Page 9 of A Star in the West

Drat. He knew he’d bungle things. He might find geometric balance beautiful, but Goldstein had warned him that women preferred poetry to science. Too late to change streams now.

“Aristotle said that the chief forms of beauty are order and symmetry, and Socrates stated that measure and symmetry are beauty and virtue the world over. It’s why humans are drawn to flowers and butterflies in nature, and columns and archways in architecture.” Maybe he should stop before he made this any worse. He removed his hand from beneath her chin and dropped his gaze. “I’m making a hash of this, aren’t I?”

She didn’t answer right away, and her silence gnawed at him. He darted a glance in her direction, bracing for the worst, but instead of her features puckering in offense or sharpening in anger, they rounded in what looked to be . . . wonder?

“Mr. Stentz, I think that is the finest compliment I’ve ever received.”

Like a magnet zipping through space to attach itself to its polar opposite, Frank’s gaze flew to hers. His heart pounded. “Stella, I . . .” He swallowed and gathered his courage. “I care for you a great deal. We haven’t yet had a chance to discuss our—”

“Hey! You two gonna stand there chattin’ all afternoon, or are you gonna help?”

Norman’s call nearly startled Frank out of his shoes. He’d been so utterly absorbed in Stella, he’d completely forgotten the man’s existence.

“Coming,” Stella sang out. But before she moved, she leaned close and whispered in Frank’s ear. “Meet me at the Old Corner Drug Store at Fourth and Austin tomorrow at two o’clock. We can talk then.”

Frank nodded. He’d be there. Though it might not be a bad idea to drop by the Baylor library to brush up on some poetry beforehand.

Chapter 5

Stella lectured herself on the importance of pragmatism during the entire walk between the small house she shared with her father and the Old Corner Drug Store. Yet the moment she spied Frank standing in front of the shop, his suit freshly pressed and his bow tie slightly askew, her pulse hiccupped, and her mind flooded with the words he’d spoken yesterday.

“I care for you a great deal.”

Heavens. How was a woman supposed to keep her feet on solid ground when a man as fine as Frank Stentz spouted such a sentiment?

Stella halted in front of the bank across the street from the drugstore and took a moment to breathe. As tempting as it was, she couldn’t allow the giddy waves of romantic happiness surging through her spirit to mute her wits. One had only to look to the disastrous fate of Jane Austen’s Lydia Bennet to be reminded of the dangers inherent in letting emotional whims dictate one’s decisions. Real love wasn’t a fairy tale where happily ever after magically dissolved all obstacles a couple might face. Real love tackled obstacles together, even those that left bruises and scars. Real love entailed sacrifice. Perhaps even the sacrifice of letting go.

That thought added enough lead to Stella’s shoes to reestablish her equilibrium. Moving through a cluster of ladies discussing the latest bonnet fashions, Stella stepped off the boardwalk and into the street. About halfway across, Frank spotted her. A smile bloomed across his face, immediately transforming the lead in her shoes into a bright, hope-filled gold. It seemed he was an alchemist as well as a mathematician.

Stella’s steps quickened of their own accord, making her slightly breathless as she accepted his hand to ascend onto the walkway. Or perhaps the breathlessness had been induced by his nearness, because it persisted even after her movements ceased.

“You’re early,” she said, her brain currently incapable of producing conversation with an ounce of wit.

Frank shrugged, his shy gaze darting from her face to the street to somewhere in the vicinity of her neck before finally climbing back to her eyes. “After being tardy to dinner at our first meeting and again yesterday, I wished to establish that I do, in fact, possess the ability to be punctual.”

Stella smiled. He really was quite endearing when trying to impress. Of course, the simple fact that he wanted to impress her had already weakened her knees. “I’ll be sure to add punctuality to your list of favorable traits.”

His eyes widened slightly. “You keep a list?”

She laughed softly. “Only in my mind. Though it is growing rather lengthy now that I’ve had the chance to get to know you beyond an epistolary context. Perhaps I should consider a written enumeration of traits. I wouldn’t want to forget any.”

“As long as you only record my positive attributes. It would be quite disheartening to think a list of my flaws existed where some undiscerning soul might stumble across it.” He gave a little shudder. “I happen to know there are numerous datapoints in that particular subset.”

“Are there?” Stella moved toward the shop door, casting a demure glance over her shoulder. “I’ve not had cause to observe many at all.”

The corners of his mouth twitched upward before he recalled that he should open the door for her. Lurching forward, he clasped the handle and swung the portal wide so that she could enter the shop ahead of him.

A half dozen patrons wandered through the deep, narrow shop, perusing the medicinal and sundry items on display in the glass cases and shelves on the merchandise side of the shop. Stella gravitated to the right, toward the soda fountain, where a pair of boys sat on stools at the counter, sipping the dark, carbonated beverage she planned to order for Frank.

The clerk drying glasses behind the bar set aside his towel and nodded to her. “Howdy, Miss Barrington. What can I get for ya?”

“Two Wacos, please.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The clerk pumped dark syrup into a glass, then added soda water on top before giving it a stir with a long-handled spoon.

Frank leaned close. “I don’t see Waco on the menu board,” he murmured.

Stella smiled and pointed to the sign on the wall behind the clerk. “It’s the one at the top.”