Love, she discovered, was so huge it filled every space inside with brightness. There was no room for shadows, for doubts.
She was in love, with the man, with the place, with the promise. It wasn’t just in the rush of an instant, though there was that thrill as well. But twined with it was a lovely, settled comfort, an ease of being, of knowing. And that was something she wanted for him.
For once in her life, she vowed, she wouldn’t fail. She would not lose.
Closing her eyes, she touched the star that hung between her breasts. “I’ll make it happen,” she whispered, then with a happy sigh, she started breakfast.
HE didn’t know what to make of it. He couldn’t have said just what state the bathroom had been in before, but he was dead certain it hadn’t sparkled. There may or may not have been fresh towels out the last time he’d seen it. But he thought not. There hadn’t been a bottle of flowers on the windowsill.
The shower had dripped, that he remembered. He’d meant to get to that.
He could be certain that it was a great deal more pleasant to shower and shave in a room where the porcelain gleamed and the air smelled faintly of lemon and flowers.
Because of it, he guiltily wiped up after himself and hung the towel to dry instead of tossing it on the floor.
The bedroom showed her touch as well. The bed was tidily made, the pillows fluffed up. She’d opened the windows wide to bring in the sun and the breeze. It made him realize he’d lived entirely too long with dust and dark.
Then he stepped out. She was singing in the kitchen. A pretty voice. And the scents that wafted to him were those of childhood. Bread toasting, bacon frying.
There was a rumble he recognized as the washer spinning a load. He could only shake his head.
“How long have you been up and about?” he asked her.
“I woke up at dawn.” She turned to pass him a mug of tea over the counter. “It was so gorgeous I couldn’t get back to sleep. I’ve been piddling.”
“You’ve a rare knack for piddling.”
“My father calls it nervous energy. Oh, I let Hugh out. He bolted to the door the minute my feet hit the floor, so I figured that was the routine.”
“He likes to run around in the mornings. Dog piddling, I suppose.”
It made her laugh as she scooped his eggs from skillet to plate. “He’s terrific company. I felt very safe and snug with him curled up at the foot of the bed last night.”
“He’s deserted me for a pretty face.” He sat, then caught her hand. “Where’s yours?”
“I had something earlier. I’ll let you eat in peace. My father hates to be chattered at over breakfast. I’ll just hang out the wash.”
“I’m not your father. Would you sit? Please.” He waited until she took a seat and for the first time noticed nerves in the way she linked her fingers together. Now what was that about? “Allena, do you think I expect you to cater to me this way? Cook and serve and tidy?”
“No, of course not.” The lift had gone out of her voice, out of her eyes. “I’ve overstepped. I’m always doing that. I didn’t think.”
“That’s not what I meant. Not at all.” His eyes were keen, part of his gift, and they saw how her shoulders had braced, her body tensed. “What are you doing? Waiting for the lecture?” With a shake of his head, he began to eat. “They’ve done what they could, haven’t they, to stifle you? Why is it people are always so desperate to mold another into their vision, their way? I’m saying only that you’re not obliged to cook my meals and scrub my bath. While you’re here you should do what pleases you.”
“I guess I have been.”
“Fine. You won’t hear any complaints from me. I don’t know what you’ve done with these humble eggs unless it’s magic.”
She relaxed again. “Thyme and dill, from your very neglected herb bed. If I had a house, I’d plant herbs, and gardens.” Imagining it, she propped her chin on her fist. “I’d have stepping-stones wandering through it, with a little bench so you could just stop and sit and look. It would be best if it was near the water so I could hear the beat of it the way I did last night. Pounding, like a quickened heart.”
She blinked out of the image, found him staring at her. “What? Oh, I was running on again.” She started to get up, but he took her hand a second time.
“Come with me.”
He got to his feet, pulled her to hers. “The dishes—”
“Can wait. This can’t.”
He’d already started it that morning with the sketch. In his head, it was all but finished, and the energy of it was driving him, so he strode quickly out of the house, toward his studio. She had to run to keep up.