“In order to publish,” she continued, “I would need to have a man’s name alongside my own.”
His head tilted. “What about your father?”
Chrissi’s mouth twisted to one side. “My father feels that tying my name to his in a publication would only cheapen both our work.”
“As others would assume ye had only been published out of charity.”
Chrissi nodded.
“It seems a shame,” he said, “for your brilliance to remain tucked inside your head, no matter how pretty a package it is.”
Her blush deepened.
“Myassumedbrilliance, you mean,” she had to say. “Perhaps my ideas are drivel.”
His gaze raked her from head to toe, sending gooseflesh skittering down the back of her arms.
“Ah, lass. After two weeks of working beside ye, watching how ye study and document things... Well, I kenbrilliantis the only thing ye could ever be.”
Chrissi rather forgot to breathe.
They stared and stared, her lungs struggling to take in enough air. Finally, she had to look away...anything to alleviate the giddy infatuation banding her rib cage.
They sat in silence for a long moment.
“What if...” he began, hesitantly. “What if another gentleman offered himself as tribute? A male scaffolding holding aloft thosebrilliant”—here he shot her a telling look—“ideas of yours. I am utterly unknown in the field, as of now, so no one could say I offered ye charity. If anything, ’twould be the other way round. Others would see me for the supporting buttress that I am.”
Chrissi’s jaw sagged as her mind scrambled to assimilate the reality of what he was offering.
“You would...” She blinked. “You would do that? Foster a joint publication between us?”
“Aye. I would. Ye write, and I will illustrate.”
“Even making it clear to a publisher that I am a woman?”
“Ye should have more faith in your ideas. They are worthy of any man.” He grinned. “I could be Alis to your Chris if a gendered name exchange helps.”
Alis and Chris.
Oh! She very much liked the sound of that.
“Do you let all the ladies call you Alis?” she had to ask.
“Only the bonniest ones,” he chuckled.
Chrissi feared her blush matched the red of the poppies ringing the field.
“Well . . . Alis . . . I should be honored to be your Chris.”
She extended her hand.
He stared at it before slowly, almost reverently, pressing his palm to hers.
The contact sent fireworks bursting beneath her skin. Chrissi briefly worried the heat licking up her arm would set the grass afire.
“Chris,” he smiled. “I can’t wait to see all the splendid things ye write for us.”
CHRIS HAD LEFT.
