Invitation to Provence(15)

9





FRANNY WOKE AT SIX, as she always did. She sat up and pushed back her hair, listening for any sound from the bedroom. Nothing. She tiptoed across and peeked in the door to make sure it wasn’t all a dream. Jake was still there, lying peacefully on his back and not even snoring, the way Marcus had. He looked so good she almost climbed right in there with him. In the clear light of day she thought it was probably a good thing he’d sprained his ankle. Otherwise she might have made a real fool of herself.

She found jeans and a sweatshirt, dressed hurriedly, got in the car and drove to the clinic. The shepherd was sitting up and taking notice. She ruffled his thick neck fur and told him he was a good boy, remembering to thank god for answering her prayers as she did so. She checked his wounds, gave him an antibiotic shot, fresh water, and a little food. He wagged his tail gratefully. “Be back soon,” she whispered, with a final pat, then got back in the car and drove to Starbucks.

She ordered a grande decaf low-fat latte for herself, and a venti regular with a double shot of espresso for Jake, because she figured he would like his coffee strong. On the way home she picked up a box of Krispy Kreme doughnuts, the plain glazed kind, and she was back at the house before he even awoke.



JAKE’S EYES were still closed but he could smell ginger-flower candles and coffee. He wondered where on earth he was, then he remembered that he was in Franny Marten’s bed and, unfortunately, alone. He tested the ankle. He felt no pain. What was she, some kind of genius vet?

Then he opened his eyes and she was standing there with the Starbucks coffee in her hands, looking like a blond Oregon angel. For a second it disturbed him, knowing she’d been watching him sleep. He’d been off guard and vulnerable, a place he did not normally like to be. But there was a smile in her lovely pale eyes, her blond hair was in the pony-tail braid again, and she was un-made-up and barefoot. This was a great way to start a day, he thought with a surge of emotion that he seemed to remember was called happiness.

“Hi,” she said, smiling that sweet enchantress smile, totally unaware of the effect it had on him. “Coffee?” She raised the paper cups invitingly.

He pulled himself upright, watching her as she sat on the edge of the bed and handed him the coffee.

“How did you sleep?” she said.

“Great, thanks. And you?” He clapped a remorseful hand to his head. “Oh god, I took your bed.”

“I was okay on the sofa. I’ve done it before.” She took a sip of her coffee. “Yours has a double shot of espresso in it. I thought that’s what you’d like.”

The coffee was so strong Jake almost choked on it, but he smiled anyhow and said it was perfect.

“So how’s the ankle?” she said.

He’d almost forgotten that was the reason—the only reason—he was in her bed. He jiggled his foot under the blanket. “Pretty good,” he said, wishing he could claim to be incapacitated so that he could stay another night, but he had to get back to New York.

“Think you can walk?”

“I’ll give it a good try.”

He glanced at his pants neatly draped over a chair, with his shirt hooked over the top. He checked. He was still wearing his boxers.

“You took good care of me.”

“That’s what I do,” she said lightly, “take care of the wounded and injured.”

“I don’t think I’m exactly wounded.”

“Well, injured then. You’re certainly that. Oh, I almost forgot.” She got up quickly, then tripped over his shoes, which she’d left in the middle of the floor, recovering before she spilled too much of her coffee. She grabbed the Krispy Kreme box from the dresser where she’d left it. “Plain glazed,” she said. She looked doubtful again. “Or are you a chocolate man?”

“Never chocolate.” He took a doughnut and wolfed it down.

She perched on the edge of the bed, nibbling on her doughnut. “Usually I can’t manage breakfast,” she said. “I’m always up too early. This is good though.”

She held out the box and he took another. He didn’t want to get out of this bed, he didn’t want to move from this spot, he wanted to stay here eating Krispy Kremes with Franny Marten for a very long time. “I guess I’d better get up,” he said reluctantly.

She hovered anxiously over him. “Let me help you.”

Jake was sorely tempted to feign excruciating pain when he put his foot to the floor, but he resisted. “It’s okay,” he said. “I’ll manage.”

She slid her arm around him, ready to help anyway, and he turned to look at her. Their eyes linked and the room seemed suddenly very still. She leaned in to him and he took her chin in his hand, drinking her eyes in with his, drawing her face closer until he felt her sweet doughnut-scented breath on his mouth. And then he was kissing her and her lips were soft as cushions under his. He pulled her closer, wanting more of her. Now she was kissing him back and they were falling against the pillows, holding each other and kissing and kissing, unable to take their mouths away.

“Sweet,” he murmured in between kisses, “you are so sweet, Franny Marten.” Then, suddenly brought back to reality by the name Marten and remembering the reason he was here, he pushed her away. He held her at arm’s length and she watched him with puzzled blue eyes that asked, without words, what was wrong. “Nothing,” he murmured, unable to resist her, “nothing is wrong, Franny.” He pulled her gently back to him, stroking her soft hair that had come undone from its braid and spilled over his chest in a silken fall as she slid down his body, smoothing her hands over him until his skin felt on fire.