Turning the Page (4 page)

If Sam noticed the look, she didn't react to it.

"Come on, baby," Rob ordered as he stood. "Let's go for a ride."

Sam jumped up, downed the rest of her wine and followed Rob's leather-clad bulk. "Don't wait

up." She winked at Melanie and Taylor, leaving them to clean up the remnants of dinner. From

the front of the carriage house, they heard Rob's Harley roar to life and Sam's squeal of

delight as they sped away.

"She is a piece of work, isn't she?" Melanie sighed, shaking her head.

"That's the understatement of the year." Taylor held up the wine bottle. "Just enough for two more."

Melanie held her glass out and Taylor replenished them both, emptying the bottle.

"So. Tell me about you," Melanie suggested, taking a sip of wine. "What do you do?"

"I'm in sales," Taylor answered.

"Really? I wondered about that. You seem so easygoing, I figured if you weren't in sales, you

should be. What do you sel ?"

Taylor felt a warm flush rise up her neck at the compliment. Thankful for the near-dark that

she hoped would prevent Melanie from seeing her new pink tint, she launched into a speech

about the wonderful world of radio advertising sales.

Melanie studied Taylor as she spoke, loving the smooth, relaxing sound of her low voice. She

was sure Taylor had blushed over the compliment Melanie had paid her, something Melanie

found inexplicably endearing.

A few stray locks of dark curls had escaped her ponytail and fluttered gently in the night

breeze, like feathers on the wind. Even in the late dusk, Melanie could see the flash of

adrenaline in Taylor's dark eyes when she spoke of landing a big client. Melanie was

concentrating on Taylor's full, moist lips when she realized they had stopped moving. Her blue

eyes snapped up to meet smiling brown ones, framed by impossibly thick, dark lashes.

"I'm rambling, aren't I?"

"What? No. Oh, no. Absolutely not." Melanie finished her wine in one gulp, mortified that

she'd been caught staring. What was wrong with her?

"What about you?" Taylor asked, graciously overlooking Melanie's embarrassment. "Sam said you left your job. Why? If you don't mind my asking, of course."

Melanie met Taylor's gaze for a long moment. She felt so...what was it?...at home in those

eyes. She couldn't remember ever being so comfortable with somebody. She hadn't told

anybody but her secretary her real reason for leaving Rucker and Steele, not even her own

parents, but she felt so safe with Taylor. So secure. It was strange and comforting at the

same time.

She took a deep breath and told Taylor the whole story, from beginning to end, leaving nothing

out.

"Wow," Taylor said when Melanie finished.

"Yeah. Crazy, huh?"

"What? No. I admire you."

"You do?"

"I admire somebody who has the guts to make a change. Most people wouldn't realize what you

did until they were in their forties or fifties and had already wasted most of their lives on

their job. By then, it's almost too late. Or, they realize they're unhappy, but are too lazy or

scared to do anything about it, so they stay unhappy forever. I think you did the absolutely

right thing."

"You do?" Melanie repeated.

"Without a doubt."

Melanie felt a great burden lifted from her shoulders at Taylor's words. She didn't

understand why the approval of this young woman was so important to her, but it was. She'd

only known her for several hours, but her opinion already meant a great deal to Melanie. What

a strange day, she thought with a smirk.

Taylor stood and began clearing the table. "It's getting late. You must be exhausted from

your drive."

"Now that you mention it..." Melanie stretched and stifled a yawn.

They cleaned up in companionable silence, Taylor showing Melanie where various dishes and

utensils belonged.

"So," she said when they finished, "I'l come get you on my way to the gym in the morning? Is nine o'clock too early?"

"That's perfect."

Taylor turned back as she stood in the doorway. "Thanks for dinner."

"Thanks for the wine and the company. I really enjoyed myself."

"Me too. Good night."

"Good night, Taylor."

Melanie watched as Taylor made her way across to her own house, the moonlight bathing her in

a soft glow. She had finally managed to close the door when she was struck by the realization

that she was actually focused on the gentle sway of Taylor's hips.

