Authors: Marisa Logan
Now it was Lauren’s turn to fill in the blanks from her side and she really didn’t want to tell them what she had done. There wasn’t any way to sugarcoat her part of the story. Swallowing hard, she began to relate her tale. She didn’t try to explain away her bad judgment or lack of forethought. She just told them what happened step by step.
Both of them were silent as she talked and although Amber’s eyes expressed her fear, doubt and occasional flashes of anger, she kept it all in check. Sergei was careful to conceal all of his thoughts and feelings throughout her story. When she was done, she expected to receive a lecture about everything she’d done wrong but the others stayed quiet as they absorbed her harrowing tale.
Finally, Sergei reached across the table and put his hands over the hand of each of the women and looked both of them intently.
“The moral of the story is this, you’re safe and you’ve learned many things, nothing more to say.”
Amber started to protest, but he gently squeezed her hand and put his finger to her lips.
“Shhh…” was all he said and Amber was quiet.
Lauren chuckled a bit inside as she noted how the mysterious Russian had somehow worked his magic on her cousin.
It appeared his talents weren’t limited to horses and dogs
.
Chapter 11
The next few weeks passed in a blur and one day they woke up to the sound of water dripping from the edges of the roof. The snow was finally starting to melt. The sun was shining nearly all day now and the horses spent more time outside than in the barn. Everyone was eager for spring to come. Sergei had become a regular visitor and shared at least one meal a day with the women.
Lauren recognized the budding relationship between Amber and him had been slowly coming together from the first time she saw him ride up on his horse. He’d taken the two women back to his homestead a couple of times to show them the home and the workshop his parents had built. Sharing photos of them, he told them the tragic story of their lives and their deaths. Falling in love with someone didn’t always guarantee a happy ending.
Carson came with the news of the Dorman’s return in a month’s time as their research had finished a bit earlier than expected. That unleashed a flurry of spring cleaning as they wanted to return the homestead in the condition it was in when they came. Theirs was more a labor of love than a chore as their spirits soared with the warming days and sunshine.
One evening Lauren sat in front of her dusty laptop and contemplated her return to Boston. She was ready to go back.
She’d had her adventure and kept her vow, but now it was time to move on with her life and get back to the business of living. Alaska was wonderful, but it wasn’t for her. She’d always been more of a city girl than her cousin Amber. She wouldn’t be happy out here trying to survive the hazards and perils of this harsh and sometimes, unforgiving land year after year. Her
great American novel
would just have to be written in some other part of the world.
Chapter 12
Lauren turned from her desk to look out the window. The view towards the harbor was fantastic and she couldn’t look at it often enough. She had to admit that she sometimes missed the mountains and the acres of forest, but she had plenty of pictures on her cell phone to peruse.
“Excuse me, Lauren,” her secretary said. “You have a visitor in the lobby downstairs. Shall I have him escorted up?”
“Please do,” Lauren said without turning around.
She was expecting a junior reporter for an interview.
A slight cough from the doorway startled her and she looked up into familiar brown eyes.
“Grady!” she exclaimed as she jumped up and ran around her desk to give him a hug.
He seemed a bit taken aback by her exuberance, but welcomed the hug and gave it back in equal measure.
“What are you doing here and how did you find me,” she asked, her questions running together.
He laughed and raised up both hands.
“I confess,” he said. “I’m here looking for you and I got your contact information from your cousin Amber. She and Sergei were in Anchorage shopping for a wedding dress or something. I just moved to Boston and since you’re the only person I know here, I knew I needed a
friend
.”
“Well, you’ve successfully found me and you’ve got a friend. We don’t have an Alaskan word like
cheechako
for people that are new to Boston, but there’s plenty of pitfalls for the unwary in the big city. It’s always good to have friends.”
“Since you put it that way,” Grady said, “how about I take you to lunch and you can fill me in on some of those pitfalls.”
“Actually, I can’t do lunch as I have an interview scheduled in a few minutes, but I’d love to take you to dinner. Where are you staying?”
With a quick exchange of info, Grady headed out as Lauren’s secretary brought in her interviewee. As Grady passed her, the secretary mouthed to Lauren,
he’s cute
. Lauren suppressed a grin as Grady turned at the door to wave a quick good-bye. She hoped that her face wasn’t too red as she tried to put on her professional demeanor.
