if he was an intellectual snob, then decided that wouldn’t be a fair assessment to make, especially when he’d been so kind to her.
“Do you need something to read?”
His voice was unexpected and startled her. She turned from his bookshelves to find he had swiveled his desk chair and was looking at her.
“Sorry, I was just curious. Few people these days decorate their walls with books.”
He laughed quietly. “Some still do. Most of that is references I need for my work. I’m especially fond of books, and I have a passion for old books. But if you’d prefer something of more recent vintage, I do have some novels lying around. I just don’t tend to keep them. I find they’re welcome donations at nursing homes.”
So he didn’t stick to the classics. That relieved her a bit, given that she wrote popular fiction. She hated people who looked down on her for that, and sometimes reminded them that Dickens was a hack who wrote serials for newspapers, and that Tolstoy had been paid by the word, hence his lengthy volumes. Apparently she wouldn’t need that defense here.
“Thanks, but I was just curious. And I guess I’m edgy.”
“Understandable. Frankly, I’m not sure how you managed to stand a whole week in that apartment.”
She wandered closer, feeling inexplicably drawn to him. Only when she saw him tense a bit did she stop. Was there something wrong with her?
“It got worse,” she said, forcing herself to ignore an unreasoning sense of rejection. “It was awful tonight, the worst ever. When I first moved in I was able to brush the feeling off, but over the week it just kept getting stronger.”
“I’m glad you didn’t come home alone tonight. I’d hate to think of you forcing yourself to walk in there because it was all you could do.”
“I’m not sure I could have.” She found an upholstered chair at what she thought might be a safe distance from him, and sat. “It felt like a gut punch tonight. But you said it wasn’t still there. To Jude, when you called him.”
“But it had been there recently enough to leave its stench and fingerprints everywhere. And apparently it came back long enough to evince disapproval of my presence.”
“But what is it?”
“Jude will have to explain. I’m a relative newcomer to all of this. He has the experience and knowledge.”
“But you said you’ve seen things, and now you believe.”
His eyes seemed to darken, and she wondered if it was some trick of the dim lighting, because for a moment they looked almost black.
“I’ve seen things,” he agreed. “But not this thing. I don’t know anything about it except it has Jude concerned.”
“So he’ll tell me tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow night.”
She felt an unreasoning chill again. “Why night?”
“He suffers from the same problem that I do. So he works only at night.”
“Are you related?”
He shook his head. “Friends. Drawn together by a common experience.”
That made sense, so she let it go. “I’m sorry, I’m interrupting your work. I should just try to sleep.”
“I have surprisingly little interest in work tonight.” He smiled. “Events can be distracting.”
“I’ve gotten very little writing done this week,” she admitted. “It’s hard to work when you feel someone is looking over your shoulder.”
Which, she realized with sudden embarrassment, was exactly what she was doing to him. Basically looking over his shoulder. But as she tried to find a believable reason to go lie on the couch and pretend to sleep when she felt wound as tightly as a spring, he rose.
“Would you like coffee or tea?” he asked. “Or something to eat? I must have something lying around.”
“I’d love coffee if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind in the least.” He walked into the kitchen and pulled a coffeepot out of the cupboard.
He kept his coffeepot in the cupboard? Then he must not drink it often. Everyone she knew kept it in easy reach on the counter. So maybe he was a tea kind of guy.
But he made no tea, and when he returned to the living room, he did so with a coffee service that held only one cup. He politely poured her coffee then let her add what she wanted. “I’m sorry, I have no cream or milk, but I do have sugar.”
“Black is fine, thanks.” Ignoring her desire for a little milk in the coffee, she held the cup in her hands and sipped. “You keep your apartment cold,” she remarked. The contrast between her cold hands and the hot cup caused her to notice.
“Oh. I forgot to turn the heat on.” He at once went to the wall and adjusted the thermostat. “Sorry, I don’t notice the chill much. You should have said something sooner.”
“I just noticed.”
Which was true. But at the same time she found herself wondering what other oddities he had. Most people by this time in the autumn left their heat on all the time.
He was a strange bird indeed, she thought staring down into her cup. Handsome and strange, and the combination intrigued her. Drew her.
She’d never felt particularly drawn to ordinary people. People with quirks, however, were a different matter, and the quirkier the better. That tendency occasionally caused her trouble but she never seemed to learn her lesson.
“You must hate the summer,” she blurted. Stealing a look at him, she saw he had raised one eyebrow.
“Why?” he asked.
“Because the days are longer.”
“Ah. Well, yes, it means my nights are shorter.”
“Does it ever make you crazy, not being able to tolerate the light?”
One corner of his mouth lifted. “Once it did. One adapts, you know. There’s quite a bit of beauty in the night.”
“I’m a bit of a night owl, myself. But I do like a daily dose of sun.” She wondered if the wife and daughters he had mentioned had left him because of his illness, but caught herself before incaution released the question. None of her business. Sheesh, sometimes she forgot how to interact with people because she chose to spend so much time alone in her own little world.
Although he had not in any way indicated it, Yvonne felt she had intruded too much into his life. First by needing to sleep in his living room, and then by engaging him in a conversation when, regardless of what he said, he had clearly intended to work.
She put her cup on the tray. “Thanks for the coffee. I guess I’m getting sleepy after all.”
He
