Miss Fortune (12 page)

By the end of her talk, when it was apparent everyone had had their fill of looms and yarns, Rachel gave them time to work on their projects before the end of class. Dave and Lucy quickly took Flynn under their wingRachel even spied him weaving a little as she helped Jason, who, she was sorry to see, had retained absolutely nothing from last week.

Man, am I glad this is over! Chantal announced to the room at large when the clock struck nine. I been smelling cookies the whole time and Im damn close to gnawing my left arm off.

I smelled them too, Sandy said, nodding. I can smell it a mile away because Im allergic to chocolate.

With a roll of his eyes, Mr. Gregory sighed heavily as he strolled out the door. Dave and Lucy were right behind him, Lucy sadly shaking her head and remarking how unfortunate it was that Sandy had so many problems. Sandy, close on their heels, enthusiastically agreed, and was beginning a discourse on yet another of her illnesses for Lucys benefit.

And of course Chantal and Tiffinnae were taking their own sweet time, stealing glimpses of Rachel while making yum-yum sounds at Flynn. When they had at last gathered their things, Chantal warned Rachel, Now dont go doing nothing I wouldnt do! And with that, she and Tiffinnae exited stage left, falling over each other with loud laughter.

Rachel could only hope that her face wasnt glowing siren red like it-felt at the moment, and glanced uncertainly at Flynn.

Oh Christ, shed forgotten Jason, who reluctantly got to his feet and picked up his stack of travel brochures. Damn . Shed been so rattled by Flynns surprise appearance that shed forgotten that, too.

For a moment, he stood awkwardly, looking at Flynn from the corner of his eye, nervously handling his brochures.

Jason, Im so sorry! Rachel exclaimed, and walked back to where he was standing, shifting the brochures from one hand to another. I meant to ask you to show the brochures to class. Can I see them?

Jason looked sidelong at Flynn and shrugged. Nah thats okay.

No, really. Id love to see them. Please? she asked, putting a hand on his arm. But Jason couldnt take his eyes off Flynn, and unthinkingly, Rachel looked beseechingly at him.

Flynn instantly seemed to understand and came to his feet, peering curiously at the brochures Jason held. What have you got there, travel pamphlets? Id love a peek, if youd not mind. Im constantly racking the old noggin for an idea of where to go on holiday.

Rachel smiled gratefully.

Jason looked at Rachel and said, Okay. And he proceeded to spread them out on the top of the table. These are for England and Ireland, he said, pointing to brochures that said Ireland; 2000 ! and 1999 Self-Drive Tours of England: The Cotswalds . I really like these because they have good pictures, he said, opening one and showing them a lovely photo of a thatched-roof house somewhere in England. And these, he said, picking up three more, are for Spain. I got em a couple of years ago, but I dont think I really want to go there. Anyway, theres some pretty cool buildings

As Jason talked, Rachel took a seat on the end of the table, watching him. Shed only spoken to Jason a couple of times, but she knew there was something not quite right about him. She had a sense that he was a boy in a young mans body, someone who perhaps dreamed of great adventure but did not have the capacity or courage to seize it.

But what truly astounded her was the look of genuine compassion on Flynns face. He listened to Jason, asked questions, made comments about the brochures.

A smile slowly spread across her lips. A gorgeous, nice man.

When Jason was through with his brochures, he sort of stuffed them under his arm, looked at his feet. Okay. I guess Ill go now. Next week Ill bring my books.

Rachel had no idea what books he meant, but nodded all the same. That would be great.

Jason glanced at Rachel, and with the barest hint of a smile, he walked out of the room, head down, without looking at Flynn.

When he had slipped out the door, Rachel turned a bright smile to Flynn. Thanks, she said. You didnt have to do that.

Do what? I really do like looking at brochures.

And what about weaving? Are you really interested in that?

He laughed sheepishly, thrust a hand through his hair, dislodging one thick strand that fell over his eye. Truthfully?

Truthfully.

Im not entirely certain its my cup of tea but I will admit to a certain perverse fascination with all this talk of warp and woof and Im completely bewitched with warp and woof instructors.

Oh, yeah?

Absolutely. I have squads of dirty magazines and videos featuring warp and woof instructors and their looms.

