There had to be thirty of those damn journals stacked on her bed. She knew exactly what was in them; incomprehensible notes and ramblings and theories and doodles.
“What is it?” Ian’s voice rumbled from above her head. His body was warm and solid at her back. Surprisingly so. She felt hard muscle and not a bit of fat. He probably kept himself in great shape for his marathon surgeries. That was what he saved his hands for, and what he trained his body for. He was all about his work. But what about that body?
And now she was just thinking random thoughts because she didn’t want to face what her grandfather had just dumped in her lap. Focus.
“That would be my grandfather’s life’s work. He filled those journals with all of his inventions and ideas and whatever else came into his head. They were the most important thing in the world to him. I used to hate those books. Every time I saw him writing, I knew some new and crazy idea was about to upend my life. And whenever I actually needed his attention for something, those books got in the way.”
She should move out of the doorway, into her old bedroom. The faint scent of Nag Champa incense and lemon body spray teased her senses. Was it a memory or did it still linger after eleven years? She’d used lots of body spray back then. Since showers involved hauling water and boiling it on the woodstove, she rarely had a shower more than once a week. As a teenager, she’d been incredibly freaked out about smelling bad. She used to douse herself in body sprays and deodorant. Lemon always seemed best for masking smells.
Now, that lemon fragrance brought back a rush of familiar anxiety. She was tempted to sniff her armpits and make sure she didn’t stink right now.
But she didn’t know Ian that well, and besides, as an adult, she was obsessive about showering and bathing.
She couldn’t deal with any of this right now.
“Let’s go,” she said abruptly. She turned around and pushed past him, suddenly desperate to get away. “I’ll show you the rest of the property. The lighthouse, the smokehouse, the greenhouse, the well house, the outhouse, whatever you want.”
Ian didn’t object, for which she was beyond grateful. How amazing that he was the perfect companion for this journey back in time. She never would have guessed that he would be; mostly she’d picked the nearest warm body that belonged to a relative stranger. But he’d really come through for her.
Halfway to the platform, he paused and put a hand on her arm. “This might sound strange, but I’d like the chance to look at those journals sometime.”
She whirled around to see if he was laughing, or mocking somehow. But his striking features revealed nothing but sincerity. This man doesn’t play games, she reminded herself. If he says something, he means it. “Why?”
“I know he was a difficult man in person, but he obviously had a lot of fascinating ideas. I find him intriguing. Not as some kind of neurological specimen,” he added quickly.
“Are you sure about that? He would have been a fascinating subject.”
“I’m sure. I can’t examine him in that way since he’s passed on. Reading those journals is the closest I could ever come. I’d like to see how his mind worked, to the extent that his journals would reveal that.”
She chewed on her bottom lip as she thought it over. Would Gramps consider that an invasion of his privacy? Or would he be thrilled at the thought of someone of Ian’s brilliance reading his work? And did any of that matter? He was gone. He’d left those journals to her. If she wanted to read them on YouTube, she could. If she wanted to scan them and beam them into space, she could do that. He’d said he trusted her.
But if he’d trusted her so much, why had he kicked her out? She hadn’t been all that rebellious, had she? A familiar pain knotted her stomach.
“Go ahead, take one. Just don’t blame me if it gives you a migraine or an eye twitch or a general sense that the world is going mad.”
“I promise,” he said in that endearingly grave way of his. Then he gave her the sweetest damn smile she’d ever seen in her life. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
At which point, she burst into tears.
Not the kind in which crystal drops of water glided down her cheeks. These were the gasping, snorting, runaway-train kind of tears. Once they started, there was no stopping them.
She spun away from Ian, completely mortified that she was losing it like this in front of a virtual stranger.
“Just go,” she managed to gasp. “I’ll meet you outside.”
But either he didn’t hear, or he didn’t listen. A firm hand settled in the small of her back and guided her across the room toward a mustard velour loveseat that Gramps had inherited from a neighbor. Everyone knew he was a recycler, so he always ended up with people’s castoffs. He’d kept this one for her, because she’d loved curling up on it to read.
The sight of it made her sob all the harder. Ian helped her sit down amid a puff of dust. The couch cushions embraced her with their familiar give. It felt better to be sitting down; Ian was right. She rested her elbows on her knees and shielded her face from him. Shudders kept ripping through her body.
“I’ll be right back,” he murmured.
A moment later she heard the creak of the pulleys transporting him downstairs—and for the first time, she was alone.
Except not really. The ghost of her past self was all over this place. Slamming the door of her bedroom and knocking the bamboo screen off kilter. Working on the angsty opera she decided to write at the age of thirteen. Reading the complete Lord of the Rings series on this very love seat. Sneaking texts to her friends behind her gramps’ back—which was strictly forbidden. Her mom had sent her the phone so they could keep in better touch. But she mostly used it to reach out to her friends.
One time her grandfather had caught her sending a text to Maya. She’d braced herself from some kind of alarmist response—cell phones are sending alien signals directly into your brain, or they can cause epileptic seizures, something like that. But instead he’d given her a rare look of understanding.
