Russ smiled at the memory of two glasses in his mother’s china hutch. “They were probably their wedding glasses.”
“Oh, that is so sweet.” She set them down carefully, tracing the lip of one with her long fingers.
Russ had been told on numerous occasions that he had a gifted imagination. It was a gift that should have come with a warning label, for a vision of Alice in a white dress with a long veil holding that glass cup appeared before him. Her luminous eyes were filled with hope and joy and love—and she was miraculously beautiful.
Leaning heavily on the table, Russ closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
“Are you okay?” Alice’s hand touched his shoulder.
He wanted to trap it there and tell her to never let go. He didn’t want to lose her or let her slip out of his life like a could-have-been. There was so much about Alice he was going to miss. Like the way she played with her hair while she read, and if there was a kiss on the page, she blushed. Sometimes, he wrote kisses into his screenplays just to see her cheeks pink.
Why were these thoughts coming up now?Must be pre-leaving melancholy.As if there was such a thing. “I’m fine.” He smiled brightly. “I think I saw a bookshelf this way.”
Alice slipped her arm through his as they walked. Since their outing in the park, linking arms had become their preferred mode of travel. At least, it was his. Alice was the perfect height, so she didn’t pull down on his arm, as Gabriella was prone to do, nor did she tower over him. He enjoyed having her close and couldn’t help but contrast the way Gabriella made him feel, bemused and overwhelmed, with the feelings Alice inspired: joy, protectiveness, and a heady feeling of being esteemed. Where Gabriella laid on the praise like thick coats of paint, Alice’s belief in him shone through her eyes.
He needed to tell her about the move. That would make all this confusion and comparison go away. She’d be excited for him, because that was the kind of person she was. The kind of person who didn’t have much in life but wasn’t envious of those who did. She took everyone as they came, including a moody, self-absorbed playwright who hadn’t seen the wonderful woman right next to him all this time. What-could-have-beens filled his mind, and he was acutely aware of Alice’s hand resting on his forearm; he could easily grab it and thread their fingers together. Such an easy movement, and it appeared more like a boulder garden on a bike trail.
They reached the library section of the sale, and Alice crouched down to look at the lower shelves. “You take the high ones.”
Russ got to work, grateful to have something to focus on other than Alice. He skipped anything in paperback—Lillian would never approve—making the search go rather quickly. They worked in silence around the others browsing the inventory.
“You’re not going to believe this.” Alice reached slowly for a thick-paged, green fabric-covered book. Russ stepped closer to read the gold-leaf title on the cover as she slid it off the shelf with reverence.
“The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.” He took her by the shoulders. “You found it!” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, her lemon scent floating over him. Alice leaned into his touch, a sigh escaping her lovely lips. Electrified by her nearness, Russ trailed his fingers up her arms, intent on twining them in the hair at the base of her neck and pulling her closer.
Before he completed his goal, a burly man in a ski coat shouldered his way between them. Russ scowled.
Reaching for the book, the man said, “Oh, Aunt Sarah.”
Alice pulled the volume closer to her chest, her eyes dancing between Russ and the stranger. “Excuse me?”
Russ stepped around him to stand next to Alice.
The man dropped his hands and took a step back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—it’s just, this is my great-aunt Sarah’s estate. I was—” He shrugged. “—still am, I guess—the black sheep. She cut me out of her will when I was seventeen.” He hung his head. “I don’t blame her. I would have done the same thing.”
Alice’s brow wrinkled in concern. “I’m sorry to hear that. This must be very hard for you.”
He surveyed the furniture and the white tent set up to protect the more vulnerable items. “I came looking for something … a memory I could hold on to … a reason to think I belonged.” His eyes landed on the book Alice held tightly. “She read that to me when I was a kid. I think even then, she thought I was more Edmund than Peter and hoped learning what happens to sinners would straighten me out.”
Alice brushed her hand over the cover.
Russ watched a lifetime of memories wash over her face. She’d told him her father was the family outcast, the one who went astray and stayed there. He wondered how often she felt like she didn’t belong in her own family. Her grandmother welcomed her with a hug, as did her aunt Michelle at Choco-Latte. But there was a part of her that felt as though she didn’t measure up. He wished he could wipe that away like day-old Halloween face paint.
“Take it.” She held the book out.
“What?” The man’s head jerked up.
Alice’s eyes brightened. “Books are … well, they mean something to people. Most of their lives, they say whatever comes to mind without realizing the power behind their words. If she chose this book for you and took the time to read its every page, then it already belongs to you, and I can’t take it.”
She pressed the book into his already open hands. Russ scrutinized his eager face and found a lack of sincerity and a glimmer of greed. “Alice,” he warned.
Alice met his eye, and Russ read hertrust melook.
“Aunt Sarah would have liked you. Thank you so much.” He took a step, and Russ saw their chance to appease Lillian dance away.
“Although …” Alice stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. His eyes darted to the right, no doubt planning his escape route. “I don’t think she read that book to warn you about what happened to sinners.”
“Oh.” Eyes darted to the left.
