend he was laughing at something funny in the pages.
Yes, there was definitely more to Russell Wallace than just his beautiful cover.
As Andrew, Joel, and Sandy left Lavender Pages, Xander held open the door for them and then walked in.
I glanced at the time, and it revealed that more of the day had passed than I’d realized. I’d hoped for a few seconds alone with Russell after the family left, though I hadn’t figured out what I was going to say—maybe simply tease him about moving on to the second Agatha Frost book, gloat that I’d found something he liked on the second try. Maybe it was a good thing Xander was already at work, though. Kept me from saying something a whole lot more exposing than commentary on a cozy murder mystery.
However, unless I was reading Russell incorrectly, it seemed he was having a similar reaction to Xander’s sudden appearance as I was. Like he’d been planning on saying something to me. That flash of disappointment was quickly washed away under intense embarrassment in Xander’s presence.
Proving that he was used to being hypervigilant in whatever environment he was in, Xander instantly picked up on the tension, looking back and forth between Russell and myself before forcing a smile. “Hey guys. Good day?”
Russell grunted what was probably meant to be a greeting, and I jumped to the rescue. At least I thought that’s what I was doing. “Yeah. Good day. We’re going to have a lot of ins and outs while you’re here, so we’ll be pretty busy, though we might not sell a ton.” I motioned to the stack of coffee-table books on the counter.
Xander barely cast a glance before catching on. “Wow. Feels like we just did that.”
“Tell me about it. Lavender Love might not be Lamont’s best-selling book online, but it most definitely is here in town.” The mention of Lamont brought to mind a topic I’d forgotten to mention to Russell when we’d gone over schedules when he’d first arrived. I wasn’t sure how it had slipped by me. “Speaking of Lamont, I’m still going down to the book conference with him in San Francisco in a couple of days. Are you sure you feel all right watching the store by yourself? If it gets in the way of your online classes or anything like that, just close up and stay home. It’s not a big deal.”
Excitement flared in Xander’s typically guarded expression. “I’m totally sure. I can handle the bookshop on my own.”
I was certain he was. And I was also sure he was ready to prove himself as any sixteen-year-old would be when they were left in charge.
“You’re going to a book convention?” Russell lowered his book and didn’t bother to pretend he hadn’t overheard.
“Yeah. Sorry. I forgot to mention that to you. It’s a two-day conference in San Francisco, so I’ll… we’ll… be staying overnight.” I rushed onward, suddenly embarrassed. Another detail occurred to me that I’d failed to consider. I only had one hotel room reserved. “Lamont is a writer who lives in Lavender Shores. He not only did the Lavender Love book with his husband, but has a whole bunch of novels out, some under his own name and also under a pen name.” I gestured toward the section with his books, knowing that I’d slipped into r
ambling and giving too much detail. “He invited me to set up a booth next to his to advertise the shop. Not only might it get new people visiting the town, but it gets Lavender Pages in front of a bunch of authors who might not know we exist and who’ll jump at the chance to do special events at an actual bookshop.”
Sure enough, Russell didn’t mess around with the details. “You know I’ll be going to that right? Just because you’re surrounded by a ton of people doesn’t mean you’re safe. If anything, it might make it easier for Neal.” There was a hint of challenge in his tone.
“Yeah. That’s why I said… that… we’ll be there overnight.”
His eyes narrowed as he studied me, and then he nodded. “Okay. Good. We’ll need to make sure our hotel rooms have an adjoining door. I’m not trusting that Neal won’t follow us down there.”
“Um… sure. I’ll check on that.” Shit. I would call and check, but I already knew the answer. Not only was the hotel booked to such an extent that some of the attendees of the conference had spilled over to other hotels in the surrounding area, but the room I’d reserved had one king bed. I could order a rollaway or something, I supposed.
Even as I thought it, I secretly hoped there was no other alternative. I wasn’t sure how long the tension would last between us, but maybe it would be solved by a whole different kind of tension by being forced to share the same room.
It seemed Russell was having no such thoughts as he focused on Xander. “I’m going to talk to the Lavender Shores’ police. If they can’t cover the bookshop constantly while we’re gone, I don’t want you to open. Just because we’re out of town doesn’t mean Neal will follow. I’m not putting you at risk.”
The horror at that thought swept all fantasies of Russell in the dark away. How had I not even considered? “Holy crap, you’re right.” I turned to Xander. “Russell’s right. I wasn’t even thinking. In my head, with me gone, you were safe, but we can’t be sure that’s true.”
“It’s okay. I understand.” I’d expected Xander to argue, afraid his chance to prove himself was slipping through his fingers, but I should’ve known better, especially after all he’d lived through. He turned those shy green eyes onto Russell and was uncharacteristically direct. “I talked to Alex on the phone last night after group, and again this morning. Her dad is still in lockup and she’s safe.”
Russell flinched, though the motion was so subtle I would have missed it if I hadn’t fallen into the habit of studying him. And though it only took him a second to respond, when he spoke, emotion was thick in his voice. “I’m glad. Thank you for letting me know.”
Xander nodded and headed toward the counter to put his backpack away.
I only followed his movement for a second before looking back at Russell, who once again met my gaze and didn’t turn away.
Every glimpse behind the pages of the beautiful cover of Russell Wallace’s book made me want to keep reading, to get lost in the words… to discover my own name written on the pages.
The front door chimed, and Pete Marks’ gruff voice broke the moment. “Just saw little Xander walk by the window and he reminded me I was supposed to come over and sign some of those books. Again.” He was carrying a tray full of drinks and held them out to me as he shuffled in. “Take these, for crying out loud. And maybe you should start ordering the books in larger increments so this doesn’t happen so often. Although my hand cramps the way it is by the time I’m done, so never mind.” As soon as I lifted the tray, he headed directly to the stack of Lavender Love. He made a shooing gesture toward Xander. “Go get your drink, boy. Don’t let it get cold.”
