Read Online Lost in Thought by Cara Bertrand - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Cara Bertrand
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effortless and as if he enjoyed it, including mundane tasks like shelving the new magazine issues.
As he was hauling off the last stack of outdated magazines, I heard him say, “I’m going to take a break now, Aunt Mel,” when he passed where she was perched at the counter, reading a newspaper.
She actually glanced at me, which necessitated a quick duck of my eyes into my book, laughed, which told me I hadn’t been quick enough, and said affectionately, “No problem, Cartwright. I’ll hold off the hordes of customers.”
Melinda Revell bore a good amount of family resemblance to Carter. She had the same naturally wavy, not-quite-blonde-or-brown hair, a sort of caramel color, and similar blue eyes, plus a dusting of freckles that made her more cute than pretty and very approachable.
She smiled often, and genuinely, her eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that made her even more likeable.
When Carter reentered the lounge area for his break, he headed straight for me, carrying a small load of firewood under one arm and a
54 | C A R A B E R T R A N D
book under the other. “Penny for your thoughts,” he said mildly, as he set his book, a thick tome of what looked like short stories by Russian authors, on the table and stacked the logs in the low-burning fireplace.
“Sorry, not available. My thoughts are far more valuable than a penny,” I replied with a smile.
He turned from the fire and gave me that measured look again, for the second time in one visit, before saying, “I’m sure they are.” He sat down on my sofa, perhaps a little closer to me than was absolutely necessary, I noted with internal delight.
I stuck my finger in my own book and rested it in my lap. “Who was the original Cartwright anyway?”
“A grandfather many greats removed,” he replied. “He was famous, you know; invented the power loom. Quite a namesake to live up to, but I’m trying. Who was Elaine, Elaine?”
“My mother’s great-grandmother, or so Aunt Tessa tells me. She wasn’t famous though. My middle name is Rachel,” I added, “but I don’t know who she was, if anyone.”
Surprising me exceedingly, he said, “In the Bible, Rachel was a thief. What have you stolen lately, Lainey Rachel Young?”
Surprising myself even more, I said, “This,” and leaned over and kissed him lightly on the cheek.
To my relief, he looked surprised but not horrified, and thoughtfully touched the spot where my lips had touched him. Once more I got the look. “No, that was given freely. But it won’t stop me from asking you to return it someday, at a time of my choosing,” he added playfully, along with one of his dangerous smiles for good measure.
Very quietly, from the area of the windows, I heard the most delicate of derisive coughs. I’d completely forgotten about Jill’s presence, and that she was kind-of-maybe Carter’s girlfriend. But Carter was sitting with me . Confused, I leaned over and in a low voice started to say, “Carter, can I ask…” when he chuckled.
L O S T I N T H O U G H T | 55
“No,” he said.
“I’m sorry. Forget it.”
“No,” he repeated, and continued softly, “that’s not what I meant.
I meant, ‘No, Jillian’s not my girlfriend,’ despite what you might have heard. And I’m not gay, either,” he added, “in case you heard that one too.”
I blushed. “I…hadn’t heard that second one. But Jill, yeah, there’s, um, some healthy debate about your relationship, I guess you could say.”
He laughed. “Well, I’ve heard some not so subtle speculation about the second one since I haven’t accepted a few, ah, slightly more than friendly advances from some of your classmates. But it’s not that I’m not flattered, by the advances, I mean, not that I care if anyone thinks I’m gay either. Well most anyone anyway. It’s just that I try to resist dating Academy girls, since I kind of went there and I’ve always worked here. Most of the time I think they see me as
As he was hauling off the last stack of outdated magazines, I heard him say, “I’m going to take a break now, Aunt Mel,” when he passed where she was perched at the counter, reading a newspaper.
She actually glanced at me, which necessitated a quick duck of my eyes into my book, laughed, which told me I hadn’t been quick enough, and said affectionately, “No problem, Cartwright. I’ll hold off the hordes of customers.”
Melinda Revell bore a good amount of family resemblance to Carter. She had the same naturally wavy, not-quite-blonde-or-brown hair, a sort of caramel color, and similar blue eyes, plus a dusting of freckles that made her more cute than pretty and very approachable.
She smiled often, and genuinely, her eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that made her even more likeable.
When Carter reentered the lounge area for his break, he headed straight for me, carrying a small load of firewood under one arm and a
54 | C A R A B E R T R A N D
book under the other. “Penny for your thoughts,” he said mildly, as he set his book, a thick tome of what looked like short stories by Russian authors, on the table and stacked the logs in the low-burning fireplace.
“Sorry, not available. My thoughts are far more valuable than a penny,” I replied with a smile.
He turned from the fire and gave me that measured look again, for the second time in one visit, before saying, “I’m sure they are.” He sat down on my sofa, perhaps a little closer to me than was absolutely necessary, I noted with internal delight.
I stuck my finger in my own book and rested it in my lap. “Who was the original Cartwright anyway?”
“A grandfather many greats removed,” he replied. “He was famous, you know; invented the power loom. Quite a namesake to live up to, but I’m trying. Who was Elaine, Elaine?”
“My mother’s great-grandmother, or so Aunt Tessa tells me. She wasn’t famous though. My middle name is Rachel,” I added, “but I don’t know who she was, if anyone.”
Surprising me exceedingly, he said, “In the Bible, Rachel was a thief. What have you stolen lately, Lainey Rachel Young?”
Surprising myself even more, I said, “This,” and leaned over and kissed him lightly on the cheek.
To my relief, he looked surprised but not horrified, and thoughtfully touched the spot where my lips had touched him. Once more I got the look. “No, that was given freely. But it won’t stop me from asking you to return it someday, at a time of my choosing,” he added playfully, along with one of his dangerous smiles for good measure.
Very quietly, from the area of the windows, I heard the most delicate of derisive coughs. I’d completely forgotten about Jill’s presence, and that she was kind-of-maybe Carter’s girlfriend. But Carter was sitting with me . Confused, I leaned over and in a low voice started to say, “Carter, can I ask…” when he chuckled.
L O S T I N T H O U G H T | 55
“No,” he said.
“I’m sorry. Forget it.”
“No,” he repeated, and continued softly, “that’s not what I meant.
I meant, ‘No, Jillian’s not my girlfriend,’ despite what you might have heard. And I’m not gay, either,” he added, “in case you heard that one too.”
I blushed. “I…hadn’t heard that second one. But Jill, yeah, there’s, um, some healthy debate about your relationship, I guess you could say.”
He laughed. “Well, I’ve heard some not so subtle speculation about the second one since I haven’t accepted a few, ah, slightly more than friendly advances from some of your classmates. But it’s not that I’m not flattered, by the advances, I mean, not that I care if anyone thinks I’m gay either. Well most anyone anyway. It’s just that I try to resist dating Academy girls, since I kind of went there and I’ve always worked here. Most of the time I think they see me as
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