“Poor Mary,” I said.
“I can’t stop thinking about her family,” Daniel said. “I can’t even fathom what they’re going through.”
“Life is fragile, isn’t it?”
“It certainly is. I’ve been thinking the same thing non-stop all day.”
I nodded quietly, shivering. The raw emotions and the cooling late afternoon air chilled me to my bones.
“We should go inside,” he said. “You’re freezing.”
We grabbed our bags and entered the library together, finding an empty table near the stacks in the corner of the reading room where we sat side by side, facing one of the large windows. I pulled books and papers out of my bag and spread them in front of us.
“Wait, you know I have absolutely no desire to discuss your independent study, right?” he said.
“I don’t give a rat’s ass about my independent study,” I confessed. “This is all for appearances.”
“Ah.” He chuckled as he draped his jacket on the back of the chair. “You’re a master at the art of nefarious activities, I see.”
“I’m actually kind of making things up as I go along.” I shrugged awkwardly.
Was I trying too hard? The news of Mary’s tragic end had settled like a fine dust between us. I struggled to focus on Daniel and live entirely in the moment. If Mary’s unfortunate fate had made anything clear, it was that life was way too short.
Suddenly Daniel frowned and asked, “Aubrey, why do you call Matt ‘cowboy’? It’s a strange nickname.”
“I don’t know. I’m a bit of an endearment junkie, I’m afraid, sailor.” I winked at him and he laughed.
“Hey, now, you can’t call me ‘sailor.’ I’ve called dibs on ‘sailor’ because of that potty mouth of yours.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I’m sure you hold your own nicely on that score.”
“Okay, so if Matt’s the cowboy and I’m the sailor, we just need a police officer, a construction worker, and an Indian Chief, and we can start a Village People tribute band,” he said with a smile.
“You don’t know how happy it makes me to hear you say that!” I said, laughing loudly, suddenly aware of the stares of people sitting nearby.
“What?” he asked. “You have a burning desire to found a boy band?”
“No, I’m just so relieved. You’re funny!” I said, still chortling.
A man at a nearby table expelled a sharp, “Shh.”
Yeah, whatever, buddy. You shush me again, and you’ll be eating some archives. I’m in serious need of some giggles over here.
“You’re only realizing I’m funny now?” Daniel looked hurt.
“Well, not exactly. I knew you were witty and sardonic, and you’re kickass with innuendo, but just plain funny really floats my boat.”
“Seriously?” he asked, leaning his face on his hand. “What else floats your boat?”
“Do you really want to go there, Daniel?”
“All the way,” he answered, his voice silky and low. He was devastatingly sexy when he did that. His knee was pushing against mine under the table. I’d never considered my knees to be erogenous zones, but that was clearly an oversight. Daniel was certainly charting undiscovered territory.
“Ahem, well,” I said, jiggling my leg and trying not to get flustered. “I’m not sure where to start.”
“How about at the beginning?” He looked at me from under his eyelashes, pushing his leg even more firmly against mine.
“I don’t know. I thought I’d start at the top,” I said, gazing longingly at his hair.
He smiled. “You like my hair?”
“Like? Not exactly the way I’d put it,” I admitted. “The haircut, it’s—” I shook my head. Insanely hot and fucktastically sexy wasn’t a description I was prepared to share at that moment.
“Interesting. So what else?” he asked, a vision of smugness. He was having the time of his life.
“If you think I’m gonna sit here and extol your physical attributes until you can’t fit your head through the door, you’re sadly mistaken.”
He smiled and shook his head. “Fair enough. So tell me, when did you, you know…” He lifted an eyebrow suggestively.
“What? Decide I wanted to jump your bones?” This time it was his turn to guffaw, drawing angry shushes from several other patrons.
“Next time we meet to discuss your independent study, I think maybe a coffee shop might be a better choice,” he whispered.
“You think?” I stifled my giggles with my hand.
“Well?”
He actually wanted an answer? Jeez Louise.
