On Saturday morning, Sylvie awakened early with a sense of expectancy. She didn’t know if it had more to do with Juliette’s announcement the night before that she wanted to get an early start on painting the baseboard in the front room of the dress shop or Max’s plans for the evening. Either way, Sylvie had no intention of dwelling on a simple feeling of anticipation. Yet she stayed in bed a good thirty minutes, musing the possibilities, before putting bare feet to cold floor and fully opening her eyes.
Perhaps it was a combination, she decided after she’d showered and dressed. Having Juliette working with her for longer than a two-hour stretch would certainly be a novelty. And Sylvie had spent enough of her time during the past two months taking care of details that an evening out was very appealing.
Of course, she hadn’t allowed Juliette’s business to occupy her every waking moment. Or rather, Max hadn’t allowed her to do so.
He’d teased her relentlessly on some days, made her angry on others, but his entire purpose in life seemed to be getting her away from Hannah Lee House. Not that he always succeeded, but he tried daily nonetheless. Persuading her to take a walk, a drive, a hike or some other form of activity was the type of casual bantering he appeared to enjoy the most. Some days he’d worked right beside her doing whatever needed to be done, and other days he’d simply observed; Sylvie, preferring to call a thorn a thorn, told him flatly on those occasions to find some other place to loiter.
There had been days, though, when she hadn’t seen him at all, and despite her best attempt to convince herself she didn’t miss him, she’d recognized her disappointment at his absence.
Max kept her going.
Sylvie had realized that over the Thanksgiving holiday. He kept her entertained and he kept her intermittently irritated. He fueled the resentment she felt toward her sister for the inability to make and carry out a decision, and yet Sylvie felt obligated to defend Juliette against Max’s if-she-can’t-swim-she-ought-to-get-out-of-the-water philosophy.
It wasn’t always easy. In fact, Juliette made it increasingly more difficult. Benton was either unaware of the responsibilities that she was letting slide or unable to see any fault in her at all.
Juliette certainly found no fault with him.
When she was at the dress shop, she was given to long, daydreaming silences or glowing accounts of Benton’s wise and witty sayings.
Max offered a few wise sayings of his own, which made Sylvie smile, if only to herself. Juliette accepted the offhand comments with an unoffended smile, allowing nothing to dent her happiness.
But since even Sylvie occasionally caught herself humming the same ridiculous love songs she heard her sister singing, it was hard not to fall into the net and get caught up in Juliette’s obvious joy.
It was late Saturday afternoon at Hannah Lee House before it occurred to Sylvie that there might be a connection between the melodies she hummed and Max.
“Where’s Max?” Juliette walked into the room with a can of soda in her hand and sank onto the bottom step.
Sylvie brushed the back of her hand across her forehead and critically eyed the baseboard she’d been painting. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him all day. Why?”
“No reason. From the kitchen it sounded like you were humming, and you only do that if he’s close by.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Juliette.” Sylvie put down the paintbrush as her gaze continued checking for streaks.
“Well, it’s true.”
With an exasperated sigh Sylvie turned on her heel. “I don’t sing, and I never hum.”
“You don’t have to pretend with me, Sylvie Anne. I heard you just now, and I’ve heard you a lot of other times, too, when Max was around. Except for just now. But I’ll bet you were thinking of him, weren’t you?”
Frowning, Sylvie eyed her sister with caution. Juliette sounded agitated and looked somewhat annoyed. If Sylvie were any judge, there was an underlying reason for this silly conversation that had nothing to do with humming. “Is something bothering you, Jules?”
“No. Why would you think that? There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m just impatient to be finished with … well, with this house.” A momentary guilt flickered across her face. “With the repairs and stuff, I mean. You know I can’t wait to open up shop and become the proprietress of Hannah Lee House Habiliments.”
That was a possible explanation. Juliette always preferred to skip straight from the idea to the congratulations at the end.
