In Other Words, Love

by Shirley Jump

  “Well, I’m pretty sure the electric company would argue with that theory. They kinda like me to pay them on time.”

  Why didn’t Kate see herself the way he saw her? She was incredibly smart and devastatingly beautiful. She’d done something he couldn’t do—write a book—many times over. In the pages he had read so far, she’d managed to create something that both sounded like Trent and made Trent seem human, real. “When we were studying for the test, you asked me to pick my favorite part of the book. I told you it was when Atticus Finch says, ‘I wanted you to see what real courage was’ to Scout. I said I loved it because it was such a great life lesson about taking risks and getting out of your comfort zone. Do you remember what you said to me?”

  She shook her head. Her green eyes watched him, fascinated, as if he were a movie with a cliffhanger. He’d never known anyone else who gave someone such complete attention.

  “You said to me that real courage is about not avoiding what you are truly capable of, what you have been gifted with. You said I was smart, too smart to be goofing off in school and wasting my education, and then basically I should man up and start paying attention in school. You pushed me, Kate, to try harder, to be better, though inside I sometimes resisted—”

  “And took off on a bike ride or paddle instead of going to class—”

  “Leaving you behind.”

  “Yeah.” The single word was soft and sad. “But that’s all in the past.”

  “Is it?”

  “It has to be, Trent.” She flipped open her laptop again and rested her hands on the keyboard. “Let’s just finish the book.”

  She wanted to change the conversation, to move it out of thorny, muddy territory and into something easier. Just as she hadn’t let him slack in school, he wasn’t going to let this go that easily.

  Trent flicked on the directional and merged toward the exit for Seattle. Their road trip was almost at an end, which would mean they’d go their separate ways again. Trent wasn’t quite ready for the moment to end. “I took me a while to really buckle down, but once I did, I noticed my grades went up, and I became more engaged in school. I even read more books.”

  She typed a sentence or two. “Authors love people who read books.”

  He knew she’d said the words as a joke, but hearing “love” from Kate’s lips stirred something inside Trent. Something he chose to ignore for now. “I think that work ethic you sort of kicked into place for me is part of what made me so successful with GOA. Ever since college, I’ve been more focused on learning and reading, and being the best I can be at my job.”

  “That’s awesome,” she said. Her fingers flew across the keyboard. “That’s such a great quote for the book.”

  He put a hand over hers, and she stopped typing. “I was saying it to thank you, Kate, not to fill a chapter or create some blurb in the book.”

  “Oh. Well, I…” That blush appeared again in her cheeks. “You’re welcome, Trent. It was really no big deal.”

  “Maybe to you. But it made a big difference for me.” He pulled his hand back and focused again on the road. Every other minute, it seemed he was wrapping himself up with Kate again.

  So many parts of his life, though, were interwoven with her, or memories of her. She’d taught him to appreciate books, to dig deeper into the text and unearth the lesson the author had scattered among the words. She’d been the one person who had believed in him without doubt or reservation, a cheerleader at a time when he’d really needed one.

  But none of that would be in the book, at Kate’s insistence. It seemed wrong, somehow, to erase the lines that underscored so much of his life.

  “Oh, look, we’re at my house already.” Kate closed the lid of the laptop and tucked it in her bag. “I should get inside and get to work. I have so much to write and not much time to do it.”

  “Let me help you. Not write, but, like, get you all the takeout from Chick and Cheese you can eat.” He flashed a smile at her. “You concentrate on the book, and I’ll take care of everything else.”

  “Don’t you have a business that needs you?”

  He did, but right now, nothing else seemed as important as her and extending this warm feeling from the two days they’d spent together. This was all good for the book, he told himself, as if that was the real reason he wanted to linger in her presence. “Like you said, there’s nothing at GOA that can’t exist without me for a few more hours. Or days.”

  “You’d really do that for me?”

  He nodded. “It’s the least I can do, considering you’re doing the hard part.”