Oh God, here went the red siren face again, and Rachel laughed, rubbed the nape of her neck. So how did you find me?

Rachel! he laughingly protested as he reached for the corner of her shawl and felt the weight of it. You cant possibly ask me to give away my secrets! I consider myself quite lucky that I found at least one place from which you cant easily flee or hook up with some other guy to avoid me altogether without causing talk, he said with a grin. And I should hope that youd reward my diligent efforts to find you by agreeing to a coffee.

Rachel smiled; Flynn glanced at the corner of the lavender shawl he held between finger and thumb. Thats really stunning, you know, he said, lifting his gaze to her eyes. Just a stunning color. Its marvelous on you. Frankly, youre stunning.

She blushed so furiously she forgot to be excited that her color spell had obviously worked.

So, then, will you allow me to buy you a cup of coffee?

Okay, she said, feeling remarkably lighter than air, suddenly skinny and beautiful and real.

And perhaps a bit of cake, he said, standing up and taking her hand in his. Ive had a craving for butter rum cake for a few days now. Isnt that odd?

He had no idea how odd.

RACHEL suggested a coffeehouse that featured would-be poets, a place Flynn knew quite well. He kept that to himself, however, and with a smile agreed to meet her there.

Naturally, the usual coterie of poets was thereFlynn recognized a few, and one could spot them a mile awaythey congregated like a flock of penguins around the bar, all atwitter as they waited for their cafe au laits to be steamed.

Flynn escorted Rachel to a secluded corner table he also knew very well, bought a fu-fu coffee for her, a hot tea for him, and a large cinnamon bun to share. As she went about the task of cutting up the enormous bun with a little plastic knife, he said, Funny, but I wouldnt have guessed you a teacher.

Her astounding blue-green eyes sparkled charmingly as she smiled at him. Maybe thats because Im not a teacher.

Beg your pardon?

Weaving aside, she said gaily, which Im only doing to earn a little extra money except that I havent earned even a dime, because the cost of renting space at the design school and all the materials have skyrocketed, and I cant bring myself to charge more than I do for the course. She laughed a little self-consciously. That was probably in the too-much-information category.

If youre not really a teacher, then you ought to be, he said sincerely. Youre quite good. Actually, hed been very impressed with her ability to engage such an eclectic group of people, particularly with something as horren-dously boring as weaving.

So what would you have guessed me to be? she asked as she resumed the sawing of the worlds largest cinnamon bun.

Hmmm excellent question. Youve been so bloody mysterious I had you pegged as a mass murderer at first, but then you were too kind to Chantal, who one might guess is a likely candidate for mass murder, he opined.

Mmm, no, Rachel said thoughtfully, shaking her head. Chantals too loud for just the casual sort of murder. Shed require something completely diabolical.

Quite right, he said. And I hadnt pegged you as the diabolical type.

No? she asked, looking slightly disappointed.

No. Clever, but not diabolical.

Ah, she said with a nod, her eyes sparkling.

So, clearly not a mass murderer. What about sorceress? he asked.

Rachel snapped the plastic knife in the bun, and clutching the bottom half of the knife, she blinked up at him. Seriously ?

He grinned, shrugged a little, and fished the other half of the knife from the bun. Why? Are you?

Im not a sorceress, she said in all seriousness.

Is that true, or are you afraid to admit it? he asked laughingly.

No, really, I just She suddenly stopped, bit her lower lip, and looked at the cinnamon bun. I just love cinnamon buns. Ill be right back, she said, and popped up before he could stop her.

She returned a moment later, a new plastic knife in hand, and picked up with a vengeance where shed left off on the cinnamon bun.

If you are not, in truth, a sorceress, Flynn asked, amused by how intent she was on the bun, then what do you do?

She stopped sawing on the bun, perhaps because shed divided it into equal parts of eight, and set aside the plastic knife. She clasped her hands together on the table. Im, ah a student.

Are you! What type?

Rachel picked up her coffee and looked around the room and muttered something unintelligible.

Beg your pardon? he asked, leaning forward to hear her as he helped himself to the bun.

She sighed irritably and glanced at him from the corner of her eye. Of history! she said, a little louder.

