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A Jar of Dreams Page 9
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He glanced up at his room. He hadn’t seen the need to pack and lug it over the back wall and around to the front door. Most likely, it would end up back in the same room and under his bed again.
“Yes,” he lied. “Where do I take them?”
“You know my room. There are three others. You are welcome to choose any of those. However, the one at the end of the hall is musty. I haven’t had it cleaned or aired in ages. I don’t usually go in there. I would suggest one of the other two.”
“Okay,” he mumbled as he ruffled Boots fur. He let him down onto the floor. “I’ll go up and unpack then.” He made to move up the stairs. He had to at least pretend to unpack, even though he wasn’t in the slightest mood to race back to his room and leave her just yet.
“Eric,” she said, halting him in the midst of a step. “Thank you for doing this. To be honest, I didn’t expect you to come at all.”
He played with the head of the newel post of the staircase. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“You are.” She nodded, a small smile lifting the ends of her soft lips.
He found her sitting in her garden and in the warmth of the mid-morning sun.
“Can I join you?” he asked as he ambled over to her with his hands in his pockets. It felt liberating to move freely through the house, to talk to her whenever he wanted to and to stay by her at every chance he had.
She smiled. “Of course.”
She moved slightly further up to one side of the garden bench, although he did notice there was already more room than he needed. He sat softly on the other end, being careful not to touch her. He didn’t want her thinking he was going to take advantage of their living arrangement.
“It’s beautiful,” he said.
“It is, isn’t it? I wish sometimes that I could see it too though.”
He nipped his lower lip. Her sight was something he could never give to her. “Have you never seen it? You did mention you lost your vision at about seventeen.”
“Yes, but my father bought this house for me much later, when I was in my twenties.”
He grew quiet, studying the lilac bushes gracing the fence and the colorful perennials lighting up the garden path. Whoever took care of the garden did make an awful lot of effort in beautifying it considering that its owner would never get to see it.
“Who maintains it?” he asked, unable to hold back on his curiosity.
“Rico,” she said. “He comes in twice a week to water and weed it.”
He turned around almost on an impulse, as if to find Rico the gardener standing behind him. He hadn’t seen him all the while he had been crashing in with Anne. Could he have missed him?
“When does he come?” he asked slowly. If there was another man hanging about the house, then he should be well aware of it.
“Thursday and Monday afternoons. He lets himself in through the side gate.”
They fell silent again, she breathing in the sweet cocktail of scents in the garden, and he, too overwhelmed to realize that he was now living with her.
“I wish I had roses.” Her voice was low and faint, but he had heard her. “It is the one thing my father refuses to have Rico plant in my garden.” She let out a small chuckle. “He thinks their thorns would hurt me if I strayed off the path.”
“There are some species that don’t have prickles.” He wanted to console her, but it seemed his suggestion only hurt her more.
She snorted. “Tell that to my father. He wouldn’t have them still when Rico explained. He is under the impression that they could sprout them somehow.”
“He’s just being protective.” He ran a hand through his short hair, ruffling it. He hated to see her all worked up. He knew how much she loved her independence, but it seemed her father wasn’t going to let go off her so easy.
“Protective to the point of annoyance,” she grumbled under her breath. She closed her eyes and shook herself out of her disturbed state. “Did you find a room you like?”
He nodded. “Yes. The one at the end of the hall.”
“No,” she said with a long resounding tone of disbelief. “The musty one I specifically warned you about?”
He grinned. “Yes, the very same.”
She laughed. It was a light and hearty laugh that lit up her eyes. He smiled, cherishing the glow in her.
“Wow, you certainly are a rebel, Eric Tanner. I’ll have to remember that in case I ever want you to do something. Do you always do the opposite of what people tell you?”
He shrugged. “Only when it’s needed.”
She shook her head and laughed again. “I would hate for you to ever meet my father. You two would be at such odds.”
The mention of her father again tensed him slightly. He looked up at the sky, watching the sun climb its way further towards its peak. “Does he know I’ve moved in with you?”
He immediately knew he had asked her the wrong question. She stilled, her smile had disappeared and now a pulse ticked on her temples.
“My father’s authority starts with the roses and ends with it. He has no say in how I conduct my life. He may have an opinion, but I alone make the final decision,” she added firmly.
“Anne, I didn’t mean to insult you. I was merely asking-”
“Would you have asked me the same question if I was normal?” She cut him short rather sharply.
He lowered his head, squeezing his eyes shut with all the regret flooding inside him. Sometimes his curiosity got the better of him. In this case though, his mouth had run faster than his brains.
“You’re not saying anything,” she said after a little while. “Eric, I fight with the world daily to make a stand for my independence. I’m not denying that I am not normal. But I am far from incapable. How much am I different from the hoarder next door or a person suffering from depression? Why am I judged more harshly than the man who fights alcoholic addiction? Is it because my disability is more physical? That because you and the rest of the world are continually reminded of my disability, you suddenly have a right to question my capability as a functioning member in society?”