  Her gaze narrowed, but amusement lit her face. “This wouldn’t be your way of sucking up to me just to make sure I make you look like a superhero in the book?”

  “Well, if that happens…” He flexed his biceps and shot her a crooked smile. “Seriously, I want to help, Kate.”

  “All the takeout I can eat? Hmm…that’s a really good offer.” She tapped her lip, as if she was giving it serious consideration, then her green eyes met his. “How do you feel about cats?”

  Charlie, the traitor, took to Trent from the second he walked inside the apartment. Trent bent down, rubbed behind Charlie’s ears, and the cat immediately fell in love, twining himself in and out of Trent’s legs with a loving purr. “I think I’ve made a friend.”

  “Charlie hates everyone other than me. Did you slip him some chicken or something?”

  Trent laughed. “No. I had some kittens around my house for a little while when I was a kid. I forgot all about that story until now.”

  “So maybe I’m not the only one who loves animals?” She flipped open her laptop, pressed the power button and poised her fingers over the keyboard. “Tell me all about the kittens.”

  “It was no big deal, really. I think I was maybe six or seven. I’m not sure because it was a long time ago. We had a stray cat living under the house, in the crawlspace under the porch. My dad tried everything to get her out, and she wouldn’t leave. Turned out she had a bunch of kittens with her. I used to climb under there and feed her until she trusted me enough to get her and the kittens out from under there and into homes. I would have kept one, but my mom is really allergic to cats and dogs, hence no pets for me as a kid.”

  “That’s so sweet of you to do for the kittens.” She typed quickly. “That is totally going in the book.”

  He groaned. “You’re going to make me sound like a softie.”

  “Anyone who crawls under a porch to take care of some kittens is a softie. The best kind of softie.” Her voice had gotten all sweet and tender and was betraying her as badly as the cat. Geez. Could she get any more obvious about how she felt? This entire day had been one softie moment after another, from the way she’d seen him help his father, to the security of his hand helping her up an embankment. And then, that almost kiss…

  Kate shook her head and refocused on the book. Priorities, Kate, priorities. He was a client, and she had a job to do. Maybe after that was completed…

  Maybe. To be honest, she was afraid of having her heart broken a second time. Once was enough.

  “I’m going to shut up now,” Trent said, “and go get some coffee or something, before you turn my hard-earned reputation as a hard-edged cliff climber into a marshmallow.” He thumbed toward the kitchen. “Do you want me to brew some for you? Or go out and get it?”

  “Coffee sounds amazing. If I have enough, I’ll stay up all night and finish your book.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Trent called over his shoulder as he headed for the kitchen. There were a few muttered curses and the sound of cabinets being opened and closed, but within a few minutes, she heard the sound of the percolator and caught the promising scent of rich, dark caffeine.

  After the couple of days with his parents, the words poured out of Kate, on the long car ride back and now in her apartment. Stories his mother and si
ster had shared as they’d done the dishes, observations she’d made while she’d watched Trent working the sale at the nursery, and a sense of the setting of the town where he’d grown up and its impact on him. She moved on to the growth of GOA, likening it to climbing a mountain and including several stories about Trent’s adventures in the outdoors.

  The only thing missing from the book was Kate herself. There was no mention of them meeting in college, no mention of her working the annuals sale. She painted a picture of the Trent she knew, the man she had once been in love with, filling him in with bright colors and subtle details.

  “One sugar and lots of cream, right?” Trent called from the kitchen.

  He remembered how she took her coffee? Why did her heart melt at that realization? It was nothing, Kate told herself. Nothing at all. But when he brought her a perfectly sweetened and lightened mug, Kate’s eyes burned a little.

  “Okay, so you have a full pot of coffee but no food in your fridge. I’m going to run by the office, check on a couple of things, and come back with dinner. Sound good?”

  Sounded like a wonderful thing for him to do. The kind of thing a boyfriend would do. Kate nodded. “I appreciate it.”