Really? How impressive, he said, taking another bite of what was, surprisingly, an extremely delicious cinnamon bun. Full of something like vanilla, he thought.

Not really, she said with a snort. It will probably floor you to know that Ive been in a doctorate program for almost four years.

Flynn looked up to see if she was joking. She did not, however, appear to be joking, and in fact, shook her head to indicate she definitely was not. Any plans to finish?

Yes ! she cried heavenward, but caught herself and smiled. Sorry. A little history there, she said with a laugh. So what about you ? What are you doing in the States?

Consultant, he said.

Oh! What sort?

Computers.

Really? she asked, her brow wrinkling a bit. And was it a computer that gave you the black eye?

Flynn had forgotten about that nasty little bruise, and unconsciously touched his eye.

I think youre really a James Bond type of guy on some exciting international case, she said.

Actually, I was involved in a local homicide investigation. I ran into a spot of trouble at a dodgy pub on the pier. She laughed. And then jumped in your cigarette boat and sped away, right?

No. Just an ordinary motorcar.

Okay, so how did you really manage to get that black eye?

Honestly, he said, holding up his scout hand. A bloke at the pier.

Rachels pretty smile got prettier; she cocked her head to one side. Okay so you wont tell me. That of course leads me to believe it was a lovers spat.

I should certainly hope not, he said with a laugh.

So what sort of international computer consultant are you, anyway?

Software developmentbanks, mostly.

U.S. banks?

Mmm, he said, and helped himself to more of that terribly decadent and astoundingly delicious cinnamon bun. My turn. What sort of history do you study? American, I presume?

She laughed heartily. Flynn liked that; an honest laugh. Whats funny? he asked, smiling.

I really have no idea, she said, smiling broadly, and sighed heavenward. Okay. I study British history, she admitted with a grin. Medieval stuff.

Really? he asked, unfazed, but wondered how in Gods name a woman as lovely as Rachel could pick up something so dreadfully dull. How did you settle on that fascinating subject?

She laughed again, a sort of bubbly laugh that was surprisingly silky and as pleasing to the ears as her smile was to the eyes. Because I dont know. Its romantic she said. Especially the medieval period. You know, knights and damsels in distress and all that, she said. Her cheeks, he noticed, had turned appealingly pink.

Still, he had a hard time seeing her buried in some musty old book. So you think that its romantic that old Henry offd the heads of his five damsels, eh?

Well technically , Henry VIII was not a medieval king. And it was only two.

Two?

Two heads he offd. Of six wives.

Now it was Flynns turn to laugh. There you are, youve discovered my secretIm frightfully ignorant of my heritage. With a smile, he pushed the plate of bun toward her, of which, he noticed with chagrin, hed eaten two-thirds. But Im curiouswhat do you plan to do with this Ph.D. in British history?

You and my father! she said with a sheepish little laugh. Congratulations, for you have just posed the sixty-four-million-dollar question, and one I cant really answer, except to say, at present, it doesnt look like much.

That bad, eh?

That bad, she said with a winsome smile.

What of your boyfriend? Flynn asked, looking at her pointedly. The color seemed to drain from her face, and she became all wide-eyed. The chap with the hair, he reminded her.

Hes not my boyfriend .

Isnt he, really?

No! Hes just a friend! You didnt really think

I did.

Oh no , she insisted again, so emphatically that he wanted to laugh. No, no no, noooo .

Then if hes not your boyfriend, that can only mean one thing, he said, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.

What?

That you are He looked around them, then leaned closer. Quite unattached.

Her cheeks went pinker. Well. Not to him anyway.

Flynn shifted a little closer, his gaze on her luscious lips. Another chap, then?

She laughed again, tossing her head back and showing the smooth curve of her slender neck. You might as well know. Im very attached to chocolate.

Chocolate? Is he still about? I thought he was dead and gone, he said in all seriousness, but he could feel himself being pulled in by her effervescent smile, and he couldnt help but recall her as she had been that damp night alone in her house, twirling about, and then later, with nothing but a towel wrapped around her, the smooth shape of her back bared to him. In the wake of that memory, he scooted his chair closer.