Finders Keepers (A Carrington Family Novel Book 1)
Page 27
Sylvester the cat from Looney Tunes interrupted from her purse on the table. “What’s this? A letter. For meee!”
The mindless finger doodling stopped, and Summer stared at her small red leather clutch, breath held and muscles ready to leap as if she were the kitten and that little rectangle accessory were a LED pen light.
Trent watched her for a second. The war between ignoring the new message and pouncing on her bag to see who it was from played across her face. He knew where her mind had gone because his had gone there too. Was this the anticipated e-mail from Tabitha Michaels?
Under the table, he tapped her leg with his foot. “Check it.”
Her bottom lip got sucked between her teeth, looking at between him and the bag. “Are you sure? That’s really rude, and it’s not like the e-mail is going to suddenly vanish and—”
He chuckled. “Check the e-mail, Summer. I’m dying to know just as much as you are.”
“Okay.” Her smile lit the courtyard more than the dozens of low-wattage lightbulbs. The clasp of her bag unfastened, and she pulled out her cell.
Trent watched her face as she cradled the phone, tapping and sliding her finger along the screen. Her eyes blinked the rate of hummingbird wings and moved back and forth like a typewriter platen. A spontaneous laugh bubbled past her lips.
She looked up at him wide eyed. “I got it! I got the job.”
“That’s terrific!” His smile and arm stretched at the same time, and he clasped her hand. “I’m so proud of you.”
“She needs me to sign some papers she’s attached to the e-mail, and a few other details.” Her eyes were radiant with excitement. “I can’t believe it. I’m actually going to be an Our World photographer.”
“I never doubted it for a second.”
“Thank you.” She squeezed his hand.
The waitress walked by, and Trent held up a finger to call her over. “Can we get the check and some to-go boxes? Thanks.”
Divots formed between Summer’s eyes as the server returned to the kitchen.
“We’re going to the university library. It’s open until eleven, closer than your place, and has computers, printers, a scanner, and a fax machine.” He answered her unspoken question.
“Are you sure? You don’t have to—”
Her words died when he stood abruptly, took one step to her side, and rotated her chair until she faced him. He leaned over her, hands gripped on the chair’s armrests, and brought his face down until their noses almost touched. “Stop asking me if I’m sure, Summer. I’m always certain about everything I do.” It only took the lifting of his chin to cover her mouth with his in a kiss that would hopefully erase all uncertainty from her mind.
***
Summer’s lips still tingled. A ten-minute drive hadn’t reduced the sensation or the realization that, against her best efforts, she had fallen in love with this man.
He parked the borrowed car under a streetlamp, its yellow glow spilling around them. A few other vehicles dotted the parking area, but it didn’t seem too many were studying within the university’s library. She stepped out of the vehicle, thankful for the drop of temperature from the heat of the day, and walked beside Trent up the library’s steps and into the large building.
He led her to a row of computers and logged her in using a guest password. “You should be all set. If you need me, I’ll be right over there.” He pointed to a shelf of books. “I found an interesting volume earlier that I didn’t have time to finish looking through. Hopefully it will hold some answers about our necklace.”
Our necklace. The words sent a ripple of pleasure down her spine. Silly, really, because the piece of jewelry was neither hers nor Trent’s. And if anyone could claim the discovery of it at least, it was Trent. He’d seen the shadow in her picture. He’d convinced her to take him to that spot. He’d uncovered its three-hundred-year-old hiding place. She hadn’t done anything. And yet he’d said our. Plural. The two of them. Together. Amazing how one word could snowball her thoughts.
Back to business. She wiggled the mouse to find the curser on the screen, then opened a web browser and brought up her e-mail provider. It took a minute to print out all the pages to Tabitha’s attachment. Legal jargon mocked her from the page. Did people without a law degree actually understand this stuff? A jar with pens sat on the table in between the computers. She grabbed one and quickly scribbled her signature at the bottom of the last page.
“Summer, get over here. You have to see this.” Trent stood at the front of a row of shelves holding a large book.
The chair scraped the floor as she stood, and a pair of eyes glared at her from behind a computer on the other side of the table.
Sorry, she mouthed and ducked her head, then scampered to where Trent waited. “What did you find?”
“Look.” He held the book out to her, his finger pointing to the page.
There it was. The necklace. Not a picture of it, but a sketch. Or rather a picture of a sketch. Every detail had been captured, all the way down to the alternating diamonds, emerald pendant, and teardrop pearl.
Her hand rushed to her chest. “You found it.”
“And you’ll never guess the story behind it.” He led her to a stiff chair. “Go ahead. Read the page before that one.”
