Page 83 of Sweet Talking Man


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"So no romance, huh?"

"Not even a good-night kiss. Try Meat Grommet. I think she hung out with him some, and I heard Finch sniffed around a little, too."

Leif froze as the image of the bird on his mother's hand popped into his head. "Finch? I didn't have him on the list."

"Well, back then everyone called him Finch. Now everybody calls him Senator Orgeron. Finch was his middle name or something."

Leif swallowed the excitement. Nothing but a hunch. Meant nothing at this point. But still. Maybe."Great. I'll check him out. Thanks for the information."

"So when's it coming out?" George asked.

"What?"

"The book you're writing. I want to get a copy."

"Oh, I have to sell it to a publisher first, but I'll let you know."

Leif hung up after thanking George and immediately typed Everett Orgeron in the internet search engine on his phone. The man's official biography popped up immediately- Everett Fincher Orgeron III. Sounded pompous. Leif enlarged the screen and studied the picture.

Hmm. Did the good senator look like him?

Leif couldn't tell. The man had a prominent chin, close-cropped silver hair, and light colored eyes. His brow was heavier than Leif’s, but Leif knew he'd inherited most of his looks from his mother. Oh, and Everett was listed as a Republican.

A Republican?

Leif gave a wry laugh and jammed his helmet on his head, firing up the engine and reversing out of the parking spot. He'd need to check out Clyde "Meat" Grommet before he became too fixated on the senator. But until then, he had a beautiful woman to occupy his time …and some grading to do. The shooting star centerpieces were painted and ready to go for the banquet at school. He'd also closed submissions for the Golden Magnolia last week. The submitted forms were organized into five categories- there weren't as many as past festivals but hopefully word would spread and they'd get more next year.

A tiny pang of regret struck at the thought that he may not be here next year. Maybe he could visit? Or not. Somehow the thought of returning after he and Abigail were done didn't seem like a good idea. A bigger pang hit him at the thought of him and Abigail being over. She'd become such a part of his life in such a short time, and he couldn't imagine not having her teasing him, laughing at his impressions of his fellow teachers, or wrapping her arms around him and making him feel like he was the only man in the world.

This weekend her brother was getting married and the following weekend was the festival gala. Maybe they could take their relationship public. He loved spending time with Abigail, but he hated feeling as if it were tawdry. He wanted to be able to stand beside her, hold her purse when she went to the restroom, and fetch her a glass of wine. Then again, he wasn't sure why the secrecy bothered him so much. He'd never been one to be insecure. But obviously living in a small and somewhat conservative town meant he had to give a little more forethought to his relationships. He'd never lived in a town where something like this mattered. Hell, maybe it didn't matter to anyone else but Abigail.

Maybe keeping him hidden was her hang-up.

But that hang-up didn't stop her from coming over almost every night after Birdie went to bed. Some nights they got busy quickly before she hurried home. Other times they'd hang out and talk. And he'd draw her.

Just as he did that night.

Abigail lay on his bed again, twined in his sheets. Candles flickered on his bedside table, permeating the air with a spicy intimacy and bathing Abigail in a soft glow.

"I bet this is how Rose felt when Jack drew her," Abigail said, stretching her arm above her head.

"Who?" Leif asked, narrowing his eyes, trying to get the shading perfect. He was nearing completion of the piece and felt it might be one of his best. It was as if his feelings for Abigail had leeched from his body and dripped down his hand to become one with his creation.

She made a face. "You know. TheTitanicmovie."

"Never saw it. I don't watch much TV."

Abigail smiled. "I love TV. It's always been my escape."

"Mmm," he said, readjusting the sheet over her hips, lingering a bit longer than needed and taking the opportunity to brush the underside of her breast. He wanted to make love to her again but knew she'd have to go soon. Abigail was a stickler for being at the bed and breakfast by eleven o' clock, which was her standard lockup time.

''Any luck with talking to Bart?"

"He won't return my calls. I implied I wanted to talk to him about the festival, but still nothing." His usual endless supply of patience was running low.

"He might be a dead end anyway. Bart didn't live here then, I don't think," she said, stretching and messing up his line. "What about the guys Carla mentioned?”

"Well, I know my father is not George Dominique. They had one date. He gave me a few leads I’m still checking out." For some reason he didn't want to mention Everett yet. The senator actually seemed like a good bet. Leif kept seeing that little bird tattooed on his mother's hand, the nameFinchechoing in his mind. "Next on the list is a guy named Meat Grommet."

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