“I know how anxious you are,” Sylvie said dryly. “Maybe the time would go faster if you spent a little more time here, working.”
“You sound just like Benton! Well, if that’s the way you want to be, fine. But I’m going home.” Juliette stood, a portrait of aggrieved innocence. “I thought you would understand, Sylvie Anne.”
Which was a pretty tall order, Sylvie thought, given the circumstances. Still, she was beginning to gain a fairly good assessment of Juliette’s problem. “I can’t believe Benton has been giving you a hard time about your business. He seems content with the way you’re juggling work and ... other activities.”
Juliette sucked in her lower lip. “He ought to be happy. I’m doing the best I can.”
Sylvie straightened. “Are you and Benton having a disagreement?”
“Now who’s being ridiculous?” Juliette returned to the defensive and Sylvie felt a brief sadness. Once Juliette would have confided everything at the first hint of sympathy. “Benton and I are fine. Just fine. You’ll see tonight. We’re going with you and Max on the candlelight tour and we have tickets to the play too.”
“Oh,” Sylvie said. “That will be fun.”
“Yes. Well, I’m leaving now. Why don’t you put that paint away and come with me?”
“I’ve just got a bit more to do and the baseboard will be done.”
Juliette tapped her foot, then shrugged. “I’ll get my purse and go on home.” She started toward the kitchen, but stopped halfway out of the room. “Oh, Sylvie, may I borrow your key? I forgot mine this morning.”
“It’s in the zippered pocket of my billfold.” Sylvie again turned her attention to the baseboard, but she caught herself, and Juliette, in time. “Don’t forget to leave the door unlocked and the key on the table at home, Juliette.” She paused to consider the effect of her reminder. “Promise you won’t forget.”
Julie lifted her hand to emphasize her sincerity. “I won’t forget.”
Stifling a niggling doubt, Sylvie signaled her appreciation with a smile and returned her attention to painting. She heard Juliette leave, but didn’t look up from her task. As the brush glided soundlessly over the newly sanded wood, her thoughts drifted into fuzzy focus.
Humming? A frown of concentration followed the even strokes of the paintbrush. Of course, she knew she had been guilty earlier in the afternoon, and she remembered once, or maybe twice before.
But because of Max? What a silly, typical Juliette kind of idea. Sylvie shook her head and let a wry smile lift the corners of her mouth.
Humming?
Now that didn’t sound like her at all.
* * * *
In the darkened theater, just as Scrooge was confronted by the eerie and silent Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, Max reached for Sylvie’s hand. Her heart jumped and she gave him a suspicious look, but he didn’t appear to be unnerved by the apocalyptic specter. So she had to think he just wanted to hold her hand.
He glanced at her, smiled, and looked back at the stage. She wiggled her fingers slightly, but didn’t withdraw her hand from his warm, cradling touch. It was pleasant and sensual to sit in the dark holding hands with Max.
And as pleasant as the entire evening had been so far, she decided this was the best part yet.
The Candlelight Tour had been a leisurely, enjoyable excursion through a few businesses and homes decorated for the season with handmade ornaments and trimmings. The play was good … as enjoyable a part of the Christmas season as ever.
But t
his…?
This was the best.
Her eyes followed the strong angle of his jawline to trace the character lines at the corner of his mouth. Max smiled more than any man she’d ever met. And he laughed often, not with the enigmatic, mocking sort of amusement so many men displayed, but with genuine pleasure.
He was one of the few men she knew who was comfortable in his own skin and, therefore, completely be natural with others. From the casual, overlong style of his dark hair to the well-worn, but obviously comfortable, tennis shoes he so often wore, he made no effort to conform to her very definite ideas about life and life-styles
At first that had annoyed her, but lately she hardly even thought about it.
Max was ... Max. Her friend. Her adversary. And all too often, her only ally.
When he glanced at her again, she realized she’d been staring and forced her gaze to the stage. But her hand remained in his and her thoughts turned more to the possibilities in her future than to Scrooge’s confrontation with the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come.
