Page 82 of Authentically, Izzy
AND (as juvenile as it sounds) we held hands yesterday. He took my hand to help me over a stream while we hiked up Sugarloaf and then . . . he didn’t let go. If there had been any uncertainty about our compatibility, it began to dwindle when he took my hand and was completely decimated by lunch when we debated between Lord Peter Wimsey or Hercule Poirot as the better literary detective. (Of course I had to fight for Peter, especially since he’s paired up with the marvelous Harriet Vane . . . and the two EVENTUALLY fall in love.) Brodie held to his adoration of Poirot, though he did admit to the fact that “the right woman makes all the difference in any man’s story.” ACK!! I think you could have cooked bacon on my cheeks for a solid five minutes after that! How wonderful is that?? My heart declared right then and there that Brodie Sutherland is all he appears to be and so much more. (He also smells delicious.)
Oh, Penelope! My parents would have loved him with his dorky humor and tender heart. In a weird way he reminds me of Dad, only without the constant derby and unsightly waders! You know Dad always wanted to be an American version of James Herriot.
Anyway, I just wanted to share in my excitement. And to thank you for letting me share. I think Luke can see how well the match is, but talking to him about things like hand-holding and romance and Brodie’s delicious smell make him start to twitch.
Love you,
Izzy
PS: Open-collared button-down shirts are just as nice as sweater-vests. Maybe even nicer. Whew...
PPS: We’re reading Shakespeare’s sonnets tonight by the fire. Thankfully it’s supposed to be cool enough to have a fire in the fireplace, so it will not only be romantic but functional. I didn’t need it to be functional, but it makes for a much better excuse.
***
“‘Even so my sun one early morn did shine with all triumphant splendour on my brow.’”
Brodie Sutherland was in herapartment! Sitting not two feet away from her. Brodie Sutherland was reading Shakespeare’s sonnets to her inherapartment! They’d created this little evening routine of reading to each other since the second day of his trip, mostly after dinner and before board games or movies. But something about Shakespeare’slovesonnets upped the romantic currency of the moment.
Izzy had never met a man who enjoyed reading with as much passion as her, and though she’d stumbled through reading aloud to him at first, his encouraging smile and ready engagement eased her into the habit without another hitch.
Listening to him talk brought all sorts of lovely feelings, but hearing him read? Heaven and earth, the sound brewed over the air and offered an internal hug that lingered long enough to bring a sigh. Deep, warm, with just the right amount of curling vowels and dipping intonation. Audiobooks may never satisfy again.
His hands cradled the old collection of sonnets they’d found at a secondhand bookshop during a lazy day of exploring. She’d felt those hands against hers, even once when he’d brushed a smudge of caramel icing off her cheek, somehow turning a super embarrassing moment into a Hallmark-worthy scene she wanted to recount to the beautiful-yet-short children they were bound to have someday.
Oh, she liked him. A lot.
She tried not to think about what would happen in four days . . . or afterward. Thousands of miles apart was one thing when you’d never met in person, but now? After she’d smelled his cologne and heard his laughter in real time? She couldn’t imagine going back to life without him. They fit so well together. Frighteningly well. It all seemed too good. Too beautiful. Like someone dipped their finger into her dreams and painted them into reality.
Her grin almost spread into a giddy laugh. She squeezed her eyes closed in a moment of thanksgiving. What had she ever done to deserve something like this?
“‘Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth; Suns of the world may stain when heaven’s sun staineth.’”
Would she have appreciated such open and honest affection, such transparency five years ago, or had the broken relationships of her past tuned her heart more toward appreciation of Brodie’s personality than she would have without them?
“You pronounced all those ‘th’ words like a pro.” Izzy wiggled her brows as he turned his aqua gaze on her. “Is that part of the Caedric language?”
His smile quirked and he released a low sentence of Caedric, without breaking eye contact. She didn’t understand Caedric, but from the look on his face whatever he spoke translated into something her pulse seemed to understand.
“That... that sounded nice.”
He wrangled with his grin. “I said that I didn’t understand one word I just read from this sonnet.”
“You did not!” Izzy’s laugh burst out.
“Aye, ’tis true.” His gaze fixed on hers, sparkling and welcoming.
Her breath caught just a little. She would gladly listen to him talk every day of her life, nonsensically or not. “If an unimportant sentence in Caedric sounds that beautiful, I can’t imagine what one with meaning sounds like.”
He studied her for a second, almost as if he planned to say something else, and then his lips crooked. “It’s your turn.” He offered her the book. “I challenge you to find one with more comprehension, Karre.”
“Karre?” The unfamiliar word pooled and rippled warmth through her chest. “Does that mean something like sassy pants?”
“Sassy pants?” His grin spread into a laugh. “Um... not quite.” He gestured toward the book. “Your turn and I expect you to choose well, since you love these sonnets so much.”
She raised a brow at his reticence to explain the term but didn’t press the issue. Could it be an endearment? Aromanticendearment? Just for her?
“Very well then.” She snatched the book and he leaned his head back against the couch, closing his eyes, his body stretched out in a lean line with his feet propped on the ottoman.
