Chapter 5 #3
Then he found the words and the courage to say, “I’m not all that sure how I feel about this. About you involving yourself in investigations again.”
He’d hoped that Oliver’s birth would put an end to her engaging in potentially dangerous endeavors, yet even as he’d hoped, some part of him had known it was unlikely, had known that her questing mind would need the stimulation he himself found in solving crimes.
It was what had brought them together, and their natures hadn’t changed with their baby’s birth.
She didn’t immediately respond, but neither did she stiffen in his arms. After a moment, she raised one hand and drew her gold-rimmed spectacles from her face.
Then she tipped her head back and to the side so she could look into his face; at such close quarters she didn’t need her glasses to study his features, to read his eyes.
Several heartbeats passed while she did, then she said, “I wasn’t sure about it, either. ”
Not knowing how to interpret that, he waited, and after a second’s pause, she went on, “When Oliver was born, I wondered if he would fill my life to the exclusion of all else, certainly of things like investigating. But now . . . I think that that isn’t how it goes. How life evolves.”
She held his gaze. “I feel as if my life has expanded—as if there’s more space to be filled, as if Oliver being born to us created a new field in our lives.
I’ve realized that, at least for me, and I hope for you, too, life isn’t fixed, static, of finite girth.
But while over the months since his birth I’ve been absorbed with acclimating myself to the new arena that Oliver inhabits, I’ve neglected the other areas of my life.
But they’re still there, and I still need them to be.
They’re still a part of me, of who I am—a part of what makes me me, and they’re aspects, facets, I still need in order to be me.
” She looked questioningly at him. “If that makes sense?”
He looked into her dark eyes. “I’ve followed so far—it’s an interesting hypothesis.”
“Yes, well.” She waved her glasses. “Clearly, having Oliver has changed things for me, and for you, too, although to different degrees and possibly in different ways, and those changes flow through to how we manage in all other areas of our lives.” She paused, then faced forward and settled against him once more.
“I feel as if, overall, my life is a trifle out of balance, especially in the area of my other interests, which includes investigating. I need to find a new balance, so to speak, but exactly what that will be . . .” She glanced up and met his eyes again.
“I think it’s one of those things one can only determine by trial and error. ”
He held her gaze, then murmured, “So we try with this latest case?”
She turned within his hold, raising her arms and draping them about his shoulders, her small hands drifting to his nape. “We try. And if at first we don’t exactly succeed perfectly, we adjust.” Her eyes on his, she tilted her head. “Will you work with me to find our new balance?”
Looking into her face, he realized that, since embarking on this case, she’d been more engaged, somehow more alive in a way he hadn’t known he’d missed until it had returned.
His impulse, as always, was to give her anything, agree to anything that contributed to her happiness, her well-being, a compulsion tempered only by his protective instincts.
His protective instincts didn’t like her being anywhere near anything dangerous—like investigations.
Balance.
She had it right.
He nodded. “So . . . trial, possible error, and subsequent adjustment.”
She smiled, a brilliant smile shaded with understanding. “Thank you.”
Stretching up, one hand gripping his nape, the other framing his face, she pressed her lips to his. Any doubt he possessed that she didn’t understand, that she hadn’t understood exactly what thoughts, what considerations and reservations had passed through his mind, was eradicated by that kiss.
That they were together in this, that they would face the challenge side by side, hand in hand, was underscored by all that followed.
Later, much later, when she snuggled deeper into his arms and they settled to sleep, he lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. “Together, we’ll find our way.”
Well! That was much easier than I’d imagined.” He felt slightly giddy—with relief, with satisfaction, with the fading remnants of the illicit thrill of the act; his hand shook as he lit the wick of the lamp in his dressing room.
Once the flame had steadied, he replaced the glass, then looked down at his clothes, examining them carefully in the golden light. It was after midnight; all about him was silent and still. Only he stirred in this time between one day and the next.
Satisfied there were no telltale signs, he set about shedding his clothes.
Along with his conscience.
“There was no help for it, really, not once the old girl had started the ball rolling. I could hardly let it go on. If she’d just let things be, but no—she had to do the right thing and get her affairs in order . . . bah!”
Donning his nightshirt, he checked his face in his shaving mirror, as he did every night.
And as often happened when he did, doubts rose like phantoms in his mind. His eyes locked with those in his reflection, then he murmured, “If she’d spoken to her agent . . . she would have discussed doing so, wouldn’t she?”
After a moment, his features contorted and he straightened. “Damn! I’m not safe yet.”