***
Lauren selected a nice restaurant with an eclectic menu. There wasn’t any ‘bou stew’, but she figured they’d find something interesting to eat. Choosing a dark blue fitted dress with a sparkly necklace and high heels made her feel feminine and mysterious, but not too formal. She wanted Grady to see more than the woman he’d come to know in some of her worst moments.
The restaurant was within walking distance of his hotel so they arranged to meet there. Grady came in right at the appointed time in a carefully pressed suit and tie. He was clearly attempting to upgrade her impression of him also. He greeted her as an old friend with a simple kiss on the cheek and a half hug. She’d already ordered the wine and the waiter filled their glasses as they sat down.
At first, they acted stiff and formal as befitting their surroundings, but as they filled in each other on all that had happened to them since they’d last seen each other, the unfamiliar fell away and their friendship was renewed. By the time they reached dessert, they were old friends and laughed together easily.
“You know Grady,” Lauren began. “I really didn’t think I was ever going to see you again.”
“I couldn’t let that happen,” Grady said, “It’s really hard to find a good Scrabble partner that makes great hot cocoa.”
At that moment, their waiter showed up with the check. Lauren reached for it, but Grady beat her to the grab.
“Oh, no you don’t,” he said. “This was my treat remember. You’ve cooked plenty of meals for me already.”
“But none of them ever came up to the standard of ‘bou stew’, she said with a grin.
“I don’t know about that. You were a pretty quick study on that dish,” he shot back.
As the waiter returned with the receipt and Grady’s credit card, he said, “Thank you Mr. Grady. Please come back and visit us again soon,” before he walked away.
“
Mister
Grady,” Lauren queried, “What’s that about?”
“Sorry. I guess I never told you. Grady’s my last name, but everyone’s always called me that, so it’s more like a nickname or something.”
Putting on her best TV
cop
voice, Lauren said, “I want to see some I.D. Mister.”
Laughing, Grady flipped open his wallet and revealed his Alaska driver’s license.
Lauren grabbed it out of his hand to examine it more closely.
“Dylan P. Grady,” she read out loud. “Your first name’s Dylan?”
Lauren sat back in her chair in total surprise.
“So, what’s the P. for?” she ventured to ask.
Leaning forward to take her hand, Grady grinned and said, “I think that’s a subject for our next date and then we can talk about what it will take to convince you to become Mrs. Grady.”
THE END
A Contemporary Romance
(Clean Romance Edition)
J.L. STARR
Book Description
Online dating doesn't tend to work out so well for a divorced librarian. Especially with an ex-husband who is still around stirring up trouble.
Sharada Patil and her ex-husband moved to America from Mumbai ten years ago, with dreams of a family and a long life together. Now, they're divorced and her ex-husband nearly ended up in jail.
When she meets a kind, down-to-earth man who likes classic literature and poetry, she starts to realize she can be happy with the simple things in life. Though before her new life can begin, she has to burn the bridges of her past life and find a way to be rid of her ex and the schemes and scams he's become tangled up in.
Content Warning:
This book is not for younger readers due to mature situations.
Chapter 1
Arguing with college kids about literature was never fun. But unfortunately, sometimes it was part of my job.
I was in the main entry hall to the campus library, setting up our displays for Women's History Month. The library had a line of glass cases in the entryway, displaying various books and works of art. The current display was for Black History Month, featuring classic and modern works by a variety of African American authors, from James Baldwin, Maya Angelou, and Alex Haley, to newer authors like Jamaica Kincaid and Natalie Baszile. We also had a selection of art pieces made by students, done in traditional African color schemes and themes. I'd always felt that adding a touch of art to the library display made everything more vivid, and hopefully helped to capture the students' interest more.
We changed the display every month. I was in the middle of taking down some of the books and pieces to replace them with books for Women's History Month. I left up the books by African American women and added a few by Roxane Gay, Jenny Baum, Meg Wolitzer, and the classic feminist authors like Virginia Woolf, Sylvia Plath, and Doris Lessing. I always tried to keep a wide variety on display, to cater to different tastes while still engaging the students and exposing them to important works of literature.
