He paced to one window. She paced to another. She poked at the fire. He leafed through yet another book. She went for a bag of cookies. He went for fresh candles.
“Have you ever read this?”
Sunny glanced over. It was the first word they had spoken to each other in an hour. “What?”
“Jane Eyre.”
“Oh, sure.” It was a relief to have a conversation again. She handed him the bag of cookies as a peace offering.
“What did you think of it?”
“I always like reading about the mannerisms of an earlier century. They were so stringent and puritanical back then, with all that passion boiling underneath the civilized veneer.”
He had to smile. “Do you think so?”
“Sure. And of course it’s beautifully written, and wonderfully romantic.” She sat with her legs hooked over the arm of a chair, her eyes a little sleepy and her scent—damn her—everywhere. “The plain, penniless girl capturing the heart of the bold, brooding hero.”
He gave her a puzzled look. “That’s romantic?”
“Of course. Then there’s windswept moors and painful tragedy, sacrifice. They did a terrific production of it on PBS a few years ago. Did you see it?”
“No.” He set the book aside, still puzzled. “My mother has a copy at home. She loves to read novels.”
“That’s probably because she needs to relax after being in court all day.”
“Probably.”
“What does your father do?”
“This and that.” Suddenly his family seemed incredibly far away. “He likes to garden.”
“So does mine. Herbs, naturally.” She gestured toward her empty tea cup. “But he putters around with flowers, too. When we were little he grew vegetables right outside the kitchen. It’s practically all we ate, which is why I avoid them now.”
He tried to imagine it and simply couldn’t. “What was it like growing up here?”
“It seemed natural.” She rose idly to poke at the fire, then sat on the couch beside him, forgetting for a moment how restless the storm was making her. “I guess I thought everyone lived like we did, until we went to the city and I saw the lights, the crowds, the buildings. For me, it was as if someone had broken open a kaleidoscope and handed me all the colors. We would always come back here, and that was fine.” With a half yawn, she sank back into the cushions. “But I always wanted to get back to all that noise. Nothing changes much here, and that’s nice, because you can always depend on it. But there’s always something new in the city. I guess I like progress.”
“But you’re here now.”
“A self-imposed penance, in a way.”
“For what?”
She moved her shoulders. “It’s a long story. What about you? Are you a city boy yearning for the peace of the country?”
He glanced deliberately out the window. “No.”
She laughed and patted his hand. “So here we are, two city dwellers stuck in the wilds of the Northwest. Want to play cards?”
His mood brightened instantly. “Poker?”
“You’re on.”
They rose at the same time, bumped, brushed. He took her arm automatically, then held on. He tensed, as she did. It wasn’t possible to do otherwise. It was possible, barely, to prevent himself from lifting his other hand to her face. She’d done nothing to enhance it today. There was no trace of cosmetics. Her mouth, full, pouty, exciting, was naked. With an effort, he brought his eyes from it, and to hers.
“You’re very beautiful, Sunbeam.”
It hurt to breathe. She was terrified to move. “I told you not to call me that.”