Page 53 of Edge of Ruin
My store was shaping up. My crafts fair friends were coming in from all over the West Coast to bring consignments. Stock was pouring in. Just that morning, Betty and Nanette had left an assortment of handblown bottles and stemware. Yesterday, Rockerick brought some of his leather work. Brigid left a pile of jewel-toned handwoven silk shawls and throws. Miraben brought teapots, vases, jugs, dishes. With my own stuff, the shop would be a gallery of gorgeous, wearable, usable art.
The bells over the door tinkled and Jack walked in. A smile spread over my face. His gorgeous answering grin made my toes curl in helpless delight.
He looked around with his usual cautious reservation. He had disapproved of my decision to open my shop. Vociferously. Tirelessly.
“Looking good,” he said, grudgingly.
Well, my-oh-my. That was unusually positive, for him. I gazed at him, savoring the glow of sensual energy that hummed between us.
“You look incredible,” he said, leaning toward me.
I pulled back. “Hold on, you. Let me wash my hands. Paint cramps my style.”
“Hurry,” he said.
I ran to the bathroom and scrubbed paint off my hands. I stripped off my t-shirt and cutoffs, threw my green dress over my head, shook my hair down. We had been lovers for weeks now, and I still got swirling flutters in my stomach when I saw him.
Jack gazed at the snowy bulk of Mount Adams when I emerged. “Great view,” he commented, as I stood on tiptoe to kiss him.
“It’s a great location,” I said. “Ten days, and I’ll be ready for my grand opening. So what brings you here, Jack? I thought you were taking those larkspurs and veronica into Portland today.”
“I did. The truck overheated on the way back. It has a broken fan belt. I left it at the shop.”
“Oh? You mean, you’re bumming a ride home? You’re sure you can endure being seen in public in my disreputable van?”
“I’ll wear a Lone Ranger mask,” he said. “I found out that there’s a blues concert tonight, at the riverfront park. Want to go dancing?”
“Dancing? Wow! Yes!”
He cupped my head in his hand, kissed me again, and began sneakily maneuvering me toward the privacy of the little office in the back. I giggled, and pulled away. We’d gotten up to hours of juicy, delicious mischief back there on my secondhand desk almost every time he came to the shop, but not today. “Don’t get any ideas,” I protested. “I have a lot to do before I can fling myself into the abyss of rampant sensuality.”
“I’ll be back in a couple of hours, then.” A brief, dazzling grin, and the bells tinkled again as he walked out.
Breath escaped slowly from my lungs.
I was absolutely terrified at how happy I was, but the feeling was marred by a keen edge of uncertainty. I was trying to get used to uncertainty, but it still rattled me.
The last few weeks were like a dream. The two of us spent every waking moment that we weren’t working together. I was sleeping in his bed, eating with him, living in his house. The apartment in the barn had turned into my studio, when I worked at all. I’d never been so distracted, so knocked off track. I was drinking too much of his powerful coffee, soaking in his big tub, eating his excellent cooking, wearing his huge shirts around. It was delicious.
Our hungry, intense lovemaking left me drained, shivering, empty of thought. When I was in that condition, I could stay in the moment, as he’d begged me to do.
And I found myself in that enviable condition a lot of the time.
I’d gone on with my plan of opening a shop, in spite of Jack’s anger and protests, and the frantic objections of my sisters. If I wanted to put down roots, I had to get on with it.
I tried to protect myself emotionally, the same way Jack tried to shield himself from me, but he was intensely sensitive to my moods. When he sensed me withdrawing, he just seduced me again, and rendered me mindless and whimpering with helpless pleasure. But he never let down his own guard. Not completely.
Patience. We belonged together. We couldn’t keep our hands off each other. Things looked promising. For God’s sake, we were going dancing tonight. How very normal of us. Like a real couple. That was progress.
Everything else was perfect. The trendy location I’d found for my shop in Pebble River was ideal. A local woodworking shop was making a carved hanging sign that read “Vivi’s Treasure Box.” Glass-fronted cabinets were ordered and on their way. I’d organized wholesale accounts with the most talented artists I knew. My credit was maxed to the limit, but hey, life was risk.
I could stand it. All I had to do was persuade Jack that we had a future together. That was the biggest risk I’d ever taken. The highest stakes. All or nothing.
But I had no idea what I would do with myself if I lost.
The breeze was warm at the riverfront park. The sensual blues tunes of the band from Portland pulsed through the evening air. A slow romantic song began, and the two of us merged without a word, swaying like a single body.
It was really happening, I thought, in a haze of unbelieving happiness. We were going to let our fears and hesitations go. Together, we formed something greater than the sum of our parts. The music throbbed around us, and his body was the core of my spinning universe. I would never find another man so right for me, one who moved me so deeply, and now was the time to say it. He was ready to listen. I could sense it.
