Part 31 (1/2)

”Hey, beauty.” His voice is a warm, gentle current sliding right around my heart.

”Hi, professor.” I reach out to put my hand on his chest. ”You came back.”

”I will always come back to you.”

Fresh tears sting my eyes. Uncaring that he's drenched, I move closer and slide my arms around his waist. He folds his arms around me. Rainwater seeps from his clothes into my T-s.h.i.+rt, but the sensation of his powerful body against mine, and the delicious, familiar warmth of him, burns away the cold.

I feel my world straightening into balance again, a palpable s.h.i.+ft beneath my feet, securing me to the earth, to myself, to this man.

Only when a chill ripples over my skin do I lift my head to look up at him.

”Nicholas is sleeping in the office, but there are extra clothes in the backroom. You should find something that fits you.”

Dean picks up my hand and presses a kiss to my palm before twining his fingers through mine. We go into the cafe and I pull on a dry s.h.i.+rt before checking on Nicholas again. Dean emerges from the backroom in sweatpants and a black Wonderland Cafe T-s.h.i.+rt. He sits at a stool on the counter as I pour him a cup of hot coffee and refresh my tea.

I set the coffee in front of him, gazing at the thickness of his eyelashes, the way his lips close around the rim of the mug.

”What happened?” I ask quietly.

”The a.s.sembly voted to protect the site. There was a unanimous yes vote from all UN delegates.”

”Oh, Dean.” Pleasure and pride flood me in a wave as I lean across the counter to kiss him. ”Congratulations. You must be thrilled.”

”Yeah, I'm happy about it.” A self-conscious smile tugs at his mouth. ”Now we won't have any trouble with funding or repairing the quake damage. Not to mention, we can keep the entire excavation team intact and work on finding out what else is there.”

I take his hands in mine and squeeze, unable to speak past the sudden lump in my throat. I forget, sometimes, how much I admire this part of Dean's character-the relentless drive to pursue a goal, to get things done not only for himself, but for other people. For history.

”I gave the presentation on Tuesday, and they voted on Wednesday,” he continues. ”Then I had the session on medieval sites all day Thursday and Friday. I figured if I hurried, I could get back here in time for at least part of the festival, so when the last session was over, I caught the next flight out. And here I am.”

Here you are. Right here. As always.

”I thought you were going to Altopascio after the a.s.sembly,” I say.

”I told Simon he'd have to go without me.” Dean shrugs and takes a sip of coffee. ”He was heartbroken, of course.”

”Of course. But I'm sure he'll get over it.”

”Yeah.” Dean sets the mug down and looks at me, his gaze tracking warmly over my face. ”Sorry I couldn't stop the storm for you.”

I smile. I suppose it's about time I also accept the fact that not even my husband can prevent certain kinds of storms.

”I know you would have, if you could have,” I tell him.

Sometimes I wish there was a way to be prepared for everything. Then I remind myself that I was never prepared for the things that set me on the path of my life. And, like a string of pearls, everything is connected. The endless travels with my mother, all the strangers and friends we met along the way, the path to Twelve Oaks and North, then to my aunt Stella. Then Fieldbrook, North again, the University of Wisconsin. Dean. Our son.

”Did you talk to Hans and Simon about the job?” I ask.

”Yeah, we had a few meetings.” Dean rubs a hand through his hair, faint hesitation flas.h.i.+ng across his expression before he says, ”The World Heritage Center committee did formally offer me the a.s.sistant director position.”

A sense of inevitability crashes over me, but not in an unpleasant way. This news isn't a surprise, but it's been an uncertainty. And now, at least, knowing is better than not knowing.

I reach across the counter and put my hand on the side of Dean's neck. The sensation of his heart beating strong and steady against my palm is beautifully rea.s.suring, one of the few things-it seems-that hasn't changed.

”Dean.” Saying his name, too, eases my apprehension. It still tastes smooth and richly sweet, like cherry brandy or b.u.t.ter pecan. ”Congratulations. I knew they'd offer you the job. They courted you so hard because they wanted you so badly.”

A smile tugs at his mouth. ”Like the way I did with you, huh?”

I return his smile. ”But I didn't turn you down.”

”You didn't say yes right away either.”

Silence fills the air between us. My heart thumps.

”So what did you say to the WHC?” I ask.

”I said thank you,” Dean replies. ”But that I couldn't leave King's or Mirror Lake. They told me to look over the employment package and benefits before they accepted my answer. Hans is calling me next week.”

”Have you read the package yet?”

”Yeah. It's pretty incredible. Even included an au pair option, if we want one for Nicholas. Rent, expenses, travel. Everything.”

I'm not sure what to say to that revelation, much less how to feel. I've spent the past few weeks knowing what an extraordinary opportunity this would be for Dean, yet fighting the very idea of changing our lives so drastically.

What about him?

I look at him, the shadows carving over his face, his thick eyelashes and dark eyes I've lost myself in more times than I can count.

I wonder about the numbers of us-how many times we've kissed, how many times I've pressed my hand against his chest, how many times Dean has touched my face or tugged gently at a lock of my hair. How many times he's called me beauty.

”Do you know one of the things I loved about you from the start?” I ask. ”One of the things I still love most about you?”

”The professor thing.”

”Well, that too,” I admit. ”But I also love how you want to know everything. How curious you are... not just about history, but about people, places, and things. And you don't need to travel the world to learn. You were like that before we got married. You read books about religion, art, and politics, you wanted to go to museums and gardens.

”When we were living in Madison, you got involved with the Wisconsin River conservation, and when we were in LA, we ended up in the weirdest places. That mosaic tile house in Venice. The original Bob's Big Boy. The velvet painting museum. No matter where we were, you found something fascinating to learn about.”

Dean keeps watching me, his eyes almost glittering.

”I remember one weekend in Madison when we were hanging out in your apartment,” I continue. ”You were reading a book about the history of cryptography. You were telling me about it, and I totally wasn't getting the point, so you sat down and taught me some nineteenth-century code. Then you wrote me a note in the code and told me to decipher it while you went to make dinner.”

”What did I write?”

”You wrote...” My heart gives a happy little knock of reminiscence. ”Come here, beauty. I need to kiss you.”

He smiles, his eyes creasing at the corners. ”And did you obey?”

”You don't remember?”

”I remember.” His voice deepens. He crooks his finger at me. ”Come here, beauty. I need to kiss you.”