Love Sign

Jake’s gut clenched at the humiliation in her swiftly averted gaze. “Your mom’s waiting in the car,” he said to Joy.

“But I’m showing Shelby how to…”

He cut her short. “I’ll show her.”

“Retrieve from the trash? You don’t even know yourself, I’ll bet,” replied Joy, tipping her chin.

“Go home,” he said.

“I was trying to help,” she huffed.

“Some help,” Jake muttered as Joy passed him in the door.

Joy made a face at him. He crossed to the desk, wondering whether to apologize to Shelby on Joy’s behalf or pretend he hadn’t overheard. He was opting for pretense when Joy called to him from the open door.

He pivoted to see her hand over the light switch.

“Nighty-night,” she said as the room went dark.

“Turn it on, Joy,” ordered Jake.

She snickered instead and closed the door behind her.

“Sorry, I don’t know what gets into her,” apologized Jake, though under the circumstances, darkness wasn’t all that unwelcome.

“I gather she heard things,” Shelby said.

“Not from me,” he said quickly. “There’s a remote switch. Reach into the desk drawer.”

“Which drawer?”

“Top,” Jake replied, though he could have as easily crossed to the switch. The drawer squeaked as she opened it. He heard pencils rub pencils, the metallic sift of paper clips and other desk drawer contents shift beneath Shelby’s unseen fingers. The darkness amplified the cat-paw soft sounds of her search. That, and the silence to which Joy’s cheeky question clung like a fly caught on a glue strip. No use ignoring it.

“I’ll tell Paula to talk to her,” he began.

“Please don’t,” Shelby interjected. “You’ve done enough.”

Jake twitched, certain she believed him the source of the things that had piqued Joy’s curiosity.

He circled the desk. “Slide back. I can put my hand right on it.” In the absence of light, he misjudged her position. His hand skimmed her curls in a chance touch that tickled his palm and his fancy, too. “Sorry.”

“My fault,” Shelby murmured and rolled the desk chair away from the desk, giving him more room.

The darkness heightened her flower-sweet fragrance. Feeling enveloped by it, Jake’s hand closed over the remote in the drawer. “Those your toes I’m walking on?” he asked, in no hurry to shed light on the room or the inspiration behind an unorthodox and not-so-chance but gentle collision of feet.

“No harm done,” she said, and withdrew them.

Jake’s sock-clad feet begged to disagree. The harm was a sweet ache that started in his feet the moment she pulled hers away. Jake swallowed a sigh and hit the remote. Light flooded the room. Her silk-stocking clad feet were tucked beneath the chair. He reached to close the yawning desk drawer and in so doing, noticed her shoes neatly aligned beneath his desk. They looked good there. Like small white hens come home to roost. Foolish to think it, much less want to say so. He moved to one side, making elbow room for her as she put on reading glasses, tilted the lined pad beside the keyboard and began typing.

“Ready for some cake now?” he asked for want of a better excuse to regain her attention.

“Thanks, but I’m not hungry.”

Curious as what so firmly held her focus, Jake reached for her tablet. His finger barely touched down when she whisked it away. He blinked, cupped his elbow in one hand and rubbed his chin. “So, what’s this you’re writing?”

“Not much at the rate I’m going,” she said, her fingers poised over the keyboard.

Jake leaned in, trying to read the screen. Her silky lashes swept upward, lush and long and thick. Strained patience flashed in hazel depths. “Sorry,” he said, and backed away.

“For what?”

“Well, I don’t know exactly. But I didn’t get that much of a reaction when I dropped my crane on your car,” he said, wincing.

Color flooded Shelby’s face. Grabbing the tablet was pure reflex. Just as strong was the urge to erase the screen with a keystroke rather than to let him read her work before it was finished and polished. Unwilling to admit how raw and inadequate her first drafts seemed to her, and how she cringed at the thought of anyone else reading them, she swept a curl behind her ear, and explained, “What I’m working on is a rough draft. If I let you read it, it weakens my motivation to finish the thing.”

“Top secret, eh? Now I am intrigued.”

“You have no hang-ups?” she countered quietly.

“Classified, like your story,” he claimed.

His gentle jesting cooled her rising hackles and left a foolish grin on her face. She wiped it clean, curled a leg beneath her and offered, “Shall I have my publisher send you a copy?”

“Will you sign it for me?” he pressed, mouth tilting.

“If you like.”

“Just your name? Or could I have an inscription, too? Something like, ‘To Jake, You Have My Number.”’

“I sure do,” she countered.

He laughed and she smiled and the anchor eased its grip on her heart. But only for a moment. The interest flickering in his eyes reminded her that Patrick had once looked at her that way, too. Rejection, like honeybees, left the stinger in. Shelby averted her face before the heat of that bite brushed her cheeks.

“What’s it take?” asked Jake. At her blank glance, he propped a hip on the corner of the desk and added, “Time wise, I mean.”

“From here to here in a year.” She tapped her temple, then spread her hands as if she held a book. “Unless I get stuck.”

“I better go then, and let you get back to it,” said Jake.

Her smile, though fleeting, did nice things to her face. Like the blush on a peach. Though on closer scrutiny, Jake found that pinch never quite left her eyes. Her lashes came down, closing the beaches on those hazel seas. Intrigued, he wondered at her thoughts. That, at least was rational. The impulse to sweep her out of her chair and into his arms to kiss those pinch lines into retreat was not.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he said, and came to his feet.

“Good night. Thanks for everything,” she called, breathing easier now that he was leaving.

Jake wished she would use his name. He hesitated a moment, realizing he hadn’t used hers, either. It formed on his tongue. But already, she had shut him out. Her white fingers were over the keys, skipping like whitecaps. Divorce, Jake had heard, was second only in trauma to suffering the death of a loved one. Where, then, did getting jilted rank? Somewhere in the ballpark with desertion, he wagered. He was still seeing the consequences of that in Paula’s life, and Joy’s too, as she struggled to fill the void left by a father who didn’t know she existed.

Jake checked on Gram before turning in. It was a long while later when he heard water running and knew Shelby had called it quits for the night. He rubbed one eye and peered at the illuminated dial of his alarm clock. It was 3:00 a.m. And after the day she had had. She had stamina.