At Last (The Idle Point, Maine Stories) - By Barbara Bretton Page 0,86
admit. Any illusions he might have had about being over Gracie had gone up in flames this morning when he kissed her. Hell, his illusions had vanished even before that, when he'd seen her standing there in the lobby of the Gazette in that enormous coat of hers.
She had never had any clothes sense at all. Her clothes had always been an afterthought, an idiosyncratic assemblage of whatever she happened to grab from her closet. He had always loved that about her. She was utterly without vanity when it came to the way she looked. She had no idea how beautiful she was. Not pretty, but beautiful. Noah was very clear about the difference. The sleek line of her hair in the rain, the curve of her hip, her endless legs. Her wit, her intelligence, her drive. She had grown from an attractive girl into the kind of woman who caught your eye and kept it. There were so many layers to her appeal that a man could spend the rest of his life discovering them.
He loved her. He hated her. He wanted her. He hated himself for wanting her. There was no future for them. Even this morning when he was crazed for the touch and smell of her, he knew that but somehow it didn't matter. He could have lived the rest of his life without seeing her again but now that he had, he didn't know how he could bear to lose her a second time.
The thing to do was lie low until after Ben and Laquita's wedding If he confined himself to the Gazette and caring for Sophie he would be okay. When they swept up the last of the orange blossoms and rice, Gracie would go back to New York where she belonged and once the Gazette was sold, he and Sophie would return to London and it would be like none of this had ever happened. His future wasn't here. It never had been. Not without Gracie..
If he never saw Gracie's face again, he just might be able to find a way to live without her.
#
The Gazette hit the front door at six forty-five the next morning.
Laquita hit the front door at six fifty-five.
Gracie, who was fortunately an early bird, invited her in. "I made coffee," she said, "but the toast isn't ready yet."
Laquita waved away Gracie's words. "Did you see it?" she demanded, holding the Gazette under Gracie's nose. "Did you read it?"
"I've only been up twenty minutes," Gracie said. "I thought I'd skim it over breakfast."
"Read it," Laquita ordered, very obviously an oldest child. "I marked the column right there on page eighteen."
She noticed Noah's byline and pushed the paper away. "I'll read it after breakfast."
"I think you should read it now."
"I can't read on an empty stomach. I need caffeine and calories."
"Make an exception."
"I don't have my contacts in."
"You don't wear contacts."
"You don't know that."
"Lucky guess. I have to get ready for work. Please read it, Gracie. You won't be sorry."
Gracie delayed as long as she could after Laquita left but her curiosity finally got the better of her and she glanced down at the first sentence.
She walked in out of the rain with my daughter in her arms
.She put down the paper and pushed it away. She poured herself a second cup of coffee even though her heart was beating like she'd mainlined caffeine. She drummed her fingers on the tabletop while she tried to convince herself she didn't want to read the rest of the column. She almost believed it too until the phone rang and Don Hasty said, "So when's the wedding?" which was followed by a call from Annie Lafferty who said, "I knew it when I saw you yesterday morning... I just knew it!"
She quit answering the phone after Joann, Tim, and Patsy from the coffee shop all called to weigh in on the subject. She picked up the newspaper and forced herself through the rest of the column. She felt like a voyeur; his view of the workings of a man's heart was undeniably moving. There was no doubt that Noah was a gifted writer. He had managed to say so much about the two of them and their past and still never say anything at all. He never called her by name. He never identified her by either family or career or the color of her hair, and yet short of publishing her fingerprints, he had turned the spotlight on her just the same.