“Anne-” he tried again. This was not how he had imagined his first days with her. They were meant to bond, grow closer, laugh at each other’s faults, tease and then make up. Instead, he had fucked it up. Like he always did.
“My home is my haven, Eric. My safe haven. When I am weary from my battle with the world, I retreat to the solace my home provides me. I do not need any of all that judgmental shit in the very place that should protect me.”
“I wasn’t being judgmental,” Eric stressed out with frustration. He had certainly been unprepared for her tirade. He never did enjoy being the recipient of anyone’s criticisms. He would have walked off if it had been someone else. But this was Anne, and he found himself sitting patiently, clasping his hands tightly to restrain his temper.
“Then why would you ask me something like that?!” Her eyes were welling with her tears. She was just as frustrated as he was. He realized he had touched a sensitive issue. What was he to do?
“You’re quiet again,” she said curtly.
He still didn’t answer, picking at a strip of worn-out paint on the arm of the iron-wrought bench. A cool breeze brushed their faces and it brought with it a strange relief, calming their tempers down.
“I don’t want us to start on the wrong foot, Eric,” she said quietly. “I trust you; otherwise I would never have asked you to stay. But my father…” She bit her trembling lips. “Right now things aren’t too well between him and me.” She covered her face with her hands. “I’m sorry. You just caught me at a vulnerable moment.”
She swiped her hand over her head, brushing the wayward strands of her hair back and away from her face and then stood up.
“I’ll go make lunch… or something,” she muttered.
She turned around to make her way back up the garden pathway and to her house.
I can’t let her go. Not like this, he thought, shaking his head confusedly. He j
umped to his feet and touched her elbow before she could walk away and out of his reach.
“Anne.” He tugged lightly onto her arm. “I can be thick headed at times and can seem to be an inconsiderate and insensitive bastard. But if ever you need to me to do something, all you have to do is ask.”
She sniveled. But when he tugged her arm again, she gladly stepped closer to him.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be such a drama queen,” she mumbled through her tears. “I’m sure it’s the last thing you would want while staying with me. And I really don’t want to ruin your stay here. I’m already grateful as it is that you are staying. It’s just that my father… my father…” She was stammering for words.
“Shhhh,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around her. “Then I will never speak of him again. Not unless you want me to.”
She moved into him, resting her head on his chest as he gently brushed her hair. And for a brief moment, they stood quietly, relishing the security their bodies gave to each other. Oblivious of the bigger and crueler world that lay outside the fence that bordered their garden. Cognizant only of their existence.
His body stiffened as he came to realize she was finally in his arms. His thighs burned from the heat rising up to his crotch. His body wanted her. But his mind battled against his every other sense, reminding him that she was not what he needed.
She lifted her head, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that.”
She stepped back and his hand almost reached out to pull her back again.
“No…” he began.
“I don’t usually fall into any man’s arms,” she stammered as she brushed her face with trembling hands. “I have no idea what’s with me today. I’m so sensitive. I’m not usually like this…”
“Anne…” He tried to stop her. But she turned around and walked briskly down the garden path and into her house.
CHAPTER 10
She splashed her face with water, trying to cool her burning cheeks. What had she done? One minute she was screaming at him for offending her and the next she was falling into his arms.
“I must look like I’m desperate for a man,” she told herself. “Or I simply must be.”
She pulled a towel from the rail and sunk her face into it.
“This is so embarrassing. How could I do this? What was I thinking?”
She closed her eyes, focusing on her breathing. Her heart was beating rapidly and her fingers were still trembling from touching him.
“One… two… three...,” she counted under her breath. She had to calm down or she would never be able to face him again. He’s just a tenant. He’s a friend… he’s a friend. He was only trying to mend things between us. He was trying to comfort me. I can’t be stupid. I shouldn’t read too much into this. Get a grip on yourself, Anne.
She hung the towel neatly on the rail, brushed her skirt and then walked across her room to the door. She had lunch to make.
He found her in the kitchen slicing a freshly fried chicken breast fillet into thin strips. His heart jumped on seeing the knife in her hands and his first instinct was to pull it away from her fingers. Steady, Eric. She’s a big girl.
He folded his arms across his chest and rested a hip against the kitchen counter.
“What are you making?” he asked, his eyes still resting on the knife. But he could see she was deft with it and he eased a little. If she hasn’t killed herself yet, she was not going to do it now.
“Chicken Caesar salad. Are you going to eat in or lunch out?”
“It looks good. Am I invited?”
She smiled. “Your first day at my house, of course you are. At least, I was hoping you could have lunch with me.”
“Then I am definitely eating in. But on one condition. I get to help.”
“But there is nothing else to do,” she protested.
“I’m supposing salad means there will be some greens as well.”
“Well, yeah,” she said with slight bafflement.
“I don’t see them.” He ambled over to her.
“The lettuce is in the sink. I need to wash them.”
