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“Personalized, please. Mind if I take a look?” He gestured down at the drawings scattered across the drafting table.
“Help yourself. They’re only sketches.” She opened the book to the title page and bent over the desk to sign it.
Dear God.
He quickly turned away from that tempting sight and began shuffling through the drawings of her characters. They were clever. The clouds had expressive faces, their personalities depicted by features such as a beauty mark and long eyelashes for the diva, a beetled brow for the thundercloud, apple cheeks and a missing front tooth for Betsy. All were instantly engaging.
Then he came to a drawing that caused his stomach to drop.
“Here you go.” Elle had finished signing the book and had extended it to him, but when she saw what he held, she set the book back on the desk, walked over, and stood beside him.
Together they looked down at a sketch she’d drawn of Charlie. With strokes of pencil lead and artful shading, she had captured his happy countenance, tousled curls, bright eyes.
Quietly, she said, “I tried to explain my predicament to my agent.”
“What predicament, specifically?”
“It’s difficult for me to write about an animated sun, a benevolent moon, and clouds, and stars who live in a pastel universe where problems are easily resolved and everything always turns out happily, when, in the real world where we live, there’s so much darkness, and ugliness, and violence, and sudden, needless deaths that you aren’t braced for. The make-believe I write is so far removed from reality I feel like I’m selling a lie to children.”
He slid his hands into the pockets of his jacket, mostly to keep himself from touching her. “Kids need the make-believe, don’t they? To balance all the bad shit they’re exposed to? I think so. Your stories will leave people feeling hopeful and upbeat. Positive. That’s something to take pride in, Elle.”
“I used to, but the endeavor seems trivial now. To a laughable degree.”
“I assure you, it’s not. If you leave people feeling good, that’s huge.”
She looked at him as though she sensed that he had much more to say on the matter. But when he didn’t continue, she drew a deep breath and exhaled it slowly.
“The trauma has left all of us more introspective, hasn’t it?” she said. “It’s understandable that we’re viewing things differently. Remember, one of the group members talked about the shifts in his perspectives on everything, every aspect of his life. I knew exactly what he meant. I dwell on concepts, abstracts, more than I did before.”
“Such as?”
“The weighty ones. Love, tolerance, forgiveness, gratitude, compassion. They’ve taken on greater significance.”
“Whew, that’s deep.”
She laughed lightly. “Smaller things have also taken on greater significance.”
“Name one.”
“Well, let’s see.” She tapped the side of her chin. “A good cabernet? I bought one that the man in the wine shop told me is to die for. Want to give it a taste test?”
“Another time.” He came nearer and cupped her face between his hands. “This is what I’ve been dying to taste test.”
He lowered his head and settled his lips on hers, then rubbed them apart. Her tongue tantalized his by playing shy. He lifted away only far enough to look into her eyes. “Elle?”
“I’m sorry. I haven’t—”
“What?”
“Been alone with a man. Not in a long time.”
“You were alone with me last night.”
“Not quite alone. And not like this.”
“No, not like this. But close to this. And this is all I’ve thought about since. Let me taste, Elle. Please.”
He eased his mouth down to hers, giving her time to protest, praying she wouldn’t. He tried a different slant, and this time her lips were more pliant. Their tongues touched. When his slid into her mouth, she gave a purr of permission.