“Um, well, I’d have to say about eleven minutes after you walked into Brown’s classroom. Day one.”
There. Honesty was the best policy, right?
“Seems you beat me by about twenty-eight minutes. I didn’t see you right away, but as soon as you opened your mouth to identify that line from Hamlet, and when you looked at me at the end of class…I guess you could say I grew roots. I couldn’t think of a reason to stay in the room, but all I wanted to do was stare at you.”
“I wondered what you were doing,” I admitted. “There’s only so much organizing you can do with three pieces of wrinkly paper.”
“Pretty lame, huh?”
“Not really. That’s very flattering. I didn’t realize I’d made such a great first impression. I thought you didn’t like me. You gave me such a stink eye the next day when we crossed paths in the quad.”
He grimaced at the memory. “My dad had mentioned this girl he wanted me to meet who worked at the office, and how he was so sure we’d hit it off. When he first brought it up, I brushed it off. I’m not prone to taking my dad’s advice on relationships. I don’t even think I processed your name. But then you told me you worked for him, and I realized you were the one he was talking about. I had visions of him finding out I was your TA and having a shit fit because he’d been trying to play matchmaker.”
He rolled his eyes, perhaps imagining having that conversation with his father.
“Anyway, I decided it would be better if he didn’t know. When I saw you coming across the quad that day, I pictured you walking up and saying hi or something. I thought if I glared at you, you’d stay away. I guess it worked.”
“You confused the shit out of me and ruined the rest of my day, but you certainly stopped me in my tracks,” I confessed.
“I’m sorry, poppet. I was a head case that week.”
“And that’s why you kept me after class the next day and asked me not to tell your dad I knew you?”
He smiled sadly. “You were so pissed off at me. Not my proudest moment.”
“I didn’t know what was really going on.”
“Well, now you know. I have to say, I was impressed with my dad’s eye for once. I had this whole scenario hatched where you and I would become great friends during the semester and I’d tell you once the course was over that I’d like to take you out. Then I’d congratulate my dad on his great taste in women, explaining that he was right about you and that we do have a lot in common. Pathetic, right?”
“That’s not pathetic, Daniel. It’s sweet. At least you didn’t have a raunchy dream about me,” I said.
Oh, shit. Why’d I have to go and say that?
“Really.” He leaned toward me. “Please, tell me all about it. I’m intrigued.”
I called to mind the various steamy details of the bookcase dream.
“Wow, that good, was it?” he asked, taking in my flushed face.
“It was pretty incredible. Really vivid,” I said. “I remembered it as I was walking down the hall before signing up for the tutorial. When I saw you standing there, I kind of lost the ability to think straight.”
He looked at my lips, licking his own as he nodded thoughtfully. “Are there any other secrets you’re willing to share, Aubrey?”
I breathed deeply. “No, I think I’m good right now.”
“Suit yourself. But it’s fair to say you’ve
been pining for me for a solid four weeks, yes?”
“Jesus, would you listen to yourself?” I said, laughing quietly. “Besides, you’re the one who camped out to wait for me today. That’s pretty desperate if you ask me. I was quite prepared to mind my own business, go to my classes, and see you tomorrow,” I said, getting comfortable on my high horse.
“Touché.” He smiled as he slid my French novel across the table. “Hey, I love Balzac. Is this what you were studying today?”
“Supposedly, but my prof went on a twenty-minute tangent about this book she’d just read called Poussière sur la Ville. It was ridiculous, since none us had read it, and it had nothing to do with nineteenth-century French lit.”
“What was the book called again?”
“Poussière sur la Ville.”
“One more time?” He looked at me strangely.
“What, am I not pronouncing it right?” I said, suddenly feeling like a complete idiot.
“Oh, no, you’re saying it perfectly,” he said, staring intently at my mouth. “A little too perfectly.” He shifted in his seat. “Is it just me, or is getting warm in here?”
I smacked him. “You pervert,” I whispered.
