Дебби Макомбер - Starry Night

“Not much of an investigative reporter if you need to ask that. I called the newspaper and asked to be connected to the society-page editor.”

“Of course.” Plainly, she wasn’t thinking clearly. It came to her then the real reason behind his call. As much as she wanted to believe it was because he couldn’t live without hearing the sound of her voice, she knew otherwise. “You called because you want to know if I’ve reached a decision, didn’t you?”

He didn’t answer right away. “It’s more than that, I …”

“I know what I’m going to do.”

The line went still and silent. “And what did you decide?”

“Rest easy, Dr. Livingston, your secrets are safe with me.”

“Doctor who?”

“Livingston. All the world was on a search to find him, too, if you remember.”

“Oh, right.”

“You could email me.”

“What’s your email address?”

She gave him her private email address, unwilling to risk someone from the office stumbling upon their communication.

“I should go,” he said.

“I know.” As much as she wanted to talk to him, someone might overhear and connect the dots. Lowering her voice, she added, “Call me tonight, okay?” It probably wasn’t smart to let him know how eager she was to hear from him again, but she couldn’t stop herself. She was falling for this guy. And falling hard.

“Okay. Eleven your time, eight mine.”

“Perfect.” No matter what, she intended to leave the art show in plenty of time to be home for Finn’s call.

Somehow Carrie got through the evening, smiling at all the right times, taking down names, and making the most of the event for the following day’s newspaper. Harry, the staff photographer, glanced her way suspiciously a couple of times.

“What’s up?” he asked, as they hurriedly walked toward the parking garage. She still had to write the story and get it in before the press deadline.

“What do you mean?” She played innocent, although she was practically trotting in her eagerness to escape.

“I’ve never seen you in such an all-fired hurry like this. You meeting someone later?”

“No,” she said, in complete honesty.

Harry shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

Carrie arrived back at her condo fifteen minutes early. She kicked off her shoes, wiggled out of her dress, shimmied out of her pantyhose, and grabbed her warmest pjs. She tossed back the covers to her bed, climbed in, and sat cross-legged with her cell phone clasped in her hand, waiting for Finn’s call.

Twice she caught herself falling asleep, so when the phone rang, it surprised her and she nearly dropped it.

“Hi,” she said, and knew she sounded breathless. “You’re right on time.”

“Hi, yourself.”

Right away she noticed that the call had a different sound to it. “Where are you?” she asked.

“Fairbanks. I figured it would make talking to you a whole lot more convenient.”

“That explains why you sound as if you’re in the next room instead of outer space.”

“The first call did come from outer space.”

She grinned. “Exactly.”

“So how did the art show opening go?”

“Harry was suspicious.”

“Who’s Harry?”

He sounded worried, which thrilled her. “The staff photographer, who’s at least fifty and has a half-dozen kids.”

“What do you mean he was suspicious?”

This was a bit more difficult to explain. “He could tell I couldn’t wait to get out of the show; I kept glancing at my watch.”

“Maybe it would be better if we emailed.”

She thought about that for a moment. “You’re probably right.”

“We won’t need to worry about the time difference, then.”

“Agreed.”

“You sound reluctant. Is there a reason?”

To this point, she hadn’t done a decent job of hiding her feelings toward him, so now probably wasn’t a good time to start. “I like hearing the sound of your voice.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. “I like hearing your voice, too. I have something for you.”

“What?” Her curiosity was instantly piqued.

“It’s a surprise.”

“A gift?”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it that … it’s something I’d like you to have. I’ve already sent it off. I shipped it overnight, so you should have it tomorrow or Wednesday at the latest.”

“Oh, Finn, I can’t imagine what it could be.” Her mind toyed with several possibilities. She’d seen a number of items on the shelves in his cabin that interested her. A beautiful piece of scrimshaw was the first thing that came to mind, and another was a small wood carving. During her short visit she hadn’t seen evidence that he carved wood, but it seemed like something that would interest him.

They spoke for a full hour, until Carrie found it impossible to smother her yawns any longer.

“You’re exhausted,” he whispered. “I need to let you go.”

“No, just a few minutes longer,” she pleaded, yawning again.

“Carrie, you’re practically falling asleep while on the phone. I’ll email you so when you wake up there’ll be a message waiting for you.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

She smiled sleepily and admitted, “I didn’t sleep very well the last couple of nights.”

“Me neither.”

“I will tonight.”

“So will I. Sweet dreams,” he whispered.

They would be sweet because they would be filled with Finn.

Six and a half hours later Carrie woke to the sound of her bedside alarm, feeling rested. Stretching her arms above her head, she arched her back and smiled contentedly. Then, remembering Finn’s promise, she hurried out of bed and brewed a single cup of coffee while she logged on to her computer. Sure enough, Finn had sent her an email that included the tracking number for the surprise he had mailed her.

Later that same afternoon, a midsize box was delivered to her desk. Carrie knew immediately that it was from Finn.

“What’s that?” Sophie asked, coming out of her cubicle.

“I don’t know.” She lifted the box and carefully shook it. That didn’t tell her anything, though.

“Who’s it from?”

Carrie pretended to read the return address. “A friend,” she said nonchalantly.

“Male or female?”

“Male. Like I said, a friend.”

“Well, for heaven’s sake, don’t keep me in suspense. Open it.”

Carrie was more than curious herself. She tore open the box to find it filled with those irritating packing peanuts. She had to dig deep into the box before she found her treasure.

When she pulled it free, Sophie immediately started to laugh. “Is this someone’s idea of a joke?” she asked.

Carrie didn’t have an answer. This was quite possibly the very last thing she would even have guessed that Finn could possibly mail her.

Inside the box, carefully packaged and protected with packing peanuts, was an antique toaster.

Chapter Eight

From: girlygirl@chicago.com

Sent: November 13, 2013

To: alaskaman@fairbankscable.com

Subject: A toaster?

Finn,

You spent a fortune to mail me a toaster? My friend Sophie thinks it’s some silly joke, but I know you, and this isn’t a joke. What’s the story?

Carrie

From: alaskaman@fairbankscable.com

Sent: November 13, 2013

To: girlygirl@chicago.com

Subject: Yes, a toaster

Carrie

You are a girly girl, aren’t you? The picture of you wearing your high-heeled boots slipping and sliding across the ice on my lake, tugging your suitcase behind you, plays in my mind.

Yes, a toaster, and it isn’t a joke. I want you to have it. I’ll call you later tonight. Eleven your time. Work for you?

Finn