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“How old is she?”
“Six. And a half, as she makes sure you know. Generally, she’s well-behaved and obedient, but occasionally she makes bad choices that result in consequences which affect not only her but also her family and friends.”
“By the end of the story, she acknowledges her blunders and makes amends.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Did you read the last page first?”
He laughed. “No. I swear. Lucky guess.”
“Spot on, though. Maybe you should be writing the books. Want to swap jobs?”
He maintained his smile, but her question cut him to the quick. “I’d have no idea how to write a story, especially one for kids. And you wouldn’t be any good at my job.” Realizing how offensive that sounded, he added, “Believe me, Elle, that was a compliment, not a put-down.”
The seriousness of his tone dispelled the humor. Solemnly, she said, “All right.”
She didn’t demand an explanation. She’d simply accepted the truth of his words. He wanted to tell her how much he appreciated that but didn’t want to linger on the topic of his work. He didn’t want to talk about it with her, because he was having a hard enough time conducting internal dialogues about it with himself. Since the shooting, his thoughts about returning to work had been conflicting.
To change the subject, he said, “You also do all the artwork in the books. That’s amazing.”
“My publisher urged me to get an illustrator, but I held firm. I know what each character looks like. They live in here.”
In order to tap her temple, she moved aside the mass of hair, then let it fall back into place over her left breast, the fullness of which was barely discernible underneath the baggy sweatshirt. The concealment was maddening. For a moment he was sidetracked by an arousing fantasy of doing away with it.
She was saying, “If I handed my characters over to another artist, they would become his or her interpretation. I could never settle for that.”
“What’s the title of the next book?”
“It will be volume two of theHeavens to Betsyseries, but I don’t have a title yet because I don’t have a story.” She assumed a sad, defeated aspect and stared down into her lap.
“Every now and then, I’ll feel a tingle of inspiration, but the minute I try to convert the random thought into words, I get distracted by a memory of Charlie, which will lead to another, and by the time I force myself to concentrate, the idea has evaporated.”
“You’ll get there.”
Her head came up, and she gave him a wan smile. “I had better. In the meantime, thank you for this purchase.” She reached across for his book. “Do you have a pen?”
He checked the inside pocket of his jacket. “No, sorry.”
“A writer should never be without a pen. There’s a drawerful in my office. I’ll be right back.” She stood and headed out of the room.
He came to his feet. “Okay if I tag along?”
Chapter 17
She looked hesitant.
He said, “I’d like to see where you get creative.”
“I’d like to see that myself.”
He took the dry remark as license to follow her from the living area into a hallway. They passed a room with an open door. Although no lights were on, he saw that it was furnished with a crib and matching chest of drawers, a rocking chair, bins of toys.CHARLIEwas spelled out in block letters attached to the wall above the crib. Since she didn’t point out the room to him, he went past it without commenting.
Nor did he say anything about the bedroom on the other side of the hall. It too was unlighted, but it had to be hers. He caught a whiff of vanilla and thought it must be from a scented candle. Or maybe her body lotion.
The bed was made. He imagined it unmade, with her and rumpled sheets. His reaction was instantaneous and imperative, an onslaught of mistimed lust. He couldn’t or wouldn’t act on it, but it was damned hard to put in reverse.
At the end of the hall, she entered the only room in which lights were on. It had a desk with a computer setup and a drafting table littered with drawings in various stages of completion. Others had been tacked to a wall covered entirely with cork.
She took the Betsy book over to the desk and located a pen. “Do you want only my signature, or do you want it personalized?”