Chapter Five

IT WAS PRECISELY nine a.m. when Melanie reached for the doorknob to answer the brisk

knock. Taylor smiled brightly, looking fresh-faced and sunny in her navy blue gym shorts and

bright yellow T-shirt. Her white socks accentuated the beginnings of a tan on her legs, and

Melanie noticed Taylor's hair was still slightly damp when it had been pulled back and fastened

behind her head.

"Do you always shower before you work out?" she asked.

Taylor's smile faltered slightly, and the pink tint from the previous evening returned in full

force, creeping slowly up her neck.

"Um... no. Not always." She decided an immediate subject change was in order. "Ready to go?"

"Wel , I have a small problem. Sam didn't come home last night."

"Surprise, surprise."

"I can't get into the bookstore."

"Sure you can." Taylor slipped through the doorway and into the kitchen, Melanie on her heels.

She opened one of the cupboards to reveal several hooks supporting various sets of keys. Each

had its own label, neatly printed in block letters. "Jeff Mason may have been an idiot, but he

was an organized idiot." She handed the keys marked STORE to Melanie with a grin. "Ready

now?"

"You're a lifesaver."

"Nah. Just observant."

Sunday morning traffic was minimal as they tooled along in Taylor's Honda Civic with the

sunroof open, the sun reflecting off of their sunglasses.

"How'd you sleep?" Taylor asked.

"Great, once I actually closed my eyes. It's so quiet, nothing like the city."

Taylor nodded her dark head in agreement. "I know what you mean. I used to have a studio

right downtown. It didn't matter what time it was, there was always some sort of sound. I'm

still not used to being back in the suburbs yet. So, need coffee?"

Melanie's eyes lit up. "Do I."

They were sitting in line at the McDonald's drive-thru when Melanie noticed the small, metal

ring dangling from the rearview mirror. It had some sort of design carved into it, accented by

light blue dots. "What's this?"

"It's a chakram."

"Chakram?"

"Ever watch Xena?"

"Xena? Is that the sword-fighting Greek god show? I think I caught a glimpse of it once or

twice, but I couldn't figure out what all the hype was about. This is that round thing she

throws around, right?"

Taylor shook her head in mock-disappointment, tsking as she pulled back onto the road.

"Melanie, Melanie, Melanie. I see you're in need of enlightenment."

"I am?"

"I'm afraid so. It's important that you understand the phenomenon that is Xena."

"Really." Melanie grinned. "Why is it important?"

"Because I say it is."

They grinned at each other for several seconds, before Melanie nodded.

"Okay. Enlighten me."

Loving the flirty, albeit unintentional, tone of Melanie's voice, but deciding she wasn't going to

touch that one with a ten foot pole, Taylor stayed on the subject. "Tell you what. I have every episode on tape—"

"Every episode?" Melanie's eyes widened.

"As any good Xenite does."

"I see."

"I'll lend you the first few so you can get a feel for the story. After that, I'll leave it up to you. If you want to see more, say the word."

Melanie laughed heartily. "You've got yourself a deal."

Taylor smiled with satisfaction as she pulled the little red car to a halt alongside the curb. "I believe this is your stop, young lady."

Melanie looked up, surprised. The ride had been much quicker than she'd expected, but she

had a feeling it was due to the company and not the distance traveled.

The short block held just one long building, which was subdivided into three individual shops,

the bookstore being in the center.

Its storefront was not exactly eye-catching, although it was sandwiched between two shops

that were, making it look even duller than it actually was. The large wooden-framed glass door

stood alcoved between two oversized display windows facing the sidewalk. The trim, and

essentially the front of the store, was in dire need of a paint job. What used to be a chocolate

brown was badly chipped and peeling, revealing a frightful shade of yel ow underneath. A

crooked, wooden sign, obviously hand-lettered by somebody who was not a sign painter,

announced that this was Mason's Books.