  “No, I appreciate what you are doing. You’re turning my life into something people will want to read.” He shot her a grin, then headed out of the apartment.

  Kate sighed. Charlie, no longer spoiled by Trent, curled up by Kate’s feet and tucked his head into his chest. “What am I going to do with him, Charlie?”

  The cat flicked his tail.

  “I can’t fall for him again. That would be crazy.” She glanced at the file on her computer, then at the stack of notes she had. “I guess the best thing to do would be to finish this book and be done with the whole thing once and for all.”

  Writing those final words would stop this torture of seeing Trent, getting close to him, and losing herself in his world. She wanted—no, needed—to go back to her quiet, predictable life of soup with Grandma, plants on Saturdays, and books about people she wasn’t in love with.

  Kate took a long gulp of coffee, then started typing. She shoved her emotions to the side, in a compartment in the back of her mind, and worked her way through the notes. From time to time, she’d add a little story or another detail to other pages, fleshing it out as she went along, like an oil painting with layers of colors.

  When her doorbell rang, it startled Kate out of her writing frenzy. She jerked to her feet, making Charlie meow in complaint about the sudden movement, then hurried to the door. Trent stood on the other side, a little damp from the quick shower a moment before and holding a big bag. “Trent.”

  “You sound surprised to see me. I don’t have a key, so I had to ring the bell. I said I’d bring dinner.” He held up a bag. “And something else.” From behind his back, he produced a bouquet of white daisies.

  “Daisies?” She took the bouquet and inhaled the light, soft fragrance. What a sweet gesture. So thoughtful. “I love them. But why…”

  “You were working so hard. I wanted to thank you.” As he stepped into her apartment, he leaned down and lowered his voice, the words warm against her neck, “And it never hurts, if you ask me, to make my ghostwriter happy just before she finishes your book.”

  Kate’s face heated. Was this a romantic move? More than something professional? And did she want that? “I’ll, uh, go put these in a vase.” She hurried off to the kitchen.

  Why did she keep falling for him? They were supposed to just be colleagues working on a project together. Why couldn’t she keep that concept locked in her mind? She kept getting swept away by vistas and coffees and daisies.

  “I can get that if you need to get back to work.”

  Trent’s voice behind her made Kate draw in a sharp breath. She bit her lip and blinked, praying her eyes wouldn’t betray her. “Thanks. I have one more chapter to go.”

  “Wow, really?”

  “Yeah. Seeing your parents gave me lots of inspiration. Why don’t you set up for dinner, and I’ll take a break then?” Anything to get her out of the kitchen right now and give her a second to compose herself.

  “Sure thing.” Trent spun a slow circle in her kitchen. “Plates are…here?”

  Kate nodded. She couldn’t trust her voice or herself. “I’ll be right back.” Then she dashed into her bathroom, turned on the faucet, and took a solid minute to wrestle her emotions back into place. She touched up her makeup, brushed her hair and smoothed a wrinkle out of her shirt—all to present a ghostwriter who wasn’t emotionally involved. Not because she cared whether Trent found her beautiful.

  You are brilliant and breathtaking and captivating.

  Had he really meant all of that? Or were they just words strung together to keep the writer happy? Verbal versions of the daisies?

  Doesn’t matter, she told herself. She had a job to do, and once it was finished, she could throw out the daisies, clean out these memories and move forward. Even the thought of doing that made her choke up again, which meant another minute of erasing any trace of her emotions.

  When she came out of the bathroom, she saw that Trent had set up her table, with napkins and silverware and the vase of daisies in the middle. It all screamed “evening at home between a couple,” and right now, Kate couldn’t…she just couldn’t. “I’m going to eat at my desk. Sorry. I just really want to get the book done.”

  “Sure.” He scooped some food onto a plate, grabbed a fork and some napkins and set all of it on the space beside her computer. “Do you mind if I hang around? If you’re going to be done tonight, I’d love to see how it turns out.”

