Authors: Peggy Bird
“Exactly. Meet me there at two.”
Excited about the day ahead of her, Bella got to the Pike Place Market well before two. While she waited for Taylor, she watched the two men behind the seafood counter put on a show for their customers, as well as anyone else who cared to watch, with an entertaining line of patter and fish tossing. She was so engrossed, she didn’t realize Taylor was standing behind her until she heard him say close to her ear, “Fun to see, aren’t they?”
Not nearly as fun as feeling his warm breath on her neck, she decided, but it wasn’t a good idea to jump right to such an intimate comment, so she merely laughed and nodded. “After I watched for a while, I wondered if the job interview for fishmonger here includes a test to see how proficient you are at throwing and catching seafood,” she said.
“I’ve never thought to ask, but I imagine the answer’s yes.” He held out his hand to her. “If you’ve had your fill of salmon tossing, we’re burning daylight here and we have a lot of things to see before dinner.”
There it was again, the tingle from contact with his hand. But she barely had time to enjoy it before he was tugging at her to come with him. So she held on to his hand and followed, taking much bigger steps than normal to keep up with his long legs. He was obviously serious about showing her around, and she intended to enjoy every minute of it.
After a couple hours, however, she said, “I surrender. There is way too much here for me to take in on one visit. The craft choices alone are overwhelming. I have to remember those handmade puzzles when the holidays roll around. My nieces and nephews would love them. And my father would have told the glass artist we saw he belongs in the Museum of Glass, not a farmers’ market.”
“If you know about the Museum of Glass, you’re not the new arrival in the area you pretended to be yesterday, are you?” His raised eyebrow and half smile said he wasn’t too worried about being hoodwinked.
“Nate asked what I’d done in Seattle since I moved here, and I told him. I wasn’t asked if I’d been here before. But, no, I’m not a complete newbie. Two or three years ago, I came up to a baseball game. On another trip, I went to the Museum of Glass in Tacoma and the Chihuly Garden and Glass museum here. Both trips were with my father.”
“He hasn’t brought you back since?”
“He died eighteen months ago.” She turned her head so he wouldn’t see her fight to control the tears that were unexpectedly welling up in her eyes. “We took a lot of road trips the last year or so of his life. There were things he wanted to see one last time before he died, and I made it happen for him.”
Taylor stopped and brushed away an escaping tear with the pad of his thumb. “I didn’t mean to bring up a sad subject.”
“No, it’s fine. I don’t know why I’m reacting this way. It’s been a long time since I cried about his passing.” She pulled a tissue from her purse and wiped at her eyes. “We had a lot of fun that last year. Drove all over the Northwest. Well, the part west of the mountains. He was never much of a high plains guy.” Another tissue was necessary for her nose. “I don’t know. Maybe it was seeing the beautiful glass. He was a serious collector of studio art glass and was always sure one day he’d discover the next Dale Chihuly or Silvia Levenson. He never did but he kept trying. The closest he got was buying a piece of Amanda Sinclair’s before she got too pricey.”
“I know who Chihuly is. Who’re the two women?”
“Levenson does glass casting mostly. Pale pink glass hand grenades. High heel shoes with barbed wire inclusions. Sinclair is a Portlander who does mostly minimalist landscapes in thick blocks. Lately she’s been using a lot of metals and reactive glasses.”
“Sounds like you know something about the subject yourself.”
“It was hard not to learn about it. I lived with my dad for the last years of his life and helped him take care of his collection.” She shoved the tissues into her jeans pocket. “There. Trip down memory lane is over. Sorry to be Debbie Downer. I promise I won’t do it again. Maybe my caffeine level had dropped too low. How about we grab a quick cup of coffee before we move on to whatever else you have planned?”
“Not a problem. There’s a bakery back that way, across the street ...”
She glanced at the storefront he indicated. “Oh, I saw some beautiful little hand pies in the window when we walked past. It looks perfect. But first, can we go back to the pig sculpture? I forgot to rub her snout for good luck.”
“What do you need good luck for?”
“Not for me. It’s for Summer’s project. We need all the luck we can get.”