Now there's a creative name, Melanie thought to herself, the marketer in her shaking its

head in disgust. Yup, makes me wanna run right in and buy a whole stack of books.

Her gaze rested on a sheet of paper taped to the door from the inside. It read "Closed Due

To Cheating Husband."

"Oh, that's good for business," she sighed, opening the car door.

Taylor chuckled. "Hel hath no fury, blah, blah, blah. Your key fits both the front and back

doors. Do you need anything before I head to the gym?"

Melanie smiled gratefully at this woman she'd known for one whole day, sorry to see her go.

"No. I'll be fine." She got out and shut the car door, leaning down to peer into the open

window. "Thank you, Taylor, for carting me around. You've been great."

Taylor pulled her sunglasses down to the end of her nose so Melanie could see her smiling

eyes. "It's been my pleasure." They held each other's gaze for several long seconds before Taylor pushed the shades back into place with her finger. "I'll be back in about an hour and a

half."

"I'll be here."

Melanie watched the car pull away, then turned toward the task at hand.

MELANIE WAS PLEASANTLY surprised by Mason's Books, despite its lackluster first

impression, which was not improved by the musty smell that assaulted her when she opened

the door, and its unimaginative name. The inside was bigger than she'd expected, with big rays

of bright sunshine pouring through the front windows and lots of rich, dark wood, which gave

it a great deal of character; it actually bordered on charming. The marketer in her perked up

and took notice.

The door opened into the center of the shop, which, in total, wasn't much bigger than a large,

two-car garage. Directly forward, at the back of the shop, she could see a small, electronic

cash register on a wooden countertop jutting out from the rear wall in an L-shape. Al of the

bookshelves, Melanie counted four rows, including the two outside walls, and half the back

wall, were made of the same polished wood as the floor and the doorframe. There were two

overstuffed burgundy chairs tucked away in corners like naughty children. She realized the

little shop actually had a library feel to it. She was immediately comfortable there, much to

her surprise.

Unsure exactly where to begin her task of "checking the place out," she decided Sam and

Jeff's paperwork was probably the best starting point. She followed one of the two

freestanding bookshelves to the back wall in search of an office of some sort, leaving a very

noticeable finger mark in the thick dust along the way. She wasn't sure if Sam ever dusted, or

if the shop had been closed much longer than she originally thought. Knowing her cousin, either

explanation was possible.

The office, which seemed to double as a stock room, was located at the very back of the shop,

behind the cash register, and smel ed of dust and fast food leftovers. It was small, with

barely enough room for an undersized desk that was littered with a half-eaten cheeseburger

and fries, a two drawer filing cabinet, and several boxes of apparently new books. A miniscule

rest room containing the very barest of necessities was squeezed into a back corner. It looked

as though it hadn't been scrubbed in months.

A handful of three ring binders was lined up on a shelf above the desk. Upon quick

examination, Melanie found them to be inventory and ordering records. The filing cabinet

revealed receipts and check stubs, as well as accounts payable records. She pulled several

folders, cleaned the top of the desk of the food remnants, as well as four half-consumed cans

of Diet Pepsi, and sat down with the information.

Noticing a small clock radio, she tuned it to the first station that came in clearly. Tapping her

fingernail to Madonna's Like A Prayer, she opened the binder labeled Inventory.

MUCH TO Taylor’s own dismay, it seemed she had become one of those women she used to

laugh at, the kind nearly addicted to working out. It hadn’t been a planned thing. Maggie hated

the gym, and when things were falling apart between them, the gym was simply a place of

refuge where Taylor could go to be alone with her thoughts. Or, as was more often the case, it

was a place she could go to crank up her headphones so she couldn’t hear her thoughts.

After several months, though, she noticed subtle changes in her body. Pleasing changes. The

tightening, not to mention the definition, of muscles, the higher level of energy, the increase

in overall strength. She was surprised to discover that she actually liked working out. Craved