While I worked, I was engaged in a debate with my two assistants, sophomore students named Daniel and Kevin.
“I just don't see why I should read a book just because a woman wrote it,” Kevin said. He dug through some of the books on the cart, looking at the covers. “Besides, these all look boring, anyway.”
“Yeah,” Daniel added. “Isn't it sexist? I mean, if someone said you should read a book just because a man wrote it, people would call that sexist.”
“That's different,” I said with a weary sigh as I arranged the new books in the case.
“Why?” Kevin asked.
“Because you've been reading books by men your whole life,” I said. “Female authors have to work twice as hard just to get a chance.”
“So I should read them just because they worked harder?” Kevin asked, frowning. He handed me a couple of books to add to the shelf. “That doesn't make sense. I want to read a book because it's good, not because the author had a rough time of it.”
“And how will you know if it's good,” I asked, “unless you give some female authors a shot?”
We kept going back and forth for awhile as we worked, while I tried to find a way to get through to these kids. I finally realized part of the stumbling block was a question of taste; both Kevin and Daniel preferred sci fi novels, so classic literature wouldn't appeal to them, regardless of the gender of the author.
“Try J.K. Accinni,” I suggested. “And Julie Czerneda. Or if you want something classic, Mary Shelley.”
“Who's that?” Kevin asked.
“She wrote Frankenstein,” I said.
“Wait, Frankenstein was written by a chick?” Daniel asked.
I fought the urge to roll my eyes at him. “By a woman, yes.”
“I never read Frankenstein,” Kevin said. “I mean, I've seen him in movies, but I never read the book.”
“It's a classic,” I said, giving them both an encouraging smile.
They left after that to head to class, and I held on to a small hope that they might take a few of my suggestions seriously. I continued setting up the new display as the morning wore on. I was nearly done when the library's lumberjack strolled through the door.
“Morning, Sharada,” he said as he walked by.
“Good morning,” I said, watching him walk past and head for the stairs. I didn't know the man's name, and I didn't really know if he was a lumberjack. The library staff just called him that because he always came in wearing Timberlands, old worn blue jeans, and a flannel shirt. He also had a full, dark beard and a rough, weathered face, like a man who spent most of his time outdoors. He was something of a mystery to us.
The library was open to the public in addition to the university students, so we got a few locals coming in on a regular basis. But the lumberjack never talked about himself, never made small talk. He just came in a few times a week and sat in one of the reading lounges on the second floor. He never checked a book out to take home with him. He just sat for a few hours, kept to himself, and read.
I had told myself on more than one occasion that I should go up and talk to him, and at least ask his name. But the library was meant to be a quiet place, and interrupting his reading felt wrong.
A little while later, as I was going over some new acquisitions, one of the other librarians came up to me with a big grin on her face.
“Sharada, you'll never guess what the lumberjack is reading,” Jessica said.
“Trees From Around the World?”
I guessed, smirking.
“Dork,” she said. “No, he's reading
The Bell Jar.”
“Really?” I pursed my lips, deep in thought. The lumberjack's reading selection varied so much that we could never predict what he would pick up next. I'd seen him reading classic and modern works, contemporary, sci fi, fantasy, poetry, and even Young Adult.
The Bell Jar
made it even harder to pick out a pattern to his tastes. It was Sylvia Plath's only full-length novel; she was mostly known for her poetry and short stories. She'd committed suicide a month after
The Bell Jar
was completed. It was a dark classic, a journey into a troubled mind, and its choice by the lumberjack spoke of a depth I hadn't previously considered of him.
“I guess he chose it for Women's History Month?” Jessica suggested.
“I guess that's possible,” I said.
The Bell Jar
wasn't one of the books I'd put up in the front display, but I had put up one of Plath's short story collections. Maybe her name had caught his eye as he walked by, and he'd decided to look into her works.
I smiled, thinking that even if I hadn't gotten through to Kevin and Daniel, maybe I had helped someone else be introduced to a piece of classic women's literature. That thought brought me pleasure, even as I found myself pondering more and more just who our mysterious lumberjack was.
One of these days, I was going to have to strike up a real conversation with him so that I could start figuring him out.