She saw his jaw muscles clench and his lips thin. He looked like he did yesterday when he’d found her in Nate’s office. Something had made him tense up. “Is there a problem with backtracking?” she asked, hoping it wasn’t what she’d suggested.
Without answering her question, he reached for her hand again and headed for the sculpture. When they got there, she noticed he didn’t participate in the ritual of touching the nose and making a small donation. She couldn’t decide if he was anti-superstition, annoyed she’d upset his plans, or something else. Something she couldn’t figure out.
As they headed back to the bakery, she said, “Thank you for indulging me. The pig thing is silly, I know. But ...”
“It’s part of the Market’s culture, and I’m glad you reminded me about it. Now let’s get you some caffeine and sugar so you’re stoked up for what’s next.”
And there he was; the Taylor she enjoyed was back. He’d turned his attitude around on a dime, and she couldn’t figure out how or why any more than she could figure out what had made it tense only a few minutes before. All she could do was go with it. So she asked, “What
is
next, by the way? Or are you going to keep me in suspense until we get there?”
• • •
Taylor got her settled at a small table in the bakery before he went to order their coffee. Now that he had his back to her and she couldn’t see his face, he let his guard down and frowned. He should never have started this. Never gone into the bar last night. Never asked her out for today. Didn’t his immediate guilty reaction to her request to go back to the pig sculpture to wish for luck for her project prove he was wrong to have anything to do with her?
He should never ... oh, hell, what was the use? He’d been attracted to her from the first minute he saw her, and this was the logical outcome. He either had to accept that he was metal filings to her magnet—which sounded faintly dirty, come to think of it—or else find a way to turn her into something to repel him.
Which, so far, had been impossible. He snuck a peek at her. She was sitting at the table playing with her smart phone, checking e-mails, probably. How could anyone so beautiful repel any man in his right mind?
He couldn’t remember the last time he noticed in any detail what a woman wore, but he seemed to always be aware of what Isabella had on. Maybe it was because she knew how to wear clothes to showcase her considerable assets.
Today her jeans outlined her butt and legs; her bunny-soft, sky-blue sweater hugged the curves her jeans didn’t cover. A dark red puffy jacket made her look tiny and delicate until you saw the kick-ass boots she wore that came halfway up her legs and had heels high enough to make him wonder how she had ever kept up with him as he strode through the crowds in the Market. She even smelled good, like a sugar cookie. Vanilla, maybe.
It was time to man up, admit he was in trouble with her and enjoy it. Instead of thinking of all the reasons he should get the hell out of here and head for home, he should be thanking his luck he was having the best Saturday he’d had in months.
With a woman who was kick-ass, sexy, sweet, and funny. A woman who delighted in what she saw around her and allowed herself to show vulnerability in a way he couldn’t begin to comprehend. He never talked about his family in any but the most general terms. Never let anyone know what his childhood had been like or how estranged from his family he’d become as an adult. He told himself it was because he didn’t want anyone’s pity. But it didn’t take a shrink to figure out it was really because it was too painful to think about, let alone discuss with someone else.
Isabella, on the other hand, had just revealed her heart to a virtual stranger when she talked about her father. What would it be like to be the object of the affection and attention of a woman like her? Someone so present, so open, so warm and loving?
Oh, yeah. He was in a world of hurt with Isabella Rodriquez.
• • •
“Thanks for the coffee and treat. I’m ready now.” She swiped at her mouth with the napkin but missed a pastry crumb. He almost reached across the table to brush it off her lip. Her plump, pink, lower lip. The one she was now licking to get at the errant crumb. The same one she caught between her teeth when she was trying not to laugh or when she was thinking about what she wanted to say.
“Taylor? Are we ready for whatever’s next?” She looked concerned when he hadn’t responded right away, too caught up in fantasies about her mouth.
“Absolutely ready. We’re going for a ride.” He picked up their coffee cups and the plates now empty of the apple hand pies they’d had and returned them to the counter.
“My car or yours?” she asked when he returned.
“Neither. We’re walking down the steps behind the Market then along the waterfront to the ferry terminal. It’s not too far, about fifteen or twenty minutes. You okay with walking? I don’t want you to end up with blisters from those boots. ”
“Are you kidding? I was born to walk in boots like this.” She looked back over her shoulder as they headed to the door and asked, “What’re we going to do when we get to the ferry terminal? As if I can’t guess.”
