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Theo laughed, giddy. Her senses seemed heightened. She felt his touch on more than just her skin. She could smell his cologne, hear his heart…or was that hers?
Dan released the first buttons on her shirt. Theo watched, fascinated as his hand slipped under the fabric and cupped her breast, the pressure of his thumb against her nipple. For a moment she froze. “Still okay?” he asked.
“Yes.” She pushed away the past, made her body relax. She wanted this. It was time.
The remainder of the buttons then, other clothes, until they were skin against skin, heart against heart.
Theo was entranced by just how beautiful he was. Perhaps she’d always thought so.
Dan moved slowly. Theo was nervous and at times scared for no other reason than she was scared. He took his time, overcoming her self-consciousness, exploring her body gently, telling her she was beautiful and desirable. At some point Theo stopped thinking about what she was doing, and gave herself over to the moment, to his touch. And then she took pleasure in his pleasure, amazed and delighted that she could make a man like Dan Murdoch feel this. Afterwards he wrapped her in the blanket that had been folded over the arm of the couch, and they lay together and talked. About nothing in particular—Theo told him about the orphaned joeys and wombats her mother rescued back home, and Horse, who was afraid of the dark; he told her about Rocket, the Saint Bernard he’d once owned, who ate three pairs of his socks in one sitting.
“What happened?” she asked amazed at his ability to make even this small story a saga of suspense.
“Very expensive surgery. When they removed the socks, they found my watch.”
Theo’s eyes darted to the watch he was wearing, unsure if he was kidding. She noticed the time. “I should head home… It’ll be dark soon.”
He pulled back the blanket and kissed her breast, beginning it all again. “Stay a while longer. I’ll drive you home.”
When eventually Theo got home, she was too euphoric to sleep. She was light, unshackled from what had happened before—she was completely free of it now, and there was only today and what could be. She spent the night with her manuscript. It was very nearly finished. In fact she had probably been dithering because as she neared the end, she didn’t want it to end, she didn’t want to not be writing, to finish with the lives that had occupied so much of her own. And because she was scared it wouldn’t be good enough, that she wouldn’t be good enough. But now she wanted to move forward, to begin the next phase, and to dream about other things. And so that night, still flushed with the memory of Dan Murdoch’s body against hers, she wrote. Theo typed “THE END” and pressed print at about seven in the morning, and then she showered, dressed more carefully than usual, and set out for Benders.
The door swung open at precisely nine, and Dan walked in. He smiled hello and signaled Chic to bring his usual before placing his laptop on the table. Fleetingly, he placed his hand over Theo’s, a subtle acknowledgment of the previous day. “You’ve finished,” he said before she could utter a word.
Theo nodded, beaming.
“Well, this calls for a celebration,” he said softly. He called Laura over and asked for the establishment’s best champagne. “Theo’s finished her book,” he said when Laura’s pierced brows rose.
The server squealed, delighted. “Wow! For a moment I thought…but wow! Just wow! Champagne coming up.”
Dan tapped the stack of paper sitting pristinely before her. “Is this it?”
Theo pushed the manuscript towards him. “Yes.”
He turned the stack around and read the title. “Underneath. May I read it?”
“Yes, of course.” She took a deep breath, feeding courage with oxygen. “If you thought it was okay…if you liked it…I was going to ask…” She paused a few moments as the champagne was delivered to the booth and poured into flutes and congratulations offered by Laura and Chic and the regulars. Finally, Theo inhaled again and tried to gather the momentum that had been lost. He was already reading the first page. “If you like it, Dan, will you take it to your agent…Ronnie…? Would you introduce me?”
He did not look up. “You don’t want to sign with my agents, Theo. They wouldn’t be right for you.”
“Of course they would. Day Delos and Associates are the best literary agents in the country and you said—”
“I’m afraid you’re not the kind of writer they’re interested in.”
“Please.” The word was out before Theo even realized she was going to say it, and then it was too late to take it back.
“It’s not that I don’t want to, Theo. I just know what they look for in a writer and I’m afraid you’d be wasting your time.”
“But if you were to take it…to recommend it…” She stopped. What was she doing?
Dan looked up, and Theo thought she might die of embarrassment. What made her beg like that? “No…you’re right. It’s probably awful.”
His eyes softened. “I’m sure it’s not. I know the first page at least is brilliant.” He swigged back the champagne in his flute and topped it off again. “Let me read it, Theo. Then we’ll talk about what you should do next.”
She nodded, unwilling to open her mouth again. Had she tried to impose on their relationship? Had she come across as desperate? Of course she had. She was. When she’d become so, she wasn’t sure. In the beginning it had been enough to write, but now it seemed so important, so necessary to be published. And she was torn about how superficial that sounded.
Somehow Theo had come to love the story she had written…like a child, which in a way it was. She’d given it life. And now she wanted other people love it too. And yet she wasn’t sure if she was entitled to want that. Was it arrogant? Was it absurd?
She was aware that she especially wanted Dan Murdoch to like her story, to sponsor her into that secret club of actual writers. To invite her home and introduce her to his agents. But he’d already said no.
