30 year old man.
Warmth coursed through him, the rush of possibility.
Maybe it was finally time.
He'd played time to his advantage. Waiting worked.
Yet she'd turned him down for coffee.
Across the snowy field a red hat caught his eye. Jill. Walking off toward the library. Miles followed her, a few beats behind. Coincidence? Miles was preparing for his research year, just like Seth and Jill. They'd wrap up their classwork and spend the next year in archives. Working in the library wasn't Miles' style; he was well-off enough to hire undergraduates to pull his articles for him. Actual work and Miles didn't go together.
Miles split off, following a different path, toward the parking garage. An uneven laugh, involuntary and full of relief, poured out of Seth. He ran a hand through his hair.
Get a grip.
The thought of anyone else with Jill consumed him. This opening, this time after her breakup, tormented him. Move too fast and scare her off.
Wait too long, and someone else might fill the void.
Maybe time wasn't his friend after all.
Chapter Two
THE HEELS OF HER BUTTONED boots caught in the crevices between cobblestones as she click-clacked her way down an unnamed street. Her corset felt like a vice and although she increased her pace, she felt as if she were walking through water, her feet clawing the rocky bottom of a clear lake. She reached up to check her hat and adjust the pin, the feather damp and limp now as the fine mist slowly turned to a full deluge, the incongruity of bright sunshine and sheets of rain giving the stone-lined street with its row houses and gas lamps the feel of an impressionist painting.
Spine stiff and straight, she walked faster, cursing herself for failing to bring an umbrella but tucking the thought away in the back of her mind. A slight smile played on her lips as she thought of him and she willed her tiny feet to walk faster, each step closing the gap of thousands of miles, a journey she'd begun weeks before. The long buildings sectioned into row houses with differing facades, some a pale stone with black iron detailing and others with painted wood exteriors, offered no asylum from nature's wrath.
She would appear before him with the countenance of a drenched match girl. He would have to help her out of her wet clothes to prevent a case of the chills. The thought aroused her, but she kept her face set like a stone statue, neutral and unyielding.
Beggars reached toward her and asked for money in a foreign language she didn't know, yet somehow spoke fluently. At one point she stopped a man in uniform and asked for directions to a building. The police officer replied and she thanked him, changing direction and seeing the church steeple, knowing her destination was just around the corner. Soon she spotted the gray stone building, the thick wooden door, and she walked into the lobby, a feeling of relief and excitement blending at once in her chest.
She asked at the reception desk for his room. Without warning, as if time fast-forwarded, she was in front of a door, knocking. The door slowly inched backward and a gorgeous Latina woman with long, black, wavy hair answered, her skin the color of fine, pale silk, her red lips lush with smudged makeup and chafed from activity.
Next she saw her own reflection in an enormous mirror edged with color, her eyes wild and mouth twisted in a tortured expression, a chandelier glittering in the backdrop. But the face wasn't hers; it was a small-boned blond woman, with red-rimmed China-blue eyes and a sharp jaw, her wet hat hanging on an unkempt hairdo by a loose pin. Her heart slammed in her chest and she clawed at her collarbone, digging through the fabric of her bodice to find air.
Suddenly she was running back down the street, holding up skirts with her tiny hands and thin wrists, struggling on the cobblestones, running and not caring that she made a scene as onlookers stared. Tears streaked her face and she found a small park bench many blocks away and sat and cried until a small child with a crossed eye placed his filthy hand on her gloved arm, offering her a sweet in his other hand.
A ragged sob filled her lungs, choking her into consciousness. That was the point in the dream when Jill woke up every night. This night was no different, and she found herself awake in mid-cry, her pillow