C.J. Carmichael - Together by Christmas

“Well, what about interviews?”

“I dislike the narcissism. Why should anyone be that interested in me? Also, most journalists are pretty predictable. Interviews get dull after a while.”

“Oh. So today has been—”

“No. Today was different.” He stopped in front of the gate. They’d circled back to where they’d begun.

“The tip of your nose is turning white. How about we go back to the house and I’ll make you an espresso?”

SIPPING ESPRESSO in a warm farm kitchen was just the thing on a cold winter afternoon, Miranda decided. Warren had made her cup first, then frothed his own cappuccino. Now he sat in one of the vinyl-covered chairs and stretched out his legs until his feet almost touched the heat-spewing woodstove.

He wore thick wool socks, the kind you’d team with a sturdy pair of leather work boots. Miranda found herself remembering how his feet had looked bare, those long, slender toes with squarely cut nails. Her imagination traveled upward, picturing long, toned legs, narrow hips, a tight butt—

Better stop there.

“Warren, why did the teachers never get mad at you for not raising your hand?”

“What are you talking about?”

“At school. When you had something to say.”

“Miranda, did I make your coffee too strong?”

“Come on. It’s a valid question. We all had to raise our hands and wait for the teacher to call on us before daring to talk. Why didn’t the same rules apply to you?”

His expression remained puzzled, and finally she waved a hand dismissively.

“Oh, never mind. I already know the answer.”

“And what would that be?”

“The teachers forgot about the rules because they were so eager to hear what you had to say. We all were,” she added, remembering how the air had seemed to clear a little when Warren started to speak.

“You didn’t talk in class much, but when you did, you said such interesting things.”

“Interesting?”

“Even bizarre sometimes.” And yet, his ideas had made people think.

“Suddenly I’m very nervous about how you’re going to portray me in this video of yours.”

“Just keep making me these lovely espressos and I’ll be very kind,” she promised.

“Are you happy with how things went today?”

“Yes, I think so. A slow start in some ways, but that’s better than beginning too intensely.”

“Yes.”

He gave her one of those odd looks, his old unsettling gaze that penetrated barriers like skin and bones. She supposed she’d have to get used to this strange, off-balance feeling. They would be spending a lot of time together these next few months.

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