True Believer Part 23

In time, he headed back into the darkened living room. Peeking down the hall, he noted a sliver of light beneath Lexie's closed door. Unsure of what to do next, he turned on a small reading lamp near the fireplace. With just enough light to spill shadows through the room, he perused the books that had been stacked on top of the mantel before remembering the satchel. In his haste to get here, he hadn't looked at Doris's notebook yet, and after pulling it out of the satchel, he carried it with him back to the easy chair. As he took his seat, he felt the tension in his shoulders begin to ease for the first time in hours.

Now, this, he thought, was nice. No, change that. This felt like the way things always should be.

Earlier, as she heard Jeremy close the door to his room, Lexie stood near the window and took a pull of her beer, glad she had something to calm her nerves.

Both of them had kept their kitchen conversation superficial, keeping their distance until things were sorted out. She knew she should stay the course when she headed back out there, but as she set her beer aside, she realized that she didn't want to keep her distance. Not anymore.

Despite the knowledge of the risks, everything about him had drawn her closer-the surprise at seeing him walking toward her on the beach, his easy smile and tousled hair, the nervous, boylike gaze-and in that instant, he'd been both the man she knew and the man she didn't. Though she hadn't admitted it to herself then, she realized now that she wanted to know the part of him he'd kept hidden from her, whatever that might be and wherever it might lead.

Two days ago, she would never have imagined something like this was possible, especially with a man she barely knew. She'd been hurt before, and she realized now that she'd reacted to the hurt by retreating into the safety of solitude. But a risk-free life wasn't much of a life, really, and if she was going to change, she might as well start now.

After showering, she sat on the edge of the bed as she unzipped the top pocket of her suitcase and retrieved a bottle of lotion. She applied some to her legs and arms, smoothing it over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and belly, relishing the vibrant way it made her skin feel.

She hadn't brought anything fancy to wear; in her rush to get out in the morning, she'd grabbed the first things she could find, and she sorted through the suitcase until she found her favorite pair of jeans. Deeply faded, they were ripped at the knees and the cuffs were frayed. But the endless washing had softened and thinned the denim, and she was aware of how they accentuated her figure. She felt a secret thrill at her certainty that Jeremy would notice.

She slipped into a long-sleeved white shirt, which she didn't bother to tuck in, and rolled the sleeves up to her elbows. Standing in front of the mirror, she b.u.t.toned the front, stopping one b.u.t.ton lower than she normally would, revealing the briefest glimpse of her cleavage.

She dried her hair with a blow-dryer and ran a brush through it. For makeup, she did the best with what she had, applying a touch of blush to her cheeks, eyeliner, and lipstick. She wished she had some perfume, but there wasn't anything she could do about that now.

When she was ready, she tugged at her shirt in the mirror in an attempt to make it look just right, pleased with how she looked. Smiling, she tried to remember the last time looking good had really mattered to her.

Jeremy was sitting in the chair with his feet propped up when she came into the room. He looked up at her, and for a moment, it seemed as if he wanted to say something, but no words came out. Instead, he just stared.

Unable to look away from Lexie, he suddenly knew why it had been so important to find her again. He'd had no choice, for he knew then that he was in love with her.

"You look . . . incredible," he finally whispered.

"Thank you," she said, hearing the raw emotion in his voice and reveling in the way it made her feel. Their eyes met and held, and in that instant, she understood that the message in his gaze was mirroring her own.

Fifteen.

For a moment, neither of them seemed able to move, until Lexie drew a long breath and glanced away. Still shaken, she raised her bottle slightly.

"I think I need another one of these," she said with a tentative smile. "Would you like one?"

Jeremy cleared his throat. "I already got one. Thanks."

"I'll be back in a minute. I should check on the sauce, too."

Lexie headed for the kitchen on unsteady legs, and she stopped before the stove. The wooden spoon had left a smudge of tomato sauce on the counter after she had picked it up to stir, and she put it in the same spot when she was finished. Then, opening the refrigerator, she took out another beer and set it on the counter, along with the olives. She tried to open the jar, but because her hands were trembling, she couldn't get the grip she needed.

"Need a hand with that?" Jeremy asked.

She looked up, surprised. She hadn't heard him come in, and wondered if her feelings were as obvious as they felt.

"If you wouldn't mind," she said.

Jeremy took the olives from her. She watched the sinewy muscles of his forearms as he twisted the cap off. Then, eyeing her beer, he opened that as well and handed it to her.

He wouldn't meet her eyes, nor did he seem to want to say anything more. In the stillness of the room, she watched him lean against the counter. The overhead light was on, but without the fading light of dusk streaming through the windows, it seemed softer than it had when they started cooking.

Lexie took a mouthful of beer, savoring the taste, savoring everything about the evening: the way she looked and felt and the way he'd stared at her. She was close enough to reach out and touch Jeremy and for a fleeting moment almost did, but instead, she turned away and went to the cupboard.

She took out some olive oil and balsamic vinegar and put some of each in a small bowl, along with salt and pepper.

"Everything smells delicious," he said.

Finished with the dressing, she reached for the olives and put them into another small bowl. "We still have an hour before dinner," she said. Talking seemed to keep her steadier. "Since I didn't plan on having company, these will have to do for an appetizer. If it was summer, I'd say we could wait on the porch outside, but I tried that earlier and it's freezing. And I should warn you that the chairs in the kitchen aren't too comfortable."

