Bookends

by Liz Curtis Higgs

  The first thing she noticed were his hands, one resting on each arm. And his scratchy chin against her hair. Both were so faint, so tentative, she might have imagined them had she not eased back to see if the sensations went away.

  They did not!

  He was definitely there and not moving.

  Now what?

  Emilie had never flirted, intentionally, in her entire life. Especially not with a man like this one. He … he built things. Played with dirt. Destroyed historic buildings. He was the enemy. Wasn’t he?

  “Emilie,” he whispered against her hair. “I am not the enemy.”

  Heavens. The man not only built libraries, he read minds.

  Her knees began shaking, imperceptibly at first, but then with a more pronounced wobble.

  “You’re trembling.” He seemed surprised, backing up enough to turn her around. With his hands. On her shoulders. “Are you cold?”

  “Yes!” A perfect excuse. She tried to make her teeth chatter and succeeded only in biting her tongue. “I need to—”

  “Right,” he agreed, yanking open the car door behind her. “Your folder, as instructed.”

  “Right,” she echoed, lifting it off the seat in slow motion, then letting her wobbly knees carry her the few feet to her ancient BMW. Her fingers were also shaking, Emilie discovered when she attempted to slide the key in the door.

  She heard him walking toward her across the frozen gravel. “Did you lock it?” he asked, clearly amazed. “In Lititz?”

  Apparently she hadn’t, since turning the key made no difference whatsoever. She opened the door with as much grace as she could muster and plopped into the driver’s seat.

  He held the door open, leaning in. “Any chance you’d like to … do tea sometime soon?”

  “One doesn’t do tea.” She kept her eyes on the steering wheel, her mind fighting one skirmish while her senses mounted a strong defense elsewhere—against his irresistible eyes, his masculine chin, his wide shoulders, his strong hands. The same hands that had pressed against her mere seconds ago.

  Taking a deep breath, she forged into battle. “One brews tea, pours tea, sips tea. One does not do tea.”

  “Emilie, I don’t even drink the stuff. I was just trying to see if …”

  Looking up, her eyes widened. “If what?”

  “If you … read my letter.”

  It cost him to say the words, she could see that. Emilie swallowed her quick comeback and cautiously said what was really on her heart. “Your letter? I was … hoping you might send me one.”

  He exhaled, clearly frustrated. “I did. A week ago, in your bird book. Page ninety-eight?”

  Ohh. “I shelved the book without even looking at it,” she admitted, genuinely sorry. “The minute I get home, I’ll find your letter and read it.” Immediately. Wearing my coat and gloves.

  “Before you go, I’ve got one question for you.” His top lip vanished in a boyish grin. “Make that two. For starters, what are you doing here?”

  He thinks I was looking for him.

  “I stopped by the public library this morning and they suggested I visit the site.” Attempting to sound nonchalant, she added, “I do love a good library.”

  “You do, huh?” He waved at the bare, snowy field around them, the ground shoved into mysterious forms and shapes of things to come. “It’ll look better by June, I promise.” His gaze fixed on hers. “The second thing is more of a request.”

  She sniffed and pivoted her chin back toward the front dash. “Are you referring to the ah, night heron … incident?”

  Silence. One beat, then two. “No, I wasn’t, actually. But since you brought it up, let me say in person, Emilie, how sorry I am.”

  He sounds sincere. She sneaked a sideways glance. Looks sincere too. Repentant, even. It was enough for her.

  With a dramatic sigh, she leaned back against the headrest, careful not to turn his way. No need to embarrass the man further. “It so happens, I’m willing to forgive you. This time.” And she was. It felt good to admit it, to get past it. “Suppose we consider that situation … ah, resolved.”

  “Thanks, Emilie.”

  She liked the way he said her name, like a three-note song in a bass key. Still staring at the dashboard, she reminded him, “You mentioned something about a request?”

  He didn’t speak, only reached inside and tilted her chin toward him, even as he slowly leaned down—closer, then closer yet—until their gazes locked and his lips hovered dangerously close to hers.

  He wouldn’t. Not … not …

  His voice was a husky whisper. “Call me Jonas.”

  Stunned, Emilie watched his features grow still. Serious. No playful wink, no teasing grin.

