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“Don’t worry, firecracker,” Mitch grinned. “There’s been no one here while we… entertained each other all over the house. Arthit’s just up here for the night.”
“There’s no Thai restaurant in town, Mitch”
“Not this town.” Mitch grinned. At my raised eyebrow he said, “New York, obviously.”
“Obviously.” I took a sip of wine, admiring the handsome young chef who was expertly tossing vegetables in a wok up in the air.
“Hey,” Mitch slipped his hand on my thigh. We were wearing robes, and he parted mine under the table, sliding his hand dangerously high up. “You stare at him too long I’m going to get jealous.”
“Mitch”—I warned, laughing. I gripped his arm to move it away. But as my fingers closed over his hard bicep—and his eyes met mine—a wave of heat went through me. An hour ago, those biceps were positioned on either side of my head while their owner thrust himself inside of me, my eyes rolling back in my head.
“How did he get here?” I asked, though it came out as a squeak.
Mitch grinned and finally removed his hand from my leg. He pointed to the back of the property, where I saw now the slick glossy black of a chopper.
“Of course,” I said.
Now, padding down the hallway in our robes, the chopper taking Arthit back to New York thudding dully out the window, I didn’t think I could be surprised any more.
But Mitchell had saved this best one for last. We stopped in front of a nondescript door, and he gestured for me to open it. When I did, I let out an audible gasp.
It was a massive room, with several clusters of buttery-soft leather chairs and couches artfully arranged over Turkish rugs. But my eyes weren’t on those. My eyes were on the walls, which were lined, floor to ceiling with books.
“Holy shit.” My heart squeezed like a vice had clamped around it. “You have a library.”
My eyes filled with tears.
“Shit, Winona, are you okay?” Mitchell lowered the wine and glasses onto a side table, then took me into his arms. “I was going to tell you about it sooner, but I wanted to save it for the right moment.”
“I’m fine,” I said, into his chest. “Mama just always said that a library would be the sign we really made it.”
Mitch cupped my chin.
I told him how before Adam came along, Mama used to clean houses. One time, she was filling in for a friend, and came home practically bouncing off the walls. It had been a house in the nicest neighborhood of St. John’s. A politician, she’d thought.
“Winona, you wouldn’t believe it, but they had their very own library!”
Mama’s voice echoed in my ears.
Back then I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t even conceive of it. If you had a library, why would you ever leave your home? Looking at all these books now, my heart clenched. If only I could tell Mama about this place.
“You should go home, Winona. To Newfoundland, I mean.”
I nodded. I knew I should. I’d waited long enough. But I couldn’t think about that while Mitch was still here. “Tomorrow,” I said.
Mitchell smiled, but the smile was so sad my stomach dropped. “What is it?” I whispered.
He ran a hand through his hair. “I finished my book.”
My heart lurched. “What?”
“That first night we were together. I stayed up all night after you left.”
“I thought you still had a bunch of chapters to go?”
“I did. But you were my muse, Winona. Everything changed when you came.”
“That’s… that’s great Mitchell,” I said, my voice barely making it up my throat. The book was why he was here. If he was done the book, he didn’t need to be here.