“Do you feel isolated here, Chrysanthemum? Is that why you need to text your friends?”
Cautious, because she was never sure if he was really present with her, or locked in his own head, she’d said, “Sometimes. Everyone else is going to school, and I’m scared they’ll forget about me. I have to keep sending them things to remind them. Funny things, mostly.”
He’d sighed heavily. “Okay then. You can keep communicating that way. But my dear child, no one could ever forget about you. Remember that.”
“Um…you don’t know that, Gramps.”
But already his gaze was going unfocussed. “What if there were a way to communicate ethereally, with no need for any equipment whatsoever? All humans have the capacity for telepathy, I’ve always believed. If we could simply harness it…” And he’d wandered off, entranced by that new train of thought.
Those moments of love from him had meant so much. That was why she was crying right now. Because despite his maddening, frustrating, bewildering ways…she’d loved him fiercely. And now he was gone. And she’d never understand why he’d banished her. She’d never understand him.
Twelve
Lost in her grief, she realized she’d missed the return of the platform when a glass of water appeared before her, gripped in Ian’s capable-looking hand. Even though he was protective of his hands, they looked plenty strong.
So did his thighs, she noticed absently. He’d crouched down to her level, like a catcher behind the plate.
“Thanks,” she murmured as she took the glass. “Rehydration is important after a sob fest.”
“You don’t have to make light of it, you know.” His gentle response nearly undid her all over again.
“Oh, but I do. Because that’s how I roll. Laughter is the best medicine, right?”
“Sometimes.”
She downed half the glass of water, and sighed. “No water anywhere in the world tastes like Yatesville water. Seriously. Try it.”
&n
bsp; She handed the glass back to him. Obviously humoring her, he took a sip. Then another. “Good God, you’re right. That’s the most delicious water I’ve ever tasted. I’ve never thought about water tasting one way or another before. Usually it just…is. This is a cut above.”
“Right before I left, Gramps came up with a filtration system that makes it taste like this. The water around here has low levels of arsenic, not enough to make you sick, but he didn’t like the idea so he invented a new filter.”
“That’s impressive. Don’t like something? Invent a solution.”
“Yup, that’s the way he was. The best part was that everything you make with this water tastes better too. He brewed small batches of ale that I wasn’t supposed to drink, but that I can assure you was incredible.”
With a smile, he gave the glass back to her and rose to his feet. “It’s almost enough to get me back on that platform. But to be honest, I’d like the next trip to be the last one for a while.”
“Of course. I’m fine now. Ready to rock and roll.” She tried to get off the love seat, never an easy process with its ancient springs. Ian held out a hand to help her. His strong, warm grip felt even better than she’d expected. Once she was standing, he didn’t release her right away.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes. I just had a moment there. I…” She bit her lip, feeling that she owed him an explanation. “I loved my grandfather a lot, even though he was absolutely impossible. I guess it didn’t really hit me until just now that he’s gone.”
He nodded, but made no move to step away or run for the exit. He sure was being patient with her hot-messiness.
“You have a pretty good bedside manner,” she told him. “I’m surprised you didn’t jet out of here at the first teardrop.”
“Ten years ago, I would have.” He adjusted his horn-rims, which had slid down his nose. “But in my work, I sometimes have to deliver difficult diagnoses. It’s a skill I’ve developed. I’ve found it’s best to simply give people some time and then answer all their questions.”
“Well, I have plenty of questions. What’s the best way to communicate with your dead grandfather, a medium or a seance?
“Neurological questions,” he clarified. “If you want to know my advice regarding aneurysm surgery, fire away.”
She smiled, already feeling that wave of grief recede.
“But have you considered reading your grandfather’s journals? Isn’t that the best way?”
“Ha.” She beckoned for him to follow her into her old bedroom. Arrowing in on the journals, she blocked out all the nostalgic relics that filled the room. She could only handle so much in a day. She snatched the top volume off the pile and opened it to a random spot. Long chemical formulas and a cryptic diagram filled the page. “What does this communicate to you?”
He peered at it. “I see your point.”
“Yeah. Believe me, I used to spy in his journals whenever I could. I never understood any of it. Do you still want to read one?”
“I do.” She handed him the book, which he tucked under his arm. “Thanks. I’ll treat it with the utmost respect.”
“I know you will.” With a yawn, she stepped out of her old bedroom. She felt as if she could sleep for a week; it must be the aftermath of those tears. “Thank you for being here. You were unexpectedly perfect. I owe you some extra flirting lessons.”
“You don’t owe me anything, Chrissie.”
The way he said her name gave her an odd little shiver. Or maybe it was the sight of him carrying her grandfather’s old journal. It made her feel less alone knowing that someone as smart as Ian was going to be sorting through it.
As she backed Prince Valiant into the turnaround, she realized that a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She’d broken the ice, with Ian’s help. The next trip out here would be much easier. Truly, she did owe him.
“How about a drink at the Olde Salt?” she offered. “My friend Toni’s tending bar and she’d be happy to practice flirting with you.”
