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“Are those the famous Fortune letters?” he asks, nodding to where I left the carefully covered pages on the coffee table.
I nod, setting the tray down on the floor, and sitting too. “Earl and Madeline’s letters. It’s typical Jake to think they’re useless,” I add, as we get started digging into the food. “He was always more interested in flashy computer recreations than original source material, but this is the part of the job I’ve always loved the most.”
“What do you mean?” Reeve asks, wolfing down his soup. “And, by the way, this is incredible,” he adds, around a mouthful of melted cheese. “Seriously, is there anything you can’t do?”
I blush, and focus on the first part of his question. “History can seem so detached and remote from our lives in the textbooks, but reading letters like this, you see just how similar we all are,” I explain. “It doesn’t matter whether it’s a gold rush town in the nineteenth century, or some 1950s suburban diary, everybody’s the same. They want security for their family, freedom to follow their dreams, to fall in love – and to gossip about that hussy down the street,” I add with a grin.
Reeve chuckles. “The core of all storytelling,” he agrees. “People think filmmaking is about big, outlandish drama, but at the end of the day, we all have the same basic needs.”
Our eyes lock, and all I think about is one very particular need. To have his hands on my body again, and that tempting mouth on mine …
Reeve clears his throat. “So what about Earl, and—”
“Madeline,” I finish.
“What was their story?”
I check to see if he’s really interested, but Reeve is looking at me expectantly, so I tell him everything, the star-crossed lovers, and their desperate bid for freedom. “She was from money, her father owned the local mines,” I add. “And Earl had nothing. But he was a smart guy, he taught himself to read and write, he dreamed of being an engineer. They had to sneak around in secret, trading these love letters.” I smile, nodding to the pile of ancient papers. “They were crazy about each other. But then Madeline got pregnant, she was scared her parents wouldn’t let them marry, and would send her away and the baby away. They decided to run away together, but Earl needed money, and, well, he had some dumb, criminal friends …”
Reeve gives a rueful smile. “Of course he did.”
“His buddies roped him into a bank heist, said it was a sure thing. But one of them double-crossed the gang, and tipped off the Marshals. Earl’s plan was to stash his share of the gold somewhere near Milford Falls, and then reunite with Madeline and make their escape. But he never made it out of the mountains. Madeline ended up dying in childbirth six months later,” I add, “Having my great-grandma Rose. The two of them were only teenagers, you know. It’s tragic.”
“And romantic.”
“You think dying an agonizing death, separated from the one you love isromantic?” I ask, disbelieving.
“Not like that,” Reeve smiles. “But isn’t it something that they tried? They were determined to be together, no matter what. Earl was willing to risk everything for the woman he loved. That’s about as romantic as it gets.”
“Maybe …” I’m still dubious. “Taking risks for love is all well and good until you wind up alone, regretting all those signs you thought were obstacles, instead of warnings.”
“You can make anything a sign, if you want a reasonnotto do something,” Reeve argues. “But we never know how it’s going to work out in the end. So, why not take that chance? Then, you may wind up with regrets, but at least you can say you gave it all. You tried.”
His eyes catch mine, clouded blue in the candlelight. Dizzyingly intent.
“So says the man who clearly hasn’t had his heart thoroughly broken,” I quip lightly, feeling off-balance.
He isn’t supposed to be here, looking at me like that. Not now he knows I’m not Lola, international super spy. He knows I’m just a regular, normal, over-organized woman. He’s seen my kitchen spices neatly organized by region and intensity. I’m wearing overalls, for Christ’s sake!
But Reeve’s gaze doesn’t waver. “You’re right, I haven’t,” he says with a quiet smile. “When I was younger, I’d watch all the movies, those great love stories full of passion and romance. I thought it was the easiest thing in the world, that I’d fall in love a dozen times over. But then I grew up, and …” he pauses, giving a bashful shrug. “I learned it’s not so simple, after all. Love – real love – it’s rare. It’s a fucking miracle, to tell the truth. To meet someone and have that kind of connection?” he asks, sounding awed. Still looking at me, like I’m the center of the universe. “To know, deep in your bones, that this isyour person. That you could spend a lifetime learning every little thing about them, and still be hungry for more.”
Oh.
My heart shivers in my chest.
This isn’t happening. He doesn’t mean us, does he?
Me?
I panic.
“Do you want some more wine?” I blurt, reaching for the bottle.
“I’ve got it,” Reeve says, leaning over at the same time. Our hands touch, and we both recoil. His arm knocks into his wine glass, sending it spilling towards—
“The letters!” I yelp in horror.
Reeve sweeps the pile out of the way before the wine can reach them, but a couple of the pages flutter to the ground, dangerously close to the fire.