  She matched her tone to his, with great care. “Haven’t I done so, all along?”

  He shook his head slightly. “Only once.”

  Could that be true?

  “Say it again, Emilie. Please?”

  There was no resisting a request like that. “Jonas.” Not so hard, especially not when it made him smile so broadly. “Jonas Fielding,” she declared, enjoying the sound of it herself. “A perfectly fine name. I’ll certainly try to use it more often.”

  “You do that.” Under the shadow of a beard that framed his jawline, she detected the faintest hint of color. He straightened up, letting go of her chin, though the warmth lingered a breath longer. “Thanks for stopping by, Emilie.” He nodded at her file, brimming with papers, and a backseat full of books. “Have fun with your research.”

  “I will,” she promised, though she knew not a bit of this stuff would be carted into the house until she tracked down that bird book and turned to page ninety-eight. “See you in church. Jonas.”

  “I’ll keep an eye on your favorite pew. Downstairs. Front and center. Second row. Right?”

  Who noticed such a thing? Jonas Fielding, apparently. Suddenly, she felt out of kilter. Her quiet morning at the library had turned into an emotionally charged … something. She twisted the ignition key and felt the heater come alive, blasting her with cold air. “I’ll see you … Jonas.”

  He folded his arms over his chest, the blush gone, the grin back in place. “You already said that.”

  “Uh … yes. Well, now I’m going.” She pulled the door shut with a rattly bang and shifted the car into first gear, preparing to drive off.

  But her heart wouldn’t let her go without asking one important question. She had to know. Had to. Reluctant but resolved, she cranked down the window. “Jonas … what was that all about … earlier?”

  “Earlier?” Of course he wouldn’t make this easy for her. His arms were still folded, his expression neutral.

  She swallowed her pride and plunged forward. “When you … put your hands on … my arms …”

  “And rested my chin on your head? I’ll tell you what that was, Emilie.” He was looking serious again. “A beginning.”

  Eight

  I wonder what fool it was that first invented kissing.

  JONATHAN SWIFT

  “It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas …”

  Beth sang at the top of her lungs, with Sara chiming in every fourth word. Emilie simply stared in amazement, absentmindedly brushing the wet snow off her frozen, red-as-Rudolph nose while she watched Beth bundle up Sara for another slippery ride down Kissel Hill.

  Is this what motherhood was like? Fun? Not bothersome drudgery and getting stuck in the kitchen—but playing in the snow? Making up words to silly songs? Hugging and carrying on like kittens?

  It was a revelation, plain and simple.

  So was the unlikely friendship she and Beth were beginning to form together. One married, one single; one younger, one older; one happier at home, one happier at work; one fair-haired and freckled, one brown-haired and pale.

  And one little girl, the link that drew them closer—one willingly, one not so willingly—while Sara simply loved them both for who they were.

  That morning six inches of heavy
snow had put a stop to school, not to mention squelching Anna Ressler’s Friday baby-sitting plans. Without a sitter, Beth was forced to take the morning off, and in her typical lemons-to-lemonade fashion, convinced Emilie to join Sara and her for a snowy outing.

  “You’re in charge of the hot chocolate,” Beth had announced, then hung up the phone, leaving Emilie in a quandary. Tea, fine. She had half a dozen tins in her cabinets to choose from. But hot chocolate? She hadn’t made the stuff in years. Decades.

  A quick assessment of her shelves made it clear that whatever ingredients it took to create hot chocolate, she didn’t own them. Determined to do her part, she’d dressed as if tackling the Yukon on dogsled, then pointed her BMW toward the nearest grocery store.

  Heading west on Main, she’d noticed a shop to her right and slammed on the brakes, skidding toward the curb. Of course! “Spill the Beans,” the sign said. Surely a gourmet coffee place would have hot chocolate on the menu.

  “Three hot chocolates to go,” Emilie mumbled through her scarf, fishing out her wallet with gloved fingers. Would a child want seconds? “Make it four.” Moments later, she’d gingerly carried the cardboard tray out to her car, lodged it in a safe corner on the floor, and eased out into traffic. Driving in snow was a skill she’d left behind when she moved south. With her heart firmly lodged in her throat, she clung to the steering wheel and maneuvered along the snow-covered streets at a cautious ten miles per hour.