"Which means?"

"Would you like to go sit in the living room again?"

He led the way, paused at the easy chair to pick up Doris's book, then watched as Lexie took a seat on the couch. She put the olives on the coffee table, then shifted slightly trying to get comfortable. When he took a seat beside her, he could smell the sweet, floral scent of the shampoo she'd used. From the kitchen, he heard the faintest strains of the radio.

"I see you have Doris's notebook," she said.

He nodded. "She let me borrow it."

"And?"

"I just had a chance to look over the first few pages. But it has a lot more detail than I thought it would."

"Now do you believe that she predicted the s.e.x of all those babies?"

"No," he said. "Like I said, she might have recorded only the ones she was right about."

Lexie smiled. "And the different way the entries look? Sometimes pens, sometimes pencils, sometimes it looks like she was in a rush, sometimes she took her time."

"I'm not saying the book doesn't look convincing," he said. "I'm just saying that she can't predict the s.e.x of babies by holding someone's hand."

"Because you say so."

"No. Because it's impossible."

"Don't you mean statistically improbable?"

"No," he said, "impossible."

"Fair enough, Mr. Skeptic. But how's your story going?"

Jeremy began picking at the label of his beer with his thumb. "Good," he said. "If I can, I'd still like to finish looking through some of the diaries at the library, though. Maybe find something to spice up the story."

"Have you figured it out?"

"Yes," he said. "Now all I have to do is prove it. Hopefully, the weather will cooperate."

"It will," she said. "It's supposed to be foggy all weekend. I heard it on the radio earlier."

"Good," he said. "But the bad part is that the solution isn't nearly as much fun as the legend."

"Was it worth coming down, then?"

He nodded. "Without a doubt," he said, his voice quiet. "I wouldn't have missed this trip for the world."

Hearing his tone, she knew exactly what he meant, and she turned toward him. Propping her chin on her hand, she put a leg on the couch, liking how intimate it felt, how desirable he made her feel.

"So what is it?" she asked, leaning forward slightly. "Can you tell me the answer?"

The lamplight behind her gave her the faintest halo, and her eyes glowed violet beneath dark lashes.

"I'd rather show you," he said.

She smiled. "Since I'm bringing you back, anyway, you mean. Right?"

"Right."

"And you want to go back . . . ?"

"Tomorrow, if we can." He shook his head, trying to regain control of his feelings, not wanting to ruin this, not wanting to push too hard, but wanting nothing more than to take her in his arms. "I've got to meet Alvin. He's a friend of mine-a cameraman from New York. He's coming to get some professional footage."

"He's coming to Boone Creek?"

"Actually, he's probably arriving in town as we speak."

"Right now? Shouldn't you be there?"

"Probably," he admitted.

She thought about what he'd said, touched by the effort he had made to come today.

"Okay," she said. "There's an early ferry we can catch. We can be back in town around ten."

"Thanks," he said.

"And you're going to film tomorrow night?"

He nodded. "I left a note telling Alvin to go to the cemetery tonight, but we have to film elsewhere, too. And tomorrow's going to be a full day, anyway. There are some loose ends I have to tie up."

"What about the barn dance? I thought we had a deal that if you solved the mystery, I'd dance with you."

Jeremy lowered his head. "If I can make it, I will. Believe me. There's nothing I want more."

Silence filled the room.

"When are you going back to New York?" she finally asked.

"Sat.u.r.day," he said. "I have to be in New York for a meeting next week."

Her heart sank at his words. Though she already knew it was coming, it still ached to hear him say it. "Back to the exciting life, huh?"

He shook his head. "My life in New York isn't all that glamorous. For the most part, it's about work. I spend most of my time either researching or writing, and those are solitary endeavors. Actually, it can get pretty lonely at times."

She raised a brow. "Don't try to make me feel sorry for you, because I'm not buying it."

He glanced at her. "What if I mentioned my creepy neighbors? Would you feel sorry for me then?"

"No."

He laughed. "I don't live in New York for the excitement, no matter what you might think. I live there because my family's there, because I'm comfortable there. Because it's home to me. Just like Boone Creek is home to you."

"I take it your family is close."

"Yeah," he said, "we are. We get together almost every weekend at my mom and dad's in Queens for these great big dinners. My dad had a heart attack a few years back and it's tough on him, but he loves those weekends. It's always a real zoo: a bunch of kids running around, Mom cooking in the kitchen, my brothers and their wives standing around in the backyard. Of course, they all live nearby, so they're over there even more often than I am."

She took another drink, trying to picture the scene. "Sounds nice."

"It is. But it's hard sometimes."

She looked at him. "I don't understand."

He was quiet as he rotated the bottle in his hands. "Sometimes I don't, either," he said.

Perhaps it was the way he said it that kept her from saying anything; in the silence, she watched him closely, waiting for him to continue.

"Did you ever have a dream?" he asked. "Something you wanted so badly and just when you think you're about to reach out and grab it, something else takes it away?"

"Everyone has dreams that don't come true," she answered, her voice guarded.

His shoulders slumped. "Yeah," he said, "I guess you're right."

"I'm not sure what you're trying to tell me," she said.

"There's something you don't know about me," he said, turning to face her again. "Actually, it's something I've never told anyone."

At his words, she felt her shoulders tense. "You're married," she said, leaning back.

He shook his head. "No."

"Then you're seeing someone in New York and it's serious."

"No, that's not it, either."