Read Online Leave a Mark by Stephanie Fournet - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Stephanie Fournet
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declared that there were too many and tossed them all in the trash. With a blank canvas, he’d start all over again.
He tore open the envelope without looking at the return address, so when he saw the drawing of a black, white, and orange cat on the card’s cover, his breath caught. In colored pencil, Agnes preened, her nose and whiskers pointing up in a look of self-satisfaction. Lee opened the card, already captivated.
Dear Dr. Hawthorne,
Thank you for returning my housekeeper to me after her unacceptable absence last week. Though she is moving more slowly than usual, she seems to have suffered no permanent damage — at least none that would prevent her from fulfilling her responsibilities to me. Therefore, I will keep her — for now. However, if you are ever looking for a new position, I would be happy to consider your application. The meal you prepared for me tasted better than any I can remember. Moreover, your skills with the litterbox trowel are most impressive!
If there is any way I or my housekeeper can repay you for your services, please do not hesitate to contact either of us.
Most sincerely,
Agnes J. Cat
Lee couldn’t hold in his smile. Around the slanted script of the note, four small drawings of Agnes scampered and played. Along the text in the top right corner, an image of her stretched out on her belly peered below as though the first line of the note were a shelf. Standing on her hind quarters in the left-hand margin, Agnes tapped the D on Dear with her left paw. She sat, cleaning one paw beneath the last sentence, and below her signature, Agnes curled up into a tight, napping ball.
The note was like a storybook in that he believed it had been written by a fastidious and demanding cat, even though he knew Wren was the author. It was like magic, as though it were a spell, and he felt better. For a number of reasons.
Lee knew that he shouldn’t, but he’d thought about Wren all week. And when he had, it had been like pressing his face into a rabbit fur coat. Soft. Exquisite. Guilt-inducing. But guilty or not, he couldn’t help himself. Someone as rare and wild and lovely as Wren Blanchard existed in the world, and this was reason enough to lose himself for a moment or two.
He had so many questions about her. Did she blush like that all the time? At work and with her friends? Or had he just embarrassed her? He thought back to the moments in the ER when she’d cursed with abandon. Her frankness about judging others as they drove. Her honesty and sass were refreshing. And when he’d stepped into her apartment and seen evidence of her work, he’d been moved. He’d never considered how sensual the job of a tattoo artist had to be. She was an artist just like any painter or sculptor, a perfectionist and a dreamer, but her canvas was the body.
But maybe his preoccupation with her had more to do with Marcelle and what happened after their dinner at Tsunami.
At the restaurant, Lee had been civil to his parents and his girlfriend — any display of anger would have earned his father’s disdain — and he’d been civil on the way home afterward when he told Marcelle it wasn’t a good idea for her to stay the night. He’d only become uncivil when she accused him of being passive-aggressive…
“And you’ve been underhanded and manipulative,” he said before getting out of his Jeep and walking around to her side to open the door. When she emerged, he went to her Miata and opened her driver’s side door without a word.
Her look of shock shouldn’t have gratified him, but it did…
They hadn’t spoken since. Lee knew that Marcelle was irate at being dismissed. Although he’d gotten over her breach, he wasn’t ready to apologize to her. And that was usually how reconciliations between them began.
Maybe if he waited her out this time, they’d make progress as a couple.
Taking one last appreciative look, he tucked the thank-you note into his coat pocket and made his
He tore open the envelope without looking at the return address, so when he saw the drawing of a black, white, and orange cat on the card’s cover, his breath caught. In colored pencil, Agnes preened, her nose and whiskers pointing up in a look of self-satisfaction. Lee opened the card, already captivated.
Dear Dr. Hawthorne,
Thank you for returning my housekeeper to me after her unacceptable absence last week. Though she is moving more slowly than usual, she seems to have suffered no permanent damage — at least none that would prevent her from fulfilling her responsibilities to me. Therefore, I will keep her — for now. However, if you are ever looking for a new position, I would be happy to consider your application. The meal you prepared for me tasted better than any I can remember. Moreover, your skills with the litterbox trowel are most impressive!
If there is any way I or my housekeeper can repay you for your services, please do not hesitate to contact either of us.
Most sincerely,
Agnes J. Cat
Lee couldn’t hold in his smile. Around the slanted script of the note, four small drawings of Agnes scampered and played. Along the text in the top right corner, an image of her stretched out on her belly peered below as though the first line of the note were a shelf. Standing on her hind quarters in the left-hand margin, Agnes tapped the D on Dear with her left paw. She sat, cleaning one paw beneath the last sentence, and below her signature, Agnes curled up into a tight, napping ball.
The note was like a storybook in that he believed it had been written by a fastidious and demanding cat, even though he knew Wren was the author. It was like magic, as though it were a spell, and he felt better. For a number of reasons.
Lee knew that he shouldn’t, but he’d thought about Wren all week. And when he had, it had been like pressing his face into a rabbit fur coat. Soft. Exquisite. Guilt-inducing. But guilty or not, he couldn’t help himself. Someone as rare and wild and lovely as Wren Blanchard existed in the world, and this was reason enough to lose himself for a moment or two.
He had so many questions about her. Did she blush like that all the time? At work and with her friends? Or had he just embarrassed her? He thought back to the moments in the ER when she’d cursed with abandon. Her frankness about judging others as they drove. Her honesty and sass were refreshing. And when he’d stepped into her apartment and seen evidence of her work, he’d been moved. He’d never considered how sensual the job of a tattoo artist had to be. She was an artist just like any painter or sculptor, a perfectionist and a dreamer, but her canvas was the body.
But maybe his preoccupation with her had more to do with Marcelle and what happened after their dinner at Tsunami.
At the restaurant, Lee had been civil to his parents and his girlfriend — any display of anger would have earned his father’s disdain — and he’d been civil on the way home afterward when he told Marcelle it wasn’t a good idea for her to stay the night. He’d only become uncivil when she accused him of being passive-aggressive…
“And you’ve been underhanded and manipulative,” he said before getting out of his Jeep and walking around to her side to open the door. When she emerged, he went to her Miata and opened her driver’s side door without a word.
Her look of shock shouldn’t have gratified him, but it did…
They hadn’t spoken since. Lee knew that Marcelle was irate at being dismissed. Although he’d gotten over her breach, he wasn’t ready to apologize to her. And that was usually how reconciliations between them began.
Maybe if he waited her out this time, they’d make progress as a couple.
Taking one last appreciative look, he tucked the thank-you note into his coat pocket and made his
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