She sat, her spine rigid as she went back several pages to start at the beginning of the chapter. The author told how he had discovered a journal in a crude metal box among the rubble of what looked to be an old hacienda. What followed were photographs of said journal. The writing was indecipherable to Summer, but thankfully the author of the book had provided a translation.
Word after word she read, fingertips covering her bottom lip and one leg bouncing like a jackhammer. How could one girl in the seventeenth century have gone through so much and come through with such a spirit? Sometimes reality was harder to believe than fiction.
She closed the book, her heart racing like she’d just run a mile. “That’s incredible.”
“I know. I can’t believe we found a firsthand account.”
“No, I mean her story, or what was there, at least. I can’t believe the journal wasn’t found complete. What do you think happened to her and the captain after they were married?”
He took the book from her and placed it on a side table. “I think they lived happily ever after.”
She tilted her head and scrunched her lips in the best yeah, right face she had.
Laughter filled their section of the quiet library, and someone shushed them from another row of books. “What? A guy can’t believe in happily ever afters?”
She shrugged. “I guess. I’ve just never heard one say it, is all. At least, not without sarcasm.”
“Well, I’m serious. It’s all written right there.” He pointed to the book. “Laced in every word she chooses when talking about the captain.”
Summer leaned back and entwined her fingers over her stomach. “I’d like to think so. Everyone deserves to be happy.”
Trent nodded absently, a faraway look in his eye, like he wasn’t really there anymore. Probably still thinking about Isabella and José Montoya.
Her unfinished question from the restaurant expanded in her chest. She scooted forward on her chair. “Trent.”
Focus returned to his eyes. “Yeah?”
“About earlier, before I was interrupted by my phone.” She licked her lips.
His head dipped so he could meet her gaze. “Are you ready to hear it?”
Was she? If someone had asked her yesterday, the answer might have been different. Uncertainty had clouded her mind like an afternoon summer storm. But clouds had a way of rolling past and letting the sun shine again, and right then she wanted nothing more than for him to say it.
“Yes.”
He reached for her hand and gently pulled until she was on her feet. His legs spread, and he tugged her between them, then drew her down onto his right thigh. “And you’ll believe my words are true?” His eyes searched hers, the laughing
, teasing, devil-may-care man transformed. He sat unmoving, back straight, the serious air about him unfamiliar.
It was impossible not to get lost in his gaze. The magnetism of it drew her in and stole her breath.
“Yes.”
Imperceptibly, he softened. He threaded his fingers through her hair and drew her head down until their foreheads touched.
“I love you, Summer Arnet. You are the treasure of my heart.”
He kissed her lips with a tenderness that caused an ache in her chest. As if she were something precious to handle with care, to cherish.
“I love you too.” She said the words against his lips.
He stilled. “What did you say?”
“I love you. I’ve been falling in love with you for a while, but I was too afraid to admit it.” She snuggled deeper into his lap and rested her head in the crook of his neck. “While you were uncovering a three-hundred-year-old necklace, I discovered my buried feelings for you. But I don’t want to keep them buried anymore, afraid of the future because of the past.”
His finger gently drew along her jawbone and lifted her chin until their gazes locked. “I’m sorry I allowed my own pain to hurt others, hurt you. I promise I’m not that man anymore.”
“I believe you, and while I still may be prone to err on the side of caution, I’m ready to begin a new adventure. With you.”
Eyes smoldering, he lowered his head with a kiss full of promise. Of discoveries, adventures, and a lifetime of love.
Thank you Readers!
I sincerely hope you enjoyed both Trent and Summer’s story as well as Isabella’s. I’d be forever grateful if you’d leave a review on Amazon/Goodreads—even just a sentence or two.
Visit me at
www.sarahmonzonwrites.com
Other Books by Sarah Monzon
The Isaac Project
http://www.amazon.com/Isaac-Project-Contemporary-Christian-Novel-ebook/dp/B011GYGDZY/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1460744854&sr=1-1&keywords=the+isaac+project
Becky Sawyer’s life unravels in a single day. Not only does she catch her boyfriend, the man she hoped to marry, lip-locked with another woman, she also receives the gut-wrenching news that her grandfather, the man who raised her, is dying. His last wish? To see her happily married. Heartbroken, Becky seeks inspiration in the pages of the Holy Scriptures. And finds it in the story of Isaac and Rebekah.
If love couldn't keep his parents together, Luke Masterson wonders what will make a marriage last. He decides to steer clear of all women—especially crazy ones like Becky Sawyer, who employs a friend to find her a husband. But when he feels the dogged promptings of the Holy Spirit to move across the country and marry a complete stranger, it seems love has little to do with it anyway.
With commitment their only foundation, and love constantly thwarted, can an arranged marriage find happiness in the twenty-first century?
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