seat beside him, and felt like a Norman Rockwell man of the house: eager to throw open the front door to the delicious scent of dinner in the oven, hear the squeal of delight as his children raced to fling themselves at him, and kiss his wife’s soft, demurely presented cheek.
He gave a grunt of amusement. The picture was surprisingly accurate except for the last part. So far, the only time he’d kissed his wife’s cheek was at their wedding when the pastor said, "You may kiss the bride," and somehow she’d turned at just the right time so that their lips didn’t meet.
But he looked forward to getting home anyway, a pleasant change from the last difficult years. Instead of Rosebud being with him, slumped wearily in her car seat, thumb in her mouth, she was at home ready to dash to meet him with Shelly, her eyes bright, her face animated, her giggle floating behind like a vapor cloud.
Why hadn’t he realized how much easier life was when you were married?
Or would be, he reflected, if theirs wasn’t a commuter marriage. Today was good; tomorrow would be, too. Then he and Rose would be alone for two days, after which they’d pack up and make the too-familiar trek across the rolling Coast Range to a first glimpse of the broad Pacific Ocean, the constant throb of the surf, and the tiny apartment above the bookstore.
But that wasn’t so bad, either. The trip got old, sure. He wished the apartment was bigger. But even on rainy days, Adam liked to run on the beach in the early morning. In the short months he’d known Lynn, the bookstore had come to feel homey with its dark wood, bright book covers, playroom for children and the quiet talk in the background. He’d sit at a table with the New York Times spread in front of him while the girls disappeared into the castle. He enjoyed watching Lynn greet people with her warm, gentle smile, guide them to a shelf, chat with them as if the conversation was the most fascinating of her day. When someone loved a book on her list of favorites, her face lit up with the joy of finding a kindred spirit. Days when she seemed unusually quiet, he was almost tempted to draw a lone shopper aside and whisper, "Tell that woman your favorite writer is E. B. White."
He had been surreptitiously reading the man’s essays and had discovered the charm. They were whimsical, sharp-witted, good-hearted: everything that Lynn was and valued.
Tonight, in his lonely bed, Adam intended to start her favorite fantasy novel by an author named Robin McKinley. Reading the books Lynn admired was a backdoor way to get to know her, but worth the effort. She was passionate about reading and her children.
Adam was beginning to wish she was passionate about him.
They had been married only a few weeks, and his good intentions and patience were eroding with stunning speed. Take tonight: he parked in the garage and went straight into the kitchen.
"I’m home," he said unnecessarily, because Lynn was already turning from the stove with a welcoming smile.
"Girls!" she called. "Dad’s home!"
Feet thundered from the living room and he found himself enveloped in giggling little girls. He tossed them in turn into the air and rejoiced in the squealed "Daddy!" from both.
Such a small word, to mean so much.
Satisfied, they galloped away just as quickly, and he went toward his wife who was stirring something on the stove.
"Spaghetti," he said, seeing the bubbling sauce.
"Yes, I hope that’s okay."
He didn’t like it when she sounded anxious.
"I’ve told you. I’m not picky."
"That doesn’t mean there aren’t foods you hate," she said with some spirit.
The sauce smelled good, but he liked even better the clean citrus scent of her hair, caught in a ponytail today. Gorgeous as it was tumbling around her shoulders, Adam found her most irresistible when her hair was up, tiny tendrils escaping to draw his gaze to her slender neck. He wanted to kiss her nape in the worst way.
She stole a shy look at him and then ducked to clatter in the pan cupboard. "Let me get the spaghetti on," she said in a muffled voice, "and we can eat in ten minutes."
What if he just kissed her? Was she shy because she was intrigued by him too, or because she saw his intent in his eyes and it scared her?
Nothing in his experience told him how to handle this courtship.