  Beth and Sara had waited for her outside their house, catching snowflakes with their tongues and jumping up and down to keep warm. The minute she’d pulled up, they piled into her backseat and began singing Christmas carols—with no intention of stopping, Emilie realized an hour later.

  She watched Sara whoosh away from her, down the steep hill on her little silver saucer, a bundle of endless energy and boundless courage wrapped in purple outdoor gear. Sara climbed up, then whooshed down. Climbed, whooshed. The hot chocolate, delicious as it was, lasted exactly three minutes.

  “More?” Sara asked, her blue eyes round with hope as she stared at the empty cups.

  Chagrined, Emilie shook her head. “Sorry, honey. Next time I’ll buy twice as many, okay?”

  Beth laughed, tightening Sara’s scarf before launching her down the hill again. “No way. Next time I’m in charge of the cocoa. Really, Emilie. Six dollars! What were you thinking?”

  In the snowy morning air, Emilie felt her cheeks glow with unexpected warmth. “I was thinking I didn’t want to disappoint a little girl.”

  From behind her, a deep masculine voice chimed in. “I make a point never to disappoint little girls either.” The words were punctuated by the exuberant bark of a golden retriever set free in the snow.

  Emilie whirled around, almost knocked over by the slobbering Trix, then caught her breath. “Hello … Jonas.”

  “You remembered.” His usual black attire served as a somber backdrop for the riotous red scarf wrapped around his neck and the broad grin that covered his face. Lowering a sled to the ground, he thrust a silver thermos in her direction with the other hand.

  Emilie stared at it, blinking in bewilderment. “Hot chocolate?”

  “No.” His chin dipped toward her in a pose plainly meant to charm. “Hot tea. I remembered something, too.”

  “So you did.” Rascal. Tea, as in “do tea.” As in his note that she’d read a dozen times. Emilie took the container, not meeting his enveloping gaze, trying instead to sort out her feelings.

  Pleasure, embarrassment, delight, confusion—all vied for her attention while her mind struggled to put together one coherent thought. “What are you … I mean, who invited you?”

  “I work here.” His arm swept through the air, encompassing the white fields around and below them. “I drove by a few minutes ago—not that anyone noticed, mind you—saw the three of you cavorting out here in the snow, and figured you could use a visitor bearing hot drinks.” He gestured toward the foot of the hill. “Your favorite sledding spot will soon become Carter’s Run Golf Course and the Lititz Public Library.… or have you forgotten that?”

  Emilie never forgot anything, especially not a construction site that had provided such a memorable meeting spot two days earlier. While her emotions searched for a foothold, she unscrewed the thermos cap and inhaled the unmistakable fragrance of Earl Grey.

  “Sweetened?”

  “Of course.” He stuck out his gloved hand, bearing two sturdy mugs. “I’ll try anything once.”

  “No mugs for us?” Beth teased, bending down yet again to knot Sara’s scarf, which had been pulled loose by a playful Trix.

  Jonas aimed his thumb toward the Explorer. “Would I neglect my favorite mother-daughter team? Sara, see if you can’t find a thermos of hot chocolate and two more mugs in the backseat.”

  The little girl raced Trix over to the vehicle, then scampered back with her treasure, squealing. “Thanks, Whale Man!”

  Emilie’s eyebrows rose. “Whale Man?”

  He ducked his head, a ruddy tint staining his cheeks. “When Sara was three, she decided the Bible story about Jonah and the whale referred to me. You know … Jonah instead of Jonas?” His eyes shone like sunlight on snow. “It’s a common mistake lots of girls make. Even bright ones.”

  Emilie’s brows arched further. “Would you like this tea poured in your mug or down your parka?”

  Laughing, he snatched the thermos back and served them both a steaming mugful, while Beth watched with a smug expression.

  “It’s not what you think,” Emilie insisted, silently scolding Beth with a ladylike scowl.

  “Really?” Beth winked. “I thought it was tea.”

  Sara offered a timely distraction with another verse of “Frosty the Snowman,” while Emilie and Jonas sipped in awkward tandem and Beth gulped hot chocolate between giggles.