She didn’t know why. Her future wasn’t up for idle speculation, she knew what it held. Christmas and New Year’s with her dad, then back to finish out the plans for the dress shop. The restoration work was almost complete, but stocking the merchandise and dozens of other business details were all still ahead. She could only hope everything would be done by the target date in March. After that she would have to return to Boston and her career, an oddly unappealing option at the moment.
How could she have lived and worked there and yet not have missed any part of it in over two months? She had phoned Phillip a few times to check in with him, let him know how she was doing, and make sure the office was running smoothly without her.
It shouldn’t, she realized with a start, have occurred to her that it could run – smoothly or otherwise – without her.
That office had once been her first priority, the recipient of all her great ideas, all her energy.
But she’d barely given it a thought for weeks.
True, Juliette’s business had taken first place on her to-do list but, still, not thinking about Kessler-Smith, Ltd. was unusual.
Out of character.
Sylvie shifted uncomfortably in her seat and made her mind search for the reason. It had something to do with the pervasive calm in Eureka Springs, she decided. There was a relaxed atmosphere prevalent throughout the area, an attitude that Max exemplified with his easygoing enjoyment of life. Maybe that spirit was why she couldn’t seem to think her way past the next few weeks.
Or maybe it was because of Max.
A sigh of uncertain origin escaped her lips. Now, that idea ranked right beside Juliette’s theory on humming. It was too ridiculous to consider.
She let her gaze stray from the stage to the two empty seats on her right. Juliette and Benton had missed the bus for the Candlelight Tour and apparently hadn’t been able to find their way to the City Auditorium either. Sylvie hadn’t any clue as to why, or where they might be.
By the time she had arrived at the cottage that afternoon, Juliette was already gone, sans any note of explanation. And she’d forgotten to put Sylvie’s key on the table as well. Sylvie hadn’t been surprised about that and told herself she’d retrieve it from the depths of Juliette’s purse during the tour. But, of course, that wasn’t meant to be.
Juliette and Benton were probably busy mending their disagreement regarding business versus pleasure. Sylvie had to admit to feeling a minuscule degree of worry, though. It wasn’t like Juliette to be upset over what someone else thought she ought to do.
But, then, this wasn’t someone else, it was Benton.
The whole situation was beginning to look serious, Sylvie thought. Juliette had never before shown such undivided commitment of time and energy to a man. And certainly never for this long.
Shifting the wire frames of her glasses, Sylvie turned her concentration to the final scenes of the play. She had her hands full with Juliette’s enterprise; she was not going to get involved with Juliette’s love life.
And she wasn’t going to get involved in a seductive game with Max, either.
She slipped her hand from his and pretended not to notice his quick, questioning look. Eyes on center stage, hands clasped in her lap, Sylvie let her lips curve just a little, as if she were intent on the players. But his steady regard made her think he recognized the evasive action for what it was: uncertainty.
Applause signaled a welcome diversion and the end of the play. In the aftermath of curtain calls there were the slow, rumbling sounds of an audience returning to separate conversations and individual plans.
Sylvie stood and reached for her coat, but Max was already lifting it to her shoulders. As he pulled it around her, his eyes caught hers and held her motionless. Slowly, sensually, his smile unfolded, melting the edges of her uncertainty.
What if the seductive, off-again, on-again game he’d been playing all week wasn’t a game at all?
Tucking the possibility out of reach, she returned his smile in the most casual manner she could manage.
“For a town that gets very quiet after the tourist season, this seems to be a pretty noisy place.”
It was a moment before Max relinquished her gaze or her shoulders. “In the past couple of years there’s been a real effort to extend the season into December. I suppose Eureka Springs eventually could become a year-round attraction.”
“You don’t sound enthusiastic about the idea.”
He stepped into the aisle and waited for her. With a touch of his hand at the small of her back, they began the slow progress to the exit. “Too much work. And you know how I feel about that.”
