“I’m sure it would be no problem.”
“Then I’ll do that now. I want to support the only celebrity I know. At least make sure his lights stay on.”
With a low laugh, he followed her to the front counter. After Julia finished her order at the front desk, they walked among the rows of books. Marc showed her some of his favorite sections—including a section of old Bibles. He mused about the many hands each copy must have passed through. His words brought a vague sense of guilt. She hadn’t been reading her Bible as often as she ought.
After a while, he went off to find a specific title. Julia assured him she was content to browse by herself. In a corner section, she found a selection of cookbooks. Noticing several titles by her favorite chef, she scanned the row for the book she wanted. Julia pulled it off the shelf and tucked it under her arm. Just as she was about to begin a search for Marc, she looked up and found her way blocked by a large man dressed in a neo-bohemian style. The odor emanating from him indicated he apparently didn’t bathe often.
“Excuse me,” she said.
At first it appeared he wouldn’t move, then after leering at her, he stepped to the side. The man seemed to enjoy the way she had to edge around him as she pressed herself hard against the opposite bookshelf. Her pulse raced with fear. Just as she made it past, he snatched her book away.
“This is the one I was looking for,” he said, his eyes raking her from head to toe.
“Are you ready to go?”
Julia recognized Marc’s voice from behind. When he touched her upper arm, she leaned against him in relief. In a moment, he had her well away from the man and out into the open where she could catch her breath.
“Sorry about that,” he said, his dark eyes full of concern. “Are you okay?”
Julia gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “Yes. For some reason, being as short as I am seems to bring out the bully in people.”
“Or it can make them feel protective.”
Julia bit her lip. His comment upset her equilibrium even more than her encounter with the stranger. Deciding not to refine too much on Marc’s words, she asked him if he was ready to leave.
“What about your book? Do you want me to get back and get it from that guy?”
Suppressing a shiver, she shook her head. “No. It wasn’t anything important.”
Outside, Julia noticed the sun had disappeared. Clouds piled up in the sky as they hopped on the train. They got off a few blocks from the coffee shop, the sky growing blacker by the minute.
She looked up in awe. “It's like night out here!”
Marc glanced up at the sky. “It changes fast, that’s for sure.”
A chill wind caused goose bumps to form on her bare arms. Fat raindrops splattered onto her cheek. In quick succession, several more landed on her head and neck, drizzling into cold streams down her skin.
Marc grabbed her hand. “Come on, my place is right up the street.”
They hurried up the sidewalk just as the heavens opened, sending down a deluge. They were soaking wet by the time they reached his building—an old brick structure embellished with wrought iron and creeping ivy. Her teeth chattered from the cold as Marc unlocked his door and pulled her into his living room. He settled her on a futon couch, placing a soft cotton throw blanket over her shoulders.
“S-Sara was right,” she said. “I should have brought an umbrella. And a coat!”
He smiled. “This isn’t southern California, that’s for sure. I have a jacket you can borrow for the trip home.”
“Thank you.”
Marc left the room. When he was out of sight, Julia grabbed a comb and mirror out of her purse. Tendrils of her hair had escaped the pins and were plastered against her neck. After repairing the damage to her hair, she tugged the blanket more snugly around her frame. Once she began to warm up a bit, she scanned the space.
The living room was small, probably part of a studio apartment. Aside from the couch and an art table, there was a sturdy oak chair next to an eclectic floor lamp and a leather steamer trunk, which served as a coffee table. A few framed photographs decorated the walls. Julia noticed every horizontal surface was covered with semi-neat stacks of books and magazines. Rocks of various descriptions filled nooks and crannies around camera equipment and potted plants.
“Welcome to organized chaos,” Marc said, returning to the living room with two steaming mugs.
He handed one to Julia. She murmured her thanks as he sat down next to her. She took a sip, pleasantly surprised by the taste of hot chocolate. “You have a nice place. I’m told most bachelor pads are littered with empty beer cans and pizza boxes.”
“I hid them all before you got here,” he teased. Marc got up and went to the window. “It’s pouring. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”
“Thanks. I think I’ll take you up on that. At least until my core body temperature gets back to normal.”
He smiled and sat down in the oak chair. Feeling vaguely disappointed at the distance between them, Julia glanced at him, surprised to find him gazing at her.
“So, how long have you been into photography?” she asked, hoping conversation would dispel the sensation of awareness she sensed shimmering between them.
“For about fourteen years now. I took a photography class in school and have been hooked ever since.”
“Based on what I saw in the book, your work is exceptional.”
“Thank you.”
Julia took another sip of her hot chocolate. “I noticed you used some techniques I’m not familiar with. What do you call them?”
“I used several. Is there one you’re referring to in particular?”
She frowned, trying to remember. “Do you have a copy so I can show you?”
Marc grinned. “Of course.”
Her attention followed him as he left the room to go into his bedroom. She could see a small desk with a laptop and a bookshelf above it. His bed was right next to the desk. The blankets were rumpled. Julia’s face grew warm. She turned away, feeling as if she’d just invaded his privacy.
