The lace makers of glenmara by Heather Barbieri

Author:Heather Barbieri [Heather Barbieri]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Roman
ISBN: 9780061772467
Published: 2010-08-15T07:39:17+00:00

How soon did she know she was going to sleep with him? Maybe from the beginning. She hadn’t meant to that day, but he was irresistible, presented her with the possibility of forgetfulness in another’s touch. He took the bicycle by the handlebars, intending to give her a ride to Bernie’s house in his van.

“I can manage, really.” She took hold of the seat. She wasn’t exactly drunk but had had enough—one glass was all it took, she had so little tolerance—to make the prospect of riding to Glenmara challenging if not impossible…and that of being with him more appealing.

“Are you kidding?” He laughed. “You can’t walk a straight line, much less cycle one.”

They engaged in a playful tug-of-war over the bicycle and the direction they were taking. She let him win.

He stood on the running board and lifted the bike up with one easy movement, fastening it into the rack atop the van, which also had slots for kayaks and surfboards. “There,” he said. “All set.”

The van smelled of clay and paint, the air moist and close. She felt the springs through the seats, but they didn’t bother her. Nothing bothered her. She was warm and relaxed. She hadn’t felt this way in weeks, maybe ever. He turned on the radio, hummed along to a song by the Frames. Kate hadn’t heard that particular tune before. A melody that would play in her head over and over in the next few days, reminding her of him, of that night.

He rolled down the windows, the wind in their hair as they sped along the lane. He drove with both hands on the wheel. She wondered if he’d always done that, or if an event in his past had made him more careful.

She touched him first, needing something from him, a temporary oblivion; perhaps that was what made her put a hand on his thigh. He might have asked her if she was sure, stopping the car along a deserted road. She didn’t remember if she replied or if she just let her lips meet his in answer. At first she was aware of the boxes of fragile vessels around them, the vases and bowls and plates he’d made, the few that remained unsold that day, the gannets shrieking in triumph as they dove for fish in the sea below, the wind buffeting the car, another change coming. Fair weather could only last so long. But at that moment, there was only him, with his breath on her cheek, his hand on her breast, his brown, brown eyes. Him.

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