Page 77 of Boiling Point
I pulled a pint of Bluebell from the bag and held it up like an offering. “I was told Bluebell is the only acceptable ice cream to bring to a Texan’s home.”
Gabrielle laughed, the sound wrapping around me like silk. “You’ve done your homework.”
I opened the carton, noting the clean split down the middle. “I wasn’t sure if you preferred chocolate or vanilla,” I said as she took it, “so I was pleased to find The Great Divide offers both.”
“I should have known you’d find a diplomatic solution,” she said, grinning. She replaced the lid, carried the carton to the kitchen, and popped it in the freezer. She pulled down two plates and dished up Chinese takeaway. The scent of soy and ginger filled the small kitchen, mouthwatering and warm. “Beef and broccoli,” she said as she opened a carton, voice tinged with apology. “I hope that’s okay.”
“It’s perfect,” I said, watching the way she moved as she spooned the food onto my plate. She handed it to me with an egg roll perched atop a bed of pork fried rice. “Smells heavenly.”
“Good.” Her meal was vegetable-based, a neat pile of tofu and broccoli next to a mess of lo mein. She glanced over her shoulder. “Fork or chopsticks?”
“Chopsticks,” I said, mock solemn. “Of course.”
We settled at her small dining table, close enough for our knees to touch. I let mine rest against hers, a slow burn seeping through the thin fabric of my trousers.
We ate in an easy silence at first, the only sound the soft clink of ceramic and wood as we briefly fumbled with our chopsticks. Then we talked about everything and nothing, the conversation airy and light. She told me the salacious back-row gossip from my morning lecture; I told her Bill thought I’d lost my brooding edge. We laughed and stayed mostly on safe ground.
By the end of the meal, she grazed her fingertips across my knee and trailed them like a whisper down my calf.
“I’ll get these,” she said, collecting the empty plates and retreating to the kitchen under the guise of tidiness. Silence sidled in behind her, less comfortable now. Her restlessness waslike a current. She rinsed one plate, then another, then paused. “So…what did you bring me?” Her voice was easy, but her eyes weren’t. “Besides ice cream and your company, of course.”
I smiled, crossed the room, and fished a large envelope from my soft-sided briefcase. “I have something for you.”
“So you said.” She peered closely, eyes narrow, as I returned to the kitchen.
“I know it’s early,” I said, handing it over, “and it’s presumptuous as hell, but…”
She took the envelope and opened it slowly—first perplexed, then amused. “You brought me a passport renewal application?”
“Last week at the museum,” I said, my heart pounding. “I mentioned taking you to England. You said you’d need to renew your passport.”
“I can’t believe you remembered that.”
I stepped closer and brushed my fingers lightly against her wrist. “I haven’t forgotten a single thing about you since we met.”
A blush bloomed across her cheeks as she searched my face for more than just an administrative courtesy.
I took a breath. Held it longer than I meant to. “It’s…a family event,” I said finally, the words catching on the way out. “My sister’s wedding. At the end of May. After spring term is over.”
Her eyes widened, bright and cautious.
“I’d like you to come with me.”
“Oh,” she breathed, barely audible. Her fingers tightened around the envelope as if grounding herself in its paper certainty. “To your sister’s wedding?”
Shit. Shit. Shit.I had crossed a line.
“Yes.” My voice was unsteady but irrevocable.
“As your…” She trailed off, but her expression was expectant.
“Yes.”
A beat. “This is major, Cal.”
I swallowed. “Yes.”Did I know any other words?“We’d stay two weeks. I don’t go home often, but Isabel—my sister, that is—is important to me. Probably the only halfway sane member of the lot.”
Gabrielle laid a hand flat on my chest.