Marc returned with his copy of Facets and sat down beside her, allowing her to open it to the page she desired. Julia pointed to a photograph of an older man holding up a handful of polished pebbles. “That brownish look is called sepia tone, right?”
He nodded. “Then I touched the print up with special hand-tinting colors. I could do it digitally, but there's something about going old school. By the way, this is a picture of my dad.”
“I can see the resemblance.”
“He was a jeweler, but also had a rock tumbler out on our back porch. On my way home from school, I’d pick up dusty, dirty rocks and bring them to him. He’d put them in the tumbler and several days later, beautiful, shiny stones came out.”
He turned the page and pointed to a photo of black velvet covered by a myriad of sparkling gems. “As I got older, he allowed me to help him with the jewelry. He would show me the stones when they came in the rough and as I watched, he’d cut them to optimal brilliance, all the while telling me about the lore attached to each gem.”
Marc looked at her, his gaze steady. “What makes a gem special, different from just another mineral, is that it’s beautiful, rare, and durable.”
Julia swallowed.
He pointed to gems on the page. “This smooth cut is called cabochon, and then there are emerald, baguette, and brilliant cut techniques. Each is catered to the characteristics of the gem to bring out the most fire.”
Julia chanced a peek up at him through her lashes, enjoying the way his dark eyes glowed as he spoke. “Why didn’t you become a jeweler like your father?”
“In a way, we both do the same thing. We deal with light. A jeweler mathematically facets a gem to split white light into spectral colors, which is dispersion, or fire. As a photographer, I use light to bring out the most depth and contrast to otherwise ordinary objects.”
He motioned to the book. “In my travels, I took pict
ures of different rocks and jewels and recorded the legends and lore that went with them. The variation, and similarity, from country to country is fascinating. I did the book because I wanted to explore how combinations of minerals, gems, and rocks have affected cultures throughout history.”
Julia slowly flipped through the pages. “I notice you dedicated the book to your parents. Do they live in the area?”
“They passed away about five years ago.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, unable to resist touching his hand.
Marc gently took hold of her fingers and traced a light pattern on her skin with his thumb. The contact felt strangely reassuring. She didn’t pull her hand away.
“My mom died first and then my dad followed only six months later.”
Julia pressed her lips together in sympathy. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“No, my mom suffered several miscarriages and had given up hope by the time I came along. She was forty-two.”
“Oh, my.”
He smiled. “Needless to say I was rather doted upon.”
“I’m sure you were spoiled rotten.” Julia swallowed, trying to ignore the effect his touch had on her senses. “I, um, noticed in the text of your book, you mention travels to Italy and Croatia. Do they have a lot of unusual rocks there?”
“Rocks are everywhere,” he said with a smile. “I went there with my parents about seven years ago. They were both born here, but my mother was Italian and my father Croatian. Their parents came to the U.S. and met as college students.”
His smile faded. “Mom and Dad wanted to see where they might have grown up had things been different. Southern Italy was beautiful, but Croatia was...difficult, especially for my father. Many of the buildings in the city no longer existed, and grief seemed etched on the faces of so many people there. I was unprepared for the way the country affected me. I wanted to stay and somehow try to help. But like thousands of others, I left. Now every time I hear news of conflict there, a part of me feels guilty for leaving.”
Marc looked down at their loosely joined hands before glancing at her. Then he smiled in a way that tugged at her heart. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be depressing.”
“Don’t worry.” Julia lightly squeezed his hand and changed the subject. “With your coloring, I wondered if you were from one of the places you wrote about in the book. Why don’t you have any accent?”
“My parents were raised as Americans and rarely spoke in their native tongues. And I’m just a product of the U.S. public school system.”
She laughed.
Marc tugged on her hand. “What about you? Where is your family from?”
“San Diego. That’s where we begin and end. Beyond that, I don’t know.”
He studied her face. Julia began to feel a heat suffuse her body that had nothing to do with the blanket around her shoulders. She turned back to the book. “Tell me about this technique,” she said, pointing to a photo of a ghostly image of a tree in the sunlight.
“That’s called infrared photography. I use a special kind of film and filter. Anything containing chlorophyll shows up as white. It’s great for nature shots and shows how a photographer can manipulate light to change the appearance of something.”
“It’s so ethereal.” She took a deep breath, starting to feel dizzy. Julia turned another page, hoping to get her mind back on the book. “What kind of stone is this?”
“That’s obsidian.”
Julia looked up at him. “It’s the color of your eyes.”
Something flickered in his gaze, making her realize she’d spoken the thought out loud. She felt her cheeks flame.
Slowly, Marc turned several pages in the book and said, “This green tourmaline...is the color of yours.”
For several long seconds she was unable to tear her gaze from his. Oh, dear. What’s happening to me? Her heart pounded like a bird trapped in a cage. The sensations coursing through her were disconcerting. It took her a moment to rouse herself and pull her hand from his grasp. When she finally spoke, her voice sounded far away. “I think it’s stopped raining.”
“Yes,” Marc replied, standing. His expression became guarded. “Let me get you a coat.”