“Okay, so why don’t you do that and leave me to handle the rougher job.”
“Stripping this chicken? Oh come on, it’s not even hard to do.”
“Well, the lettuce is fiddly and I’m not touching it.”
She rolled her eyes. “And I’m assuming you won’t eat unless you contribute to making the lunch?”
“That’s right.”
“Damn, you are stubborn.” She threw up her hands. “Fine, the chicken is all yours and you can have the bacon rashers as well since you’re so eager.”
He gladly picked up the knife, a small rush of relief racing through him, unknotting those tight joints in his body.
She turned around and began tearing out the leaves from the head of a lettuce. “Did you find some linen for your bed?”
“Uh-huh,” he said as he sliced through the chicken fillet.
“And you like it? Your room?” There was a tad concern in her voice.
“Yes.”
“You know, you’re always welcome to change the room if you don’t like it later.”
“I like it.”
“I don’t understand why. It’s small. It’s musty. It almost has nothing in it.”
“I like it, Anne,” he repeated firmly. Because he could look out the front of the house from one window and down the back from the other. He noticed his tone had quieted her and he frowned. “I’ve finished with the chicken. Is there anything else for me to do?”
She shook her head. “I’ll just have to put them together now.”
It was a wonder to see how she moved so precisely without seeing. She picked out an egg from its crate and placed it in a small pot of water. She turned the flame on, running her hand over the flame to check its heat and then adjusted the timer on the talking clock.
“Why… why did you never go into the room at the end of the hall?” he stuttered in awe.
“Your room?” She shrugged. “It was too far down the hall and there is only so much space I need. Lucy stays over some times. And a couple of times, her niece sleeps over as well. So they kind of cleaned up and dressed those other two rooms. Your room just got ignored, that’s all. No biggie.” She smiled. “Now, what about you? How long are you intending to stay in town?”
“I don’t know. Haven’t decided yet.” He moved closer to her. He loved the smell of her skin and he was tempted to brush her hair off her shoulders and kiss her nape. “But if I find a reason, I’d stay forever,” he added huskily.
She stilled. “And what kind of a reason would that be?” she whispered.
He lifted a handful of her golden tresses and caressed it with his face. A woman… you.
The timer went off, shrilling through the kitchen and alerting her immediately. She sprung back to her cooking, scooping the egg out of the boiling water.
As she stepped away from him, he felt the loss of her warmth. Her long hair slipped through his fingers, and he restrained himself to not clasp it.
Would he ever be able to tell her how he felt about her? He held back his head, looking up at the ceiling with a sigh.
The music blared in the hall below and streams of colorful neon lights broke the darkness hovering within it. Bodies rubbed against each other, women swayed seductively in tune to the booming beats of the music.
Kurt Lynch stared at them out of the window of his private room, sipping his whiskey. Drunk fucks.
A knock rapped on the door and a man in an immaculately dressed gray suit stepped into the room.
“Mr Lynch,” he said.
“Come here, Stuart,” Kurt said, crooking his finger at him. “What do you think of that?” He pointed his drink at the hoard of screaming patrons beneath his window.
“What do you want me to say, My Lynch?”
Kurt leaned his head to the side as he looked at the man standing across him. How long
had he known Stuart Clarke? Five, maybe six years. And not once had he had a conversation with him. Did he even know him other than being his personal investigator? He snorted. He must be growing old if he was beginning to form sentiments for a common employee.
“That’s right,” he murmured, rubbing his brow. “You don’t get paid to have an opinion. But there is something I want to show you.” He put an arm around Stuart’s shoulders. “See that guy, the deejay. All he is doing is spinning a couple of disks, plays a few tunes, and look at them. They’re fucking hooked. Mesmerized as shit.” He took a long gulp of his drink and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I want you to dig up any dirt on Drew Patterson. Anything that will make him rumba to the beat of my conga. Do you get me, Clarke?” He gritted his teeth angrily. “I want him on his knees begging me to let him suck my cock.”
Anne leaned against the door, trying to catch any small sound from her new tenant. She heard nothing other than the ticking hands of one of her clocks in the living room.
“Where did he go so early in the morning?” She pressed the button on her talking clock to recheck the time. “Six o’clock,” she whispered.
She palmed her face. What was she doing? She didn’t know how to live with a man. She had totally messed up yesterday. She had barely survived last night. After their awkward dinner, she had hastily retired to her room, unable to bring herself to stay late into the night with him.
She was definitely attracted to him whether she liked to admit it or not. “It’s because he’s a man. Once I get used to living with him, I should be over this stupid crush.”
But was it just her? Had she imagined his closeness yesterday during lunch? She was almost certain he had been caressing her hair. She had barely been able to move. Her skin had prickled with goosebumps. Had not the timer gone off, she would have… she would have… made a fool of herself.
She slumped onto the edge of her bed. “Think, Anne. This was not why you had invited him to stay. Focus, focus, focus,” she recited to herself.