“Worth a shot,” I said with a shrug.
Her expression turned somber. “The thing is, Brooklyn, I want the book out of my life.”
“Then give it to me,” I said instantly. “I’ll give it to the Covington Library and you won’t ever have to deal with it again.”
“But I would still feel a connection to it.”
I started to argue but noticed her eyes were bright with tears. “What do you mean?”
She swirled her wine a little self-consciously. “I found the book with a bunch of other stuff I’ve been holding on to for years. Silly things that I haven’t been able to let go of all this time. It’s taken me years to figure out what my life’s all about, and I think those stupid little mementos have been weighing me down psychologically. I figure it’s time for me to shed some of that baggage and fly free. Starting with this book.”
Coming from someone else, her insightful words might’ve caused me to contemplate my own psychological baggage. But in truth, she sounded so much like our wacky, astral-traveling mother that I just had to smile. “Okay, little birdbrain. I’ll clean up your book and help you find your wings.”
We laughed together, but inwardly I was sighing. It was too bad that the delicate old cookbook would be returned to Baxter. Did he know how valuable the book was? Apparently not, if he’d given it away in the first place. That made it even more irritating that my sister intended to hand the precious book back to him.
On the bright side, though, the book was mine to enjoy for the next two weeks and I was already making plans for it. First I would photocopy the fragile pages and read them for fun. And in my head, I was already sketching out the design for a unique, masculine case in which to house the book. At some point during the week, I wanted to run over to the Covington Library to let Ian check out the cookbook.
Curious, I unwrapped the book once more and carefully paged through the recipes. I was tempted to try out some of those old-fashioned recipes on Derek. He was English, after all. Wouldn’t he enjoy some original down-home English cooking? Perhaps something pickled? Or fricasseed? Maybe a lovely syllabub? There were only a few ingredients in a syllabub, and the directions made it sound easy. Did I dare? Why not? I was sure I could whip one up for Derek, as soon as I figured out exactly what in the world a syllabub was.
Chapter Two
A good dinner will be ever preferable to a bad one.
—The Cookbook of Obedience Green
As Savannah regaled me with the latest gossip from Dharma, I felt a subtle vibration radiate up from the floor, causing my feet to tingle. “Derek’s home.”
“He is?” Savannah looked around.
“Can’t you feel the building shake?”
“No.” She paused. “Oh, wait. I can feel something, like, it’s kind of…shivering.”
“That’s it.”
“That’s Derek?” Her eyes widened. “He makes the building shiver?”
“No, nutball,” I said, laughing. “It’s the elevator. Whenever it starts moving, it shakes the building a little.”
She smirked. “Nice selling point.”
“I think so.” I liked the shaking because it meant that nobody could sneak up on me in my own home. “I’m pretty sure Derek’s on the elevator.”
My six-story loft building had begun life as a corset factory back in the 1900s. When it was converted into modern, loft-style condominiums a few years ago, the developers updated everything except some of the more charming vintage features. Those included the old freight elevator with its worn, thick wood plank floor and collapsible iron gate that expanded or folded up to let passengers in and out. It was indeed a selling point.
Whenever the heavy lift began its ascent from the garage, everyone living here could feel it. While it had alarmed some of my neighbors initially, I found the advance warning comforting after a number of unwelcome strangers had tried to invade my home over the last year.
Savannah opened the pantry and grabbed a box of crackers to munch on. “Glad to know Derek’s not so superhuman that he causes an entire building to tremble.”
“Shows you what you know,” I murmured, then snickered when she smacked my arm.
“Stop bragging,” she whined. “I’ve become