He protested and rubbed his arm. We were beginning to draw more and more attention the longer we sat there.
“I think maybe we should go,” I said.
“I think maybe you’re right.”
We put on our coats and grabbed our bags. He started to lead the way to the door when I grabbed his arm to stop him. “You know what? Just a sec.”
I made my way toward the stacks, zeroing in on the Canadian poetry section. He followed me, a bemused expression on his face. I stopped in front of the 821s and scanned the shelves.
He came up behind me and whispered, “What are we looking for?”
I froze. Oh, God. Life imitating dream? Yes, please.
“Your friend. Mr. E.J. Pratt,” I said, looking at him over my shoulder, my face burning with the memory of tightly gripped bookshelves.
“Are you all right?”
Busted.
The fiery blush that had started on my neck was creeping to the roots of my hair. I crossed my arms and leaned against the shelves. “There may or may not have been a bookshelf in the dream I had about you,” I confessed, sighing heavily.
“Really?” He passed his hand long the spines of the books beside my head. “Fascinating. And what on earth were we doing to this bookshelf?”
“Um…” Oh, what the hell. There was no point stopping now. “Well, I was…using it for…support, I suppose you could say.”
“Support? God, this sounds epic. What was I doing that made you require support?” he asked, smiling at me wickedly.
“Well, you were, behind me…you told me I’d better hold on…” I closed my eyes and swallowed. I couldn’t finish.
Daniel rested his hand on the shelf and leaned his forehead against his arm. “Are you actually trying to kill me, Aubrey?”
“Sorry,” I said in a small voice.
“I need some air.” He sighed, backing away from me and heading toward the lobby. I abandoned my search for Mr. Pratt and followed him, rushing to match his long strides out of the library.
I had no idea where we were going, but I didn’t care as long as we were together. We veered to the right toward the gatehouse. As we approached the archway, he looked around cautiously.
“Come here,” he said, grabbing my arm and pulling me into the relative darkness of the bricked gatehouse, dragging my knapsack off my arm and dropping it along with his bag onto the ground.
Suddenly I was in his arms. He was clasping me so forcefully I thought he might crush my chest. I should have resisted, but I couldn’t. I stood on my toes and wrapped my arms around his neck, letting my fingers wander upward into his wonderfully soft hair before resting my hands on the smooth nape of his neck.
His face was buried in my hair, his breathing erratic. I settled my face against his neck, breathing in his essence—leather, and that damned sandalwood again. I could have stayed like that forever, feeling the entire length of his body melting into mine, his arms encircling me tightly, protectively. At last he gently nuzzled my ear with his nose, moaning softly before pulling away and looking around guardedly.
“Sorry.” He stepped back with a hangdog expression. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
“I’m so glad you did—you have no idea.”
“I may have an inkling,” he said with a pained smile. He rubbed his face with his hands, clearly frustrated. “I wish—”
“I know. It’s okay.”
He stood dejectedly, his hands on his hips. “It’s just not fair, you know? I wish I could do something to show you…to let you know…”
“You just did, Daniel. ‘Is whispering nothing? Is leaning cheek to cheek? Is meeting noses?’” I said, quoting from The Winter’s Tale. Why did I feel that Shakespeare’s words spoke more to the heart of every matter than my own ever could?
“Oh,” he replied, shaking his head. “You’ve hit the nail on the head, poppet. The rest of that speech? Do you know it?”
“No, that was the extent of it, I’m afraid.”
He took a step toward me, moving me back into the shadows. His voice was soft and beguiling as he repeated the speech to its conclusion. “‘Is whispering nothing? Is leaning cheek to cheek? Is meeting noses? Skulking in corners? Wishing clocks more swift? Hours, minutes? Noon, midnight? And all eyes blind with the pin and web but theirs, theirs only, that would unseen be wicked? Is this nothing? Why, then the world and all that’s in’t is nothing…’”
He was gazing at me sadly, but I was enthralled. I hadn’t thought it was possible for Daniel to be more alluring, but he’d outdone himself.
