The Giver of Stars(89)
‘Yup. We’ll be open for business before you know it.’
He set the kettle on the stove, and peered into his larder. He reached in, pulled out some eggs and cheese and put them on the counter. ‘So … I was thinking you could rest here awhile. Maybe have some food. Nobody’ll be going too far today.’
‘I guess there’s no point heading back out while it’s like this.’ She put her hand to her head, rubbing at her wet hair.
They knew of the dangers, but for that moment, Alice couldn’t help but see the water, running past them down the road below, as her secret ally, halting the normal flow of the world. Nobody could judge her for resting at Fred’s, could they? She had only been moving books, after all.
‘If you want to borrow a dry shirt there’s one hanging on the stairs.’
She headed upstairs, peeled off her wet sweater, dried herself with a towel and put on the shirt, feeling the soft flannel against her damp skin as she buttoned it down the front. There was something about sliding into a man’s shirt – Fred’s shirt – that made her breath catch in her throat. She could not rid herself of the feeling of his thumb on her skin, the image of his eyes burning so intently into her own, as if he could see the very core of her. Every movement now seemed loaded with the echo of it, every casual glance or word between them filled with some new intent.
She walked slowly back down the stairs towards the books, feeling the heat rise in her, as it did every time she thought of his skin touching hers. When she looked round for him, he was watching her.
‘You look prettier in that shirt than I do.’
She felt herself colour and glanced away.
‘Here.’ He handed her a mug of hot coffee and she closed her hands around it, allowing the heat to seep in, grateful for something to focus on.
Fred moved around her, shifting books, then reaching into the log basket to load the fire. She watched the muscles of his forearms tighten as he worked, the steel in his thighs as he crouched down, checking the flames. How had nobody else in this town noticed the beautiful economy in the way Frederick Guisler moved, the grace with which he used his limbs, the wiry muscles that shifted underneath his skin?
Let the flickering flame of your soul play all about me
That into my limbs may come the keenness of fire …
He straightened up and turned to her and she knew he must see it then, the naked truth of everything she felt, writ large upon her face. Today, she thought suddenly, no rules applied. They were in a vortex, a place of their own, away from water and misery and the travails of the world outside. She took a step towards him as if she were magnetized, stepping over the books without looking down, and placed her mug upon the mantel, her eyes still on his. They were inches from each other now, the heat of the blazing fire against their bodies, their eyes locked. She wanted to speak but she didn’t have a clue what to say. She just knew that she wanted him to touch her again, to feel his skin on her lips, under her fingertips. She wanted to know what everyone else seemed to know so casually and easily, secrets whispered in darkened rooms, intimacy that went far beyond words. She felt consumed by it. His eyes searched hers and softened, his breath quickening, and she knew then that she had him. That this time it would be different. He reached down and took her hand and she felt something shoot through her, molten and urgent, and then he raised it, and she heard her breath catch.
And then he said: ‘I’m going to stop this here, Alice.’
It took a second before she registered what he was saying, and the shock was so great it almost winded her.
Alice, you are too impulsive.
‘It’s not that –’
‘I need to leave.’ She turned, humiliated. How could she have been so foolish? Tears brimmed in her eyes and she stumbled over the books and cursed loudly as she almost lost her footing.
‘Alice.’
Where was her coat? Did he hang it somewhere? ‘My coat. Where’s my coat?’
‘Alice.’
‘Please leave me alone.’ She felt his hand on her arm and she snatched it away and held it up to her chest, as if she had been burned. ‘Don’t touch me.’
‘Don’t leave.’
She felt, embarrassingly, as if she might sob. Her face crumpled and she covered it with her hand.
‘Alice. Please. Hear me out.’ He swallowed, compressed his mouth, as if it were hard to speak. ‘Don’t leave. If you had any idea … any idea how much I want you here, Alice, that most nights I lie awake half crazy with it …’ His voice came in low, uncharacteristic bursts. ‘I love you. Have done since the first day I laid eyes on you. When you’re not around me it feels like I’m just wasting time. When you’re here it’s like … the whole world is coloured just that little bit brighter. I want to feel your skin against mine. I want to see your smile and hear that laugh of yours when you forget yourself and just let it burst straight out of you … I want to make you happy … I want to wake up every morning beside you and – and –’ he screwed up his face briefly, as if he had gone too far – ‘and you’re married. And I’m trying real hard to be a good man. So until I can work a way around that, I can’t. I just can’t lay a finger on you. Not how I want to.’ He took a deep breath and let it out in a shaky exhalation. ‘All I can give you, Alice, is … words.’