Page 24 of Dreamboat

“More,” he answers without hesitation. “And I’m not just saying that because his sister-in-law works for me.”

“Tilly,” I say her name with fondness.

I first met Tilly Wolf at an outdoor market in Queens. I was there with Matthew and Faith. Tilly was pushing a stroller with one hand while carrying a leash in the other. I met her, her son, Jacob, and her dog, Lunar, that day. I’ve known her husband for much longer, years and years in fact, since his sister Nikita is my best friend.

“Matilda,” he calls her by the same name my brother sometimes does.

I find it charming. When Matthew introduced me to Tilly he called her Matilda. She turned to me and said, “Please call me Tilly,” so I did and I have ever since.

“Yes.” I nod.

I pick up the book and open the front cover. “Yours isn’t signed.”

His eyes widen. “You say that as though you’re surprised.”

I slam the cover shut. “I have a signed copy.”

“I’m jealous.”

“My best friend is Nicholas’s sister,” I confess. “Nikita always brings me a signed copy of each of his books.”

“Lucky you.”

“You know Tilly will get Nicholas to sign a copy for you, right?” I tilt my chin down and smile. “I could ask her for you although you do see her every single day.”

He contemplates that with a slow nod of his chin. “I sure do.”

“Our lives are connected,” I whisper, pointing out the obvious. “When we get home…”

“We’ll figure it all out,” he interrupts, finishing my sentence in the way he sees fit. “Enjoy our time here, Delia. I sure as hell am.”

I tug on the bottom hem of his shirt. “Me too.”

“Read me a chapter,” he suggests. “I know Nicholas reads his own audio books and I’ve listened to a few, but I’d much rather hear my favorite author being read by you.”

“I’d love to do that. Where should I start?”

“Page thirty-seven,” he says. “That’s where I remember leaving off.”

I study the pristine hardback copy of Phantom’s Escape. I finished this novel three days after Nikita handed it to me over a year ago. “You don’t use a bookmark?”

“Never.” He shakes his head. “I always stop reading in a spot that leaves me wanting more.”

I carefully open the book to the page he mentioned, noting that it’s the beginning of a chapter.

“It was muggier than most mornings that day,” I read slowly, relishing in every word even though I finished this book last week. “I could feel a presence in the air that was unfamiliar. It left me uneasy, but not uncomfortable.”

I keep reading even though I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. I sigh between words when Donovan settles next to me on the small couch and as his hand grazes my thigh, my breathing quickens.

“One chapter and then I want something else,” he whispers against the shell of my ear as I finish a paragraph.

I finally glance at him and into his eyes. “What do you want?”

“You.”

The word and the depth of pure desire in his voice says everything I need and want to hear.

“I’ll read faster.”

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