  “Yeah. No problem.” She sat at her desk, leaving the food untouched. Her appetite had deserted her somewhere between the daisies and the words make my ghostwriter happy. Charlie plodded over to the tabled winding himself around Trent’s legs in a blatant attempt at begging for chicken.

  “You know I’m a sucker for a needy face, don’t you?” Trent said, his voice low and friendly. “Okay. Just one bite. Don’t tell your mom.”

  Despite all her pretty little resolutions a moment earlier, Kate smiled, and her heart softened. She drew in a deep breath, then set to work on the last pages. The only thing standing between her and the end of everything with Trent. Again.

  Thirteen

  Trent ate, did the dishes, answered some emails on his phone, watched a couple of movies, and marveled at Kate’s dedication and work ethic. She had her hair back in a ponytail that exposed the easy curves of her neck. The T-shirt and yoga pants she’d changed into when she’d gotten home urged him to touch her, as if she was a soft place to fall. And the single-minded focus in her face only made him crave her attention more. When she was writing, Kate seemed to block out everything else in the room, focusing only on the words on the screen.

  A few hours later, Kate let out a little whoop and pushed back from her desk. “Done.”

  “Really? That’s pretty amazing.”

  “Thanks.” Her cheeks flushed. “It’s only words.”

  “If you ask me, it’s a lot more than that. All that creating and thinking and writing. It’s like your hands were on fire. Just amazing. So…can I read it?”

  “Of course you can. It’s your story. I need you to look it over for any inconsistencies or mistakes.” She clicked on the screen, and the printer beside her computer whirred to life. “I’ll print out a copy for you. I think it’s easier to see what’s missing when you’re looking at the printed page.”

  “And you go eat.” He nudged the untouched plate of food toward her. “I can’t have my ghostwriter starving to death before the book is published.”

  Something flickered in her eyes, but she pushed a smile to her face, then grabbed her plate. “You’re right. Thanks.”

  The printer spat out the pages, and Trent grabbed the stack. He dropped into Kate’s desk chair and started to read.
From the first sentence, he was hooked, and barely heard Kate heating up her food before sitting on the sofa to finally eat.

  Maybe I was born an adventurer, or maybe living under the shade of the Cascade Mountains ignited that flame in my heart. I grew up an ordinary kid in an ordinary small town, with ordinary parents who own a small nursery. My mother was hearth and home, apple cobbler and warm hugs at the end of the day. My father was the one who had the love for the outdoors and a passion for anything green and vibrant. His bedtime stories were about climbing mountains and sleeping under the stars. So it was little wonder that I decided to do my first solo hike when I was ten, with a water bottle and a granola bar, and not a whole lot of preplanning.

  It was as if he was listening to a tape of himself speaking as he read. The way she described the deep chasms that sliced into the side of the mountain as if the gods had cleaved the world in two. The rich, deep greens of the forest floor and the steady, imposing strength of the towering trees. The way the air he breathed on a climb filled not just his lungs, but his soul. It was poetic and beautiful and compelling.

  Trent turned page after page, so attuned to Kate’s words that he barely heard the soft murmur of the television or noticed her cat weaving in and out of the chair legs, seeking attention. He devoured his own story, like watching a movie unfold. He knew the plot, the details, the ending, but the way the story was told kept him glued to the seat.

  Finally, a little after two in the morning, he finished the last page and set the manuscript in a neat pile on the corner of her desk. It was his life, captured in beautiful prose and true in every sense of the word except for the gaping hole where Kate should have been. She’d talked about how he had decided in the beginning of senior year to buckle down and apply himself in school, instead of telling the true story about how she had nudged him to be his best self. When the story about writing the book came up, she made it sound like comparing his life story to the mountains he loved to climb was all his idea.

  He glanced over at the couch. The TV was playing, lights flickering across Kate’s peaceful, still face. She’d curled up on the arm of her sofa, her dinner only half eaten, and fallen asleep. She looked so beautiful, so tranquil, and a part of him wanted to curl up on the couch beside her.