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“Oh.”
“But I guess we should.”
“I’d rather talk about what’s the best in all the wonderful things I know about you now.”
Mary waited with a thrill of anticipation. What would it be? Silky skin. No, perky breasts. No, her —
“You’re a screamer.” He beamed with male satisfaction.
“What?” She slugged him a pillow. “That’s embarrassing. Don’t you dare say that. I am not a — I don’t do — that. If you ever say that again, I’ll seduce you in Central Park and do — that — that thing you said — where half the population of Toronado can hear me — and you. I’ll sell tickets for it. I’ll apologize that I haven’t had time to fix this bed, and I’ll keep on apologizing until you beg to be admitted to Bedlam. I’ll — ”
He chuckled and shut her up by kissing her, that timeandeveryothertimeshetriedtomakeasound. Before long, she was making sounds just so he’d kiss her again. A long, lovely time after, she reveled in lying there with him, on her mattress, on the floor, tucked inside the half circle of his arm and snuggled against his solid his chest.
“It’s wonderful like this. Warm and peaceful. I wonder if my parents were ever together like this.”
“They have to have been together something like this. They did manage to make you. I’m glad they did.”
“Thank you, kind sir.” She nuzzled his neck, then withdrew a little. “They weren’t together long. Pretty much just long enough to cooperate in creating me. That was probably the last time they ever did cooperate. Probably one of the last times they spoke to each other too.”
He drew her closer. “He died? I’m sorry.”
“No, he left. I’ve never spoken to him, don’t know where he is, don’t particularly care. It’s Mom and me against the world.”
“It’s rough losing a parent, no matter how it happens and when.”
“I suppose. But Uncle Brock never had kids, and he was always there for me. I love Uncle Brock as much as I would have loved a dad. I probably didn’t miss much at all.”
“Maybe not. My father — we didn’t get along. Maybe no one got along with him after my mother died.”
Mary felt warm inside as well as sad for him. Van never talked about such things. He wouldn’t be saying them now unless having sex together meant more to him than just having sex. A tiny flame of hope flickered in her heart.
“That’s really rough. That was losing both your parents, since your dad changed like that. I’ve still got my mom, and I couldn’t ask for a better one, and I wouldn’t trade Uncle Brock for anyone. Your aunt and my uncle — they’re both special people, aren’t they?”
“Mmm.”
Mary laughed. “Maybe we should try to make a match between the two of them.”
Van exploded into laughter.
“Wait, now,” she said. “They were enjoying each other’s company at the party.”
“That’s one way to put it, I suppose. I think she was making sure the professor got the message he should get outta Dodge.”
Van might be right. In some ways, it was hard to imagine two people less likely to want to spend their lives together.
Gusto was probably the best single word to describeUncleBrock,andearthygustoatthat.Helived largeandloudinaworldburstingwithtemperament. Cyn was cerebral, elegant, serene. And, for all she delighted in a nickname that sounded like Sin, she was straight and narrow all the way through.
They had to find someone compatible for her. And worthy of her. A forever kind of guy. Mary knew her own love life wouldn’t last, but that didn’t mean she’d accept the same for a woman she was coming to care so much about.
Mary wanted a happy-ever-after ending for Cyn. What would the beginning be like? Would Cyn know her man was The One the moment she saw him? Did anyone tumble that fast and hard, outside of Mary’s own ill-fated family?
“Van?”
“Mmm?”
“Do you think Lancelot and Guinevere fell in love at first sight?”
“The star-crossed lovers? Or our dogs?” “You mean to say my dog and your aunt’s dog.”