“You think I’m ready to flirt with a bartender? That sounds advanced.” One of his hands rested on the journal on his lap, the other on his thigh. He obviously had no idea he was drawing her attention to both his hands and his thighs—body parts that she already found attractive.
“True.” And, come to think of it, she didn’t really want him flirting with Toni. Toni was a man-magnet. Ian could easily fall hard for her.
She didn’t want to think about why that would bother her.
“We’ll do that some other time,” she told him. “Besides, I’d like to point out a few things that you’re already doing right.”
“Positive reinforcement. That’s always nice, but it’s not necessary in my case.”
“Yes, it is. You need to know what works and what doesn’t. That glass of water? Very thoughtful. Tending to the flirtee’s needs goes a long way. We women love to feel cared for. So do men, in case that sort of situation comes up.”
A light rain pattered against the windshield. Clouds of mist like soft cotton fluff drifted across the bay, obscuring the views of the mountains and casting slate-blue shadows on the water’s surface. Misty Bay was named for that mist. Her breath caught; she’d forgotten the sheer stunning beauty of Lost Harbor.
“It was just a glass of water.”
“Nothing is ‘just’ anything. It was a kind, thoughtful gesture. It really helped me in that moment. If we were really dating, or even considering dating, I might have kissed you for that.”
His eyebrows lifted over those deep green eyes. “I’m filing that away.” He took a little notebook out of his pocket and jotted it down. “Glass of water.”
“Did you really just write that down?”
“How else am I supposed to remember? Taking notes works because it links verbal information to a spatial relationship that’s processed in another part of the brain. That helps filter out less relevant information.”
She blinked at him. “Okay. Good to know. But you’re taking notes on flirting. That’s pretty cute.”
Looking embarrassed, he flipped his notebook closed. “Is ‘cute’ good? I’ve been called cute before and I’m never sure if it’s actually a compliment.”
“It depends on the context, but in this case it’s a good thing. Maybe you really just need translation services,” she added thoughtfully. “Your actions are solid.”
“A woman-to-Ian translator? That would be helpful. Something to look into.” He opened his notebook, scribbled quickly, then tucked it back into his pocket. She smiled, finding him ridiculously adorable. He was so different from any man she’d been with. Brilliant, good-looking, and adorably clueless turned out to be a knee-melting combination.
“And the way you just let me be upset and didn’t try to stop me from crying. That was…pretty sexy, actually.”
“Sexy?” He spoke the word as if he’d never heard it before. “Why is that sexy?”
“Because it means you can handle a woman’s emotions. To me, that’s sexy. If we were dating, you might even get lucky after that.”
Her tone was light and teasing; hopefully he knew she wasn’t serious.
Or was she?
The truth was, she really did find it sexy that he’d been so patient with her. Dustin used to flee the room when she tried to talk about anything serious. Then again, he’d been in it for the grift, so he wasn’t a good example.
She was completely sure that whatever else Dr. Ian Finnegan was, he wasn’t a grifter.
“So you think I’m not a hopeless case?” he was asking.
“Definitely not. I’m actually very surprised that you haven’t been snapped up already. But that’s okay. Finding the right person is definitely better than hooking up with just anyone. Take it from my hard-earned experience.”
They reached the crest of the hill and both looked out over the panorama of light and shadow, mist and sky. She slowed the car so they could take it all in. A long sigh left her.
“Why did you stay away?”
“I was busy, for one thing. I had to finish high school, almost finish college, marriage, divorce, blah blah blah.“ There was so much more, but she’d exposed herself enough for one day.
“Whenever I talked to my grandfather, he never said he wanted me to come back. If he had, or if he’d apologized for kicking me out, or even explained—maybe I would have. Sometimes he didn’t even answer his phone. But maybe he just forgot that he had one. It’s entirely possible. He might have forgotten he had a granddaughter too.”
“Obviously he didn’t. He left you everything.”
“There you go, being logical.”
But what logic accounted for the fact that Gramps had wanted her gone while he was alive, then dragged her back once he was gone?
Enough. She pulled her gaze away from the spectacular landscape across the bay and focused on the road ahead. “Besides, you know what else is a good view? Skyscrapers. Downtown high-rises. Penthouse apartments. Corner convenience stores. Strip malls. Box stores. Walmarts, that sort of thing.”
“Cities.”
“Cities, suburbs, exactly. Mountains are so last century. Give me a city skyline any day.”
“You’re not serious. I can tell.”
“How can you tell?”
“There’s a certain catch in your voice when you’re not being completely serious. I’ve learned to recognize it.”
Wistfulness twisted in her heart. This man was going to make some lucky woman a wonderful husband.
“There’s another lesson learned. Study your flirtee’s habits and signals. Consider it homework. You get a gold star, by the way.”
“I was always a good student.” He smiled, so pleased with himself that she had to laugh.
“In fact, you’re doing so well that I think you should make a date with your perfect match.”
He swung his head around with a look of surprise. “Really? So soon? Are you serious?”
Flirting with Forever Page 9