Julia rose on unsteady legs as he returned with a corduroy jacket. He helped her into it. She murmured her thanks, noticing the faint smell of his cologne on the fabric.
“It’s getting dark. I’ll walk you to your car.”
Julia picked up her purse and followed him out the door. Outside, magenta hued ribbons stretched along the darkening horizon. She had no idea so much time had passed. The streets glistened with lights reflecting in the puddles as they walked to the parking garage situated only a block away from his apartment.
The air was brisk, making Julia thankful for the warmth of the coat. She pulled it more tightly about her. When they arrived at the Mustang, she opened the door and turned to Marc. “Thanks for the tour, the hot chocolate...everything.”
He smiled in a vague way and waited until she was locked inside the car with the engine running. He returned her wave as she drove away.
When Julia arrived back at the B & B, she went straight to the cottage without stopping in at the house. In her bedroom, she picked up Sara’s copy of Marc’s book. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she turned the book over and studied the photograph on the back. Coherent thoughts refused to form in her head, so she scooted onto the bed. Leaning against the headboard, she was determined to read the book from cover to cover.
Chapter Five
Julia awoke the next morning, and groggily realized she’d fallen asleep in Marc’s coat. The book lay open on the floor. A glance at the clock told her it was nine in the morning. Late for her, and yet she felt more fatigued than usual.
She closed her eyes and tried to will away an impending headache. Reaching up to the area above her hairline over her right temple, she felt the scars and tried to rub away some of the pain. Perhaps she’d caught a chill from being out in the rain. That might explain why she’d fallen asleep in her clothes.
Forcing herself off the bed, she remembered what occurred the night before with Marc Dorin. Something had happened. She just didn’t know what. Julia had no desire to obsess. Maybe for once, having a headache could serve a purpose. She’d be unable to make sense of anything in the state she was in.
Julia decided against doing her usual exercises, hoping if she took it easy, she’d feel better sooner than later. After dressing in a dusty blue cashmere tee and matching cardigan along with black slacks, she brushed out her hair and headed over to the main house. Julia found Sara at the kitchen table eating a bowl of cereal, engrossed in a book on pregnancy and delivery.
“I don’t think I’m going to make it through labor,” she wailed when she saw Julia walk in the back door.
Julia joined her at the table. “Sure you will. Just think of all the millions of women before you who’ve gone through it.”
“How comforting,” Sara said with a wry smile. She rested her chin in her palm. “I plan to take any and every drug they’ll give me.”
Julia smiled to conceal the unexpected sadness that descended upon her. Sara’s quandary was something she was certain she’d never experience. At one time, having a family had been her heart’s desire. Now she had a career to take care of. It was enough. Right?
“Are you okay?”
She blinked and looked over at Sara. “I’m fine.”
“You look a little pale this morning.”
She shrugged. “I did wake up with a bit of a headache. I might have caught a chill when I was
with...uh, when it started to rain.”
Sara grinned. “Let me hear you say it.”
“You were right.” Her smile felt sincere this time. “I should have taken an umbrella.”
“So how did you like the city?”
“What I saw of it was interesting and very charming. I wandered about on foot and then went to a huge bookstore called Bibliophile’s. Have you hea
rd of it?”
“I remember Marc telling us it’s one of the places where his book will be sold. I guess he goes there quite a bit. Plus his place is close to the Square. Wouldn't that be something if you ran into him?”
Julia laced her fingers together in her lap. She was still a little annoyed that Sara had tried to set her up. Lying through her teeth wasn’t an option, so she’d try to downplay the truth. “Um, actually, I did happen to see him. We coincidentally ran into each other in a coffee shop.”
Sara arched a brow. “There’s about a million people in the greater Portland area and you’re telling me it was a coincidence?” She tapped her fingers on the table. “There’s going to be a book party for him Friday night. Think you’d be interested in going? Brian and I wouldn’t miss it.”
“I haven’t been invited,” Julia said, amazed at her sister-in-law's tenacity.
“Sure you have. Our invitation is for the ‘Farris family’. You’re family.”
Twisting the silver bracelet around her wrist, Julia looked down to hide the flash of interest. “I’ll think about it.”
“You do that.” Sara rose and put her empty cereal bowl in the sink.
“Is there anything I can do to help you today?” she asked, glad Sara didn’t grill her on her time spent with Marc.
“Yes, the cupboard knobs need polishing and I want the spices alphabetized.”
Julia hopped up from her chair.
Sara put out her hand. “Sit down! I was only kidding! Honestly, you’re a worse workaholic than your brother.”
Swallowing a lump in her throat, Julia sank onto the chair. Why am I acting so stupid?
Her sister-in-law rejoined her at the table. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”
Straightening her shoulders, Julia resolved to get a grip on her wayward emotions. “How’s the baby?” She noticed her voice sounded a bit thick.
Sara patted her belly. “He likes to wiggle a lot.”
“He?”
With a sheepish smile, she winked. “Or she.”
“Do you have any names picked out?”
Lights and Shadows (Oregon In Love) Page 4