“Thanks, Mr. Marks.” Xander followed directions and met Russell and me as we freed our paper cups from the cardboard tray.
Maybe it was manipulative, in some way wanting to see Russell’s reaction, hoping to get a further glimpse into his pages, but I didn’t overthink it, just lowered my voice to a whisper. “Come see Pete’s page. You won’t want to miss this.”
Proving that he was already accomplished at reading me, Russell’s eyes narrowed once more in skepticism, but he did as I asked, and the three of us walked back toward the counter.
As every time before, and in all things Pete Marks did, he neither required instruction, reminders, nor permission. He simply walked behind the counter, opened a drawer, and withdrew a gold permanent marker, which was only used by him, and got to work signing his name.
Like every time before, he paused, just for a second as his dark wrinkled finger traced lovingly over the eight-by-ten portrait of him in the book, or, more specifically, over the face in the framed photograph beside him.
In the portrait Tyler Dixon had taken, Pete sat in a large golden-brown armchair by a white brick fireplace. The wood was little more than glowing embers, little trails of smoke barely visible. His bloodhound, Ruby, lay sleeping on an oriental rug at his feet, and at the right of the armchair, on a small antique table, sat a framed photograph of him and a handsome, older black man on their wedding day.
The story never changed, and I was convinced Pete would repeat it even if no one else was around. He told it for himself, or maybe spoke the words to his late husband. “It was our wedding day. We’d been together thirty-two years already. I didn’t see the point of having a wedding after so long. But then it was suddenly legal in California and Omar had to have one. Couldn’t believe that we were living in a day and age where people like us could get married. So we had it.” As he spoke, his voice was strong, crystal clear. To the point that if someone didn’t know him, they might not have heard the emotion behind it. “He was so happy. It was almost like he was in his twenties again. We were only married for seven years before he died. But when he was sick, he made me swear that I’d put loving husband under his name on the tombstone. He was so damn proud of getting married, and Omar always liked to have things his way.” Pete’s finger gave another caress to Omar’s cheek before it traveled down to the sleeping Ruby on the rug.
My heart leaped at the gesture. That part was new. The story always ended there.
Pete sucked in a breath as he stroked the dog, and when he finally spoke again, emotions were evident, tears in his voice though not his eyes. “Ruby just had her tenth birthday not long ago. Bloodhounds only live about ten to twelve years.” He tapped her nose. “There’s a lot of love in this world. There’s a whole hell of a lot of loss. But there’s a lot of love.” Once more his finger traveled back up to Omar. “A lot of love.”
Another second passed, and then, as if flipping a switch, Pete uncapped the gold pen and began to sign. His name, Omar’s, and Ruby’s. Just like always.
When I turned to Russell, there was the sheen of tears in his eyes. I was certain the same was true for my own.
Twelve
Russell
Mere moments after Pete Marks left the bookshop, a large group of tourists flooded in, each of them asking a billion questions about the town, where to eat, what to do for entertainment, and even a few inquiries about books. Jasper and Xander were both swept away in the onslaught.
Several of them congregated at my spot by the window, so I remained at the counter. After a few moments, I walked behind and took point there so I could see the entirety of the store. It wasn’t a bad location, didn’t have a full view of the street like I thought was best, but I wasn’t even sure why was I so obsessed with that. I didn’t really envision Neal flooring his truck through the wall of the bookshop, sweeping up Jasper, and driving off into the sunset. But you never knew.
As the tourist asked inane questions, including wondering if there were any beaches that had purple sand since the place was called Lavender Shores, I marveled at Jasper’s ability not to grow homicidal. Feeling the compulsion blossoming in myself, I picked up one of the Lavender Love books from the stack and began to glance through.
The thing was massive. And a bit of a masterpiece between the quality of the production, striking photographs, and the beautifully scripted stories of each couple or family.
In a way, as each stunning page gave way to another stunning page, it was almost too perfect, too beautiful. Too much to be real in any case. If I’d seen the book anywhere else or flipped through it even a day or two before, I would’ve labeled it nothing more than propaganda. Just some brilliant marketing tool to highlight the town and charge a hundred dollars for a book. But as I perused the pages, I recognized people I’d observed from my spot at the window as they’d gone about their lives. People who’d been nameless and unaware that I’d been watching them. Near the front was a portrait of an older lesbian couple. I’d seen the Asian woman coming and going from the flower shop called Lavender Petals on the corner. I still hadn’t gotten over the marvel of how many places had the word lavender in their name, but that was beside the point. The African-American woman worked at a restaurant. I noticed her walk a slice of pie each afternoon to the flower shop a few doors down. Sapphire Long and Mabel Jessup. According to the book, they’d been together since 1984. So long! Like a real marriage. So, Mabel was bringing her wife pie every day. Even after all those years.
There was the page of Andrew and Joel, surrounded by those two ugly dogs, and a beautiful golden retriever. Though their little girl wasn’t pictured.
Two men raising a child. As much as I tried to suppress it, I could hear my father’s thoughts on that in the back of my mind. Gay marriage had been legalized before I’d come out, and how he’d ranted and raged over that decision. How it was going to affect all the children. It would increase the child abuse that we had to deal with as police. Maybe lesbians would be all right having children, but he hadn’t trusted the motives of two men wanting a baby. Why it mattered in my brain that I hadn’t come out yet, I wasn’t sure. I had no doubt he would say the same thing in front of me after as he would’ve then.
The Alcove (Lavender Shores Book 7) Page 14