  When all four mugs were put aside, Sara grabbed Jonas’ gloved hand. “Your turn, Whale Man. Will you fit on my saucer?”

  “Nope, we’ll have to take my big sled.” Even then, there was a lot of Jonas hanging over the edges as Emilie gave them a push and the twosome made a slow start down the slope, picking up speed as they went on their long downhill journey, winding up mere feet from the future library’s front door.

  While she and Beth watched them climb toward the top again, Emilie shot her new friend a pointed look. “Tell me the truth. Did you invite him?”

  Beth’s hurt expression told her all she needed to know. “Emilie, I would never do such a thing.”

  “I’m sorry. Of course you wouldn’t.” Shame on you, Em! “It’s just … well, you see, on Wednesday …”

  “What about Wednesday?”

  “We had a.… conversation. Down there.”

  The twinkle was back in Beth’s eye. “A conversation? About bird calls and videotapes, maybe?”

  “Maybe.” Emilie shielded her eyes from the bright snow and Beth’s curious gaze. Should she tell her? Tell her what? That she was attracted to—no, no! merely interested in—Jonas?

  Don’t fool yourself, Em.

  History qualified as interesting.

  This was a man she was talking about. A man’s man, at that. A muscular, macho, cotton-T-shirt-and-jeans kind of man. A man who built libraries in Lititz, churches in Honduras, and a small but significant outpost in her own reticent heart.

  “Emilie, your lips are moving, but you’re not saying a word.”

  She blinked then shook her head, as if coming out of a long nap. “Um … sorry. What were you saying?”

  Beth rolled her eyes, then waved at the Mutt-and-Jeff duo heading their way. “C’mon, you two! I’m losing Dr. Getz here.”

  Jonas lengthened his stride, a look of concern crossing his features. “What is it, Emilie? Are you okay?”

  Under her knit cap, she felt distinctly warmer. “I’m fine,” she protested as he reached her side. “Just hot.”

  “Could be the tea.” He lifted her cap off with a playful yank, then casually fluffed her hair. “The
re you go. You’ll cool off in a second. It is, after all, thirty degrees.”

  Not where I’m standing. She loosened her scarf and tried to think of something besides a man touching her hair. Touching her hair! It was unthinkably intimate … and altogether wonderful.

  “What you need, woman, is a trip down Kissel Hill on your belly. A faceful of snow will drop your body temperature like that.” Jonas tried to snap his fingers, then realized he was wearing gloves and chuckled. “Well, you get the idea. You and Sara, on the Flexible Flyer. Okay?”

  “Oh, I couldn’t possibly!” Emilie stepped backward, her skin chilling quickly at the frightening thought. “I haven’t been on a sled in … in … years.” Thirty-six, to be exact.

  “Couldn’t be easier,” he insisted, guiding her toward the rusty wooden sled that had seen a lot of winters. “You can sit up, if you prefer, and we’ll tuck Sara between your knees. Piece of cake.”

  He settled her onto the slats and handed her a worn rope. “Pull here to turn right … well, you know how a sled works.”

  No, she did not know! Didn’t have a clue. Oh, please.

  A giggling Sara squirmed into place, tipping her head back to check on Emilie, who was feeling a bit numb.

  “Such a long way down,” Emilie murmured to anyone who would listen.

  “Yeah, isn’t that great?” Jonas clapped his gloves together. “Best place in Lititz to go sledding. Help me get ’em started, Beth.”

  Emilie felt their hands on her back, pushing the sled across the snow while Jonas grunted dramatically. “No more Moravian sugar cake for you, woman!”

  Humph! He was the one who consumed it by the pan, not she.

  “I pushed you a minute ago,” she reminded him. “It wasn’t that harrrr—aaahh!” Without warning, the sled took off, tearing down the hillside at breakneck speed.

  Snow sprayed around them while little Sara shrieked with joy.

  “Wheee-ooohhh!”

  Hold it. That was her shrieking with joy.

  “Whooo-aaahhh!” Emilie howled again at the top of her lungs as they plunged downward, while Sara hung on for dear life, her squeal pitched two octaves higher.