“Unless you want to confine yourself to reading the timetables for the Washington State Ferry System, I thought we could take a ride. We’ll be ‘walk-ons’ for the next ferry to Bainbridge Island. I think you’ll like seeing the city from the water.”
“I don’t know where Bainbridge Island is.”
“It’s about forty-five minutes west of here, across Elliot Bay. We’ll get there, have another cup of coffee, or a glass of wine if you’d rather, then come back. Should get us here in plenty of time for our dinner reservations.”
• • •
They lucked out and got to the ferry terminal twenty minutes before a Bainbridge Island ferry was due to depart. They boarded and grabbed a seat near a window, but Isabella didn’t stay in it very long. Her curiosity sent her exploring all over the passenger deck. She returned from one foray with a stack of tourist pamphlets, which she excitedly showed him, explaining they gave her ideas for the weekends she didn’t have a tour guide. He stopped himself just before he volunteered as a permanent tour guide. He’d waded into hip-deep treacherous waters already with this woman. Planning too far out with her would get him in over his head.
As soon as the ferry got underway, Isabella headed for the door and the outside rail. She was as excited as anyone he’d ever seen about watching the skyline of Seattle recede into the distance.
“Look at all those buildings,” she said. “When I’m in the middle of the city, it doesn’t register how tall they are.”
“I think it’s the hills the city is built on. You can’t get an idea of the relative heights until you’re out on the water.”
“What’s that one, over there?” she asked, pointing to a huge, black building.
“The Columbia Center. It’s the tallest building in the state. Sometimes when the weather socks in during the winter, the top of the building is above the clouds. It’s freaky.”
“What else can we see?”
“Couple of bank buildings—Wells Fargo and Bank of America.” He pointed out the relevant structures. “There’s the Federal Building named for our late, great Senator ‘Scoop’ Jackson. Then there’s that one,” he said, pointing to Seattle’s most famous landmark. “I assume you know ...”
“The Space Needle. Of course I do. And I know another one, too. Isn’t that Smith Tower?” She pointed at the correct building.
“Yes, but don’t look so smug. I’m pretty sure you’re required to identify those two buildings along with Safeco Field on the test they give you before you’re allowed to move into the city.”
She looked at him with a surprised expression. “Why, Taylor Jordan, you have a sense of humor under all those wicked smarts and serious ambitions, don’t you?”
He could feel himself blush, for the second time in two days. How did she do this to him? “I try to keep it to a minimum, but sometimes it leaks out.”
She laughed. “You are the sweetest man.” He saw her shudder.
“I can’t imagine my ranking on a sugar scale is what’s making you shiver. You must be cold.”
“I am, a little. The wind, I guess. I thought this coat would keep me warm but, so far, not so much.”
“Then let’s go back inside.”
“No, I’m not ready yet. I like it out here too much regardless of the temperature.” She pulled the collar of her puffy coat up around her ears and faced the water again. “I mean, how can I go inside when I’ll miss all this if I do?” The sweep of her hand took in the skyline of the city, the water of Elliot Bay, and the gulls and terns flying overhead.
Knowing what he was about to do pushed him further out into bottomless waters, but wanting to do it anyway, Taylor opened his coat and wrapped it around her, pulling her so her back was snug against his front. “Maybe this will help,” he said. He felt her relax against him and sigh.
“Thank you. That’s wonderful. You’re like a heater, aren’t you?”
He rested his cheek on the top of her head, smelled the flowery scent of her shampoo, the sugar cookie smell of her perfume or, who knows, maybe her body. She might think he was sweet, but he was sure he didn’t smell like she did.
She slid her hands under his, to get them warm, maybe. Whatever the reason, he was glad she was doing it. Her hands felt so small in his, so delicate.
So cold.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go inside? Your hands are like ice.”
“A few more minutes, please? I love it out here.”
So did he. And with much more of this, she’d see exactly how much he loved having her plastered against his body, regardless of how cold it was. He tried to move so his beginning arousal wasn’t quite so obvious.