“‘Wishing clocks more swift,’” I said. “That’s an understatement.”
“Not to mention ‘skulking in corners,’” he said, laughing gently. “But this is all we’ve got, and we shouldn’t even be doing this.” He picked up his bag and nodded his head to the side to indicate we ought to leave. “Come on, I sense imminent danger if we don’t get a move on here,” he said with an apologetic grin.
I grabbed my knapsack, and we emerged from the darkness of the archway into the dim light of late afternoon on the other side of the gatehouse where a row of benches edged the path behind Jackman Hall. We stopped in front of one, and I drew my arms around myself. Daniel noticed me shivering.
“You should head inside and grab a hot bath or something,” he said.
“Yeah, you’re probably right.”
“Before you go, I got you something at the bookstore. It’s nothing big, but I thought it was appropriate.” He put his laptop bag down on the bench and pulled a plastic shopping bag out of it, folding the end of the bag over the flat object inside. “Open it when you get upstairs. I got one for myself, too.”
“Thanks,” I said, feeling a little off balance. I hadn’t expected him to buy me something.
“No worries. It’s nothing, really.”
We stood awkwardly, mirroring each other’s aimlessness.
“I’m going to say something, and then I promise not to say it again,” I blurted.
“Okay,” he said. “Shoot.”
“This fucking sucks.”
He laughed and shook his head. “Not what I was expecting,” he said. “But I agree whole-fucking-heartedly. Yesterday, I was so determined to be patient. Today I’m thinking, screw it. Life is too damn fragile. Maybe that back there—” He gestured to the darkened gatehouse. “I don’t know. I’m all over the place.” He rubbed at his face in exasperation.
“Yeah, don’t get me started,” I said through chattering teeth.
“Look, you really should head in.”
I hefted my backpack onto my shoulder. “You’re right. I’m frigging frozen. Thanks for coming by. I enjoyed spending time with you.”
“Me too, poppet.”
“See ya tomorrow, sailor.” I backed away slowly.
“Bye.” His voice was little more than a whisper.
As he dropped onto the bench, I turned and slowly made my way down the paths behind the men’s residence. Looking back, I saw him lean forward, his head in his hands. I willed myself to keep walking.
The apartment was empty. Spared the task of lying about how I’d spent my afternoon, I went straight to my room, crawling into bed and eagerly tearing open the Chapters bag. Inside was a calendar, a large picture of Shakespeare’s face on the front cover. Daniel had removed the packaging and clipped a red marker to the top of the calendar. What an interesting gift.
I flipped it open. There was a reproduction of a piece of art on every page with the month’s calendar grid below. At the bottom of each page was a quoted reference from a Shakespearean play or poem. Daniel had marked some of the months with Post-it notes.
I turned to February, the first flagged page. Each of the days on the grid, starting with February second, was marked with a large red X. I smiled as understanding dawned on me, and I turned the page to March, which was also flagged. The reproduced art was a painting called A Dance to The Music of Time. On the calendar, the squares for Sunday the first and Monday the second each contained a giant red X. Three Shakespearean lines were written beneath the weeks of the calendar. They read:
“Let him have time to mark how slow time goes
In time of sorrow, and how swift and short
His folly and his time of sport.”
(The Rape of Lucrece)
Beside the lines, Daniel had written on a Post-it note:
Fuck! Slow doesn’t even begin to cover it!
I thought of him sitting at Chapters with his red marker and his Post-it notes. How adorable was he? He had lovely handwriting for a man, too.
I turned the page, excited to see what Shakespeare—and Daniel—would have to say for themselves in April. The painting was an 1885 portrait entitled Antony and Cleopatra. The Shakespearean quotation was from the play about the titular passionate lovers:
“The April’s in her eyes: it is love’s spring,
And these the showers to bring it on. Be cheerful.”
(Antony and Cleopatra)
There was another Post-it message from Daniel:
The Weight of Words (The WORDS Series) Page 17