Improper Arrangements (The Improper Series) by Ross Juliana

Author:Ross, Juliana [Ross, Juliana]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3, mobi
Publisher: Carina Press
Published: 2013-11-10T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

When I woke the next morning I was alone in the bed. But Elijah was nearby; somehow I could sense his presence without being able to see or hear him. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, clutched the sheet to my chin and peered across the room.

He sat, already dressed for the day, with his back to me. As my eyes grew accustomed to the weak half-light of dawn I saw that he was writing in his notebook. Hearing me stir, he turned to look at me.

“Good morning. I thought I would wait until you woke before seeking out breakfast. Shall I fetch it now?”

“Yes, please. Thank you so much.”

I was safely dressed in a fresh set of garments long before he returned, and had even gone so far as to make the bed, although never having made a bed in my life I’d done rather a poor job of it. While a part of me knew we had to be on our way soon, another part of me, the wanton that beckoned me to recklessness in unguarded moments, desired nothing more than to wait for him, naked, in the bed we’d shared the night before.

Perhaps he’d had the same thought, for a flicker of disappointment crossed his face when he returned, tray in hand, and found me dressed and packed and sitting at the table, waiting for my breakfast.

But the moment passed—it had to pass, for I was here to travel the High-Level Route and to paint rare flowers and not, absolutely not, to cavort in bed all day with this annoyingly captivating man. We might yet have a chance for such an interlude, once we reached Arolla, but today was not a day for such delights.

We ate quickly and silently, I occupied with my thoughts and he with the notes he was making in his little book. After some minutes, observing how I watched him, he set aside his pencil and fixed me with a knowing smile.

“Glaciers. That’s what I’m writing about. The condition of the glacier we crossed yesterday. And the state of some of the rock walls we’ve passed.”

“I assure you I wasn’t—”

“You weren’t wondering if I was writing about last night? Whether you’d make an appearance in my next book?”

“Elijah!” I chided, but I couldn’t help smiling.

“I’m not going to write about it, Alice...but if I did it would be memorable. I promise you that.”

After that, the day passed in a blur. We walked downhill much of the time, along gentle winding paths that crossed a verdant valley, the exact sort of landscape I’d imagined when picturing Switzerland. One village, then another, then another, and still we walked, our pace slow and easy. Midmorning we stopped at a buvette in Sous la Lé to fill our waterskins, but otherwise walked without interruption until we reached Sembrancher, a larger village of stone dwellings built around a lovely square. There Elijah bought us bread and cheese and ham, which he tucked away until we’d left the village and were sitting in a sun-dappled meadow edged with beech trees.

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