“Keeping your nose to the grindstone results in a sore nose,” Sylvie said dryly. “Isn’t that your philosophy?”
He increased the pressure of his hand, urging her to keep moving. “I’ll admit I’m partial to my nose the way it is.”
“It’s a good thing all the shopkeepers don’t share your opinion.”
“For your information I happen to know several people in town who like my nose every bit as much as I do.”
She rewarded his nonsense with a smile. “Sorry. I had no idea that was a sore spot.”
This time he smiled, but his accompanying chuckle was lost in the shuffle as the person next to Sylvie knocked her against his side. His arm went around her and pulled her close, guiding and protecting her until they reached the foyer of the auditorium. Once there, Max stopped to button his coat and Sylvie felt a pang of disappointment that she was no longer in need of his sheltering arm.
She caught the feeling and bundled it away as a passing fancy. Pulling on her hat, she followed Max to the entrance doors. Outside, the air was cold and bracing, with intermittent snowflakes that floated into sight and vanished on contact. Sylvie didn’t know why she felt as if the evening had just been touched by magic, but as she walked beside Max and the crowd thinned to scattered groups of people, magic seemed an acceptable explanation for her contentment.
“Did you enjoy the play?” Max asked.
“Very much. Did you?”
“Yes, especially the last part.” His smile whispered with secrets. “When you held my hand.”
“I thought you were frightened by the ghosts and in need of a reassuring touch.”
“Thank you,” he said. “I’m still a bit shaky. Would you mind?”
With a laugh she took her hand from her coat pocket and tucked it inside Max’s fleece-lined pocket alongside his hand. His fingers closed over hers and warmth rippled through her, like the anticipation of a fire on a winter morning. “Who reassured you during the play last year, Max?”
“I didn’t go. The Attic was one of the stores on the Candlelight Tour last year, and Miriam and I were too busy with that.”
“Really? You didn’t mention that before.”
“I didn’t?”
“No.” She cocked her head to regard him with sly suspicion. “You probably didn’t want me to
get the idea that you actually work on occasion.”
“I don’t know where you got the idea that I don’t.” His voice contained an edge of seriousness, but Sylvie squeezed his hand in teasing reply.
“Oh, it probably has something to do with the amount of time you spend supervising my work and trying to persuade me to play hooky for an afternoon.”
“Do you consider that a waste of time?”
She paused. “Of course not, but it can’t leave you much opportunity for your own work. I know this is the off-season and that The Attic is closed, but I thought you probably used the winter months to make the toys and dolls for the shop.”
“It all gets done eventually. No one wins a Pulitzer Prize for being the first store owner in town to have the shelves restocked.”
“Oh, well then, if I were you, I’d hold out for an Academy Award. More television coverage.”
He gave her fingers a scolding pinch for being facetious. “And that would impress you, I suppose.”
“Are you kidding? That would impress everyone!”
“Well, frankly, I believe I should hold out for a more coveted prize.”
“Like what?”
“You, for example.”
“For example? That’s a backhanded sort of compliment, Max.”
“I thought it was pretty straightforward.”
“Which just shows how out of practice you are.”
“I must be,” he acknowledged somberly. “You never take anything I say seriously.”
Sylvie laughed softly. “And what would you do, Max, if I did?”
His steps slowed, his lips tipped reluctantly upward, and inside the fleecy pocket his thumb caressed her hand in smooth circles. “I’d probably kiss you.”
“And then what?”
“I’d be happy to show you.”
Her heart stopped for a second, but she kept walking. It was pretty hard to misinterpret that kind of remark, but she thought perhaps she ought to give it a try. “Well, for now, you can show me a cup of coffee, since we’re almost on your doorstep.”
“And later?” Max asked in a low, suggestive tone.
“Later…,” Sylvie answered, matching him with a sultry tone of her own. “…you can show me the workroom where you create all those wonderful toys.”
That Special Smile/Whittenburg Page 10
