“So, you’re in college, right?” he asks, though it doesn’t sound much like a question. “Was I right about you majoring in poli-sci?”
“Wrong. Business,” I answer, and I brace myself for his inevitable response.
“Still predictable.”
“It’s practical,” I say, correcting him. “And so what if it’s predictable? Predictability is a trait that’s unfailingly undervalued by those whose lives are the most secure.” I walk toward the kitchen counter and shrug off his arrogance, keeping my back turned to him.
“I suppose your parents put you up to it?” he asks.
“No, not them.” I spoon hot chocolate mix into two mugs, consider adding a dollop of soap to his, then say, “I guess I did consider some other majors. At one time.”
“Tell me about that. That sounds more interesting.”
I pause to think while I watch for the water to boil. He waits patiently. I press my palms on the counter, staring out the window and across the lake. “When I was little, we moved a lot. My fourth-grade year I went to three different elementary schools. I didn’t have a lot of friends, so I was really into my books.
“By the time I got to high school, I thought I’d major in literature, maybe be an English teacher, or a librarian.” I turn to face him. “But then, right before my senior year of high school, my dad left us.”
He looks at me hard, too hard. “So you thought majoring in business would bring him back?”
“No. Listen, I really don’t want to talk about this. Let’s just say it was a really bad year. My…boyfriend helped me through it.”
“Your guy from the telephone?”
“Right,” I say slowly. I cross two fingers on my left hand not to jinx it. “He was a very stabilizing force. It was his idea for me to major in business. It will keep a lot of options open for me. It’s important for me to be able to support myself financially, and I don’t have the luxury of pursuing romantic notions. You can’t pay the electric bill with romance.”
“Maybe not, but you can sure make some heat.”
I narrow my eyes at him again, and he winks. I purse my lips.
“So,” he says, “let’s say money was not the issue. Why did you want to be an English teacher?”
I turn back to the stove and check the kettle. “Well, there’s this moment…when I’m reading, and I get to thinking about the author—who she was, what he liked, what she wore. I think about them creating from scratch. Like a painter choosing colors—she could have used any color, but she chose green. There are millions of different possible settings, but he chose this one. Why? Unraveling the mystery of their choices, you know? I guess I appreciate the fact that writers always know exactly what choice to make.”
I look over my shoulder at Bennet, and he’s actually listening as if what I say matters. I’ve never talked to Andrew like this; he stares at me blankly when I try. I guess it’s no surprise Bennet should be different; he knows Austen, after all.
“Unlike you?” he asks softly.
I don’t acknowledge his question. The kettle whistles on the stove. I click off the burner and fill the mugs, stirring out the lumps with a fork. “There’s this moment when I feel like I’m figuring it out, like the author has left me a secret-code message, and this…rush goes through me.” I smile to myself. Maybe it’s saying too much, but I go on. “To get to work with something beautiful like that, every day… If I could afford to do something I love for a living…well…that has to be about as good as it gets, right?”
I pick up the mugs and make my way to the couch.
Bennet stares at me as I walk, then he sucks in a breath. “You’re a very sensual person, aren’t you?”
“Excuse me?” I nearly slosh hot chocolate all over my hands.
He laughs. “Don’t get your back up. It’s not a bad word. I only mean that you sense things very strongly. You feel things. The way they sound, smell…taste.” His gaze drops to my lips.
I try to ignore that because, for the first time, it seems like someone actually understands me—or at least is trying to. It’s both confusing and gratifying. I hand him a mug and sit beside him on the couch.
“You’re a very sensual person, D’Arcy. I can tell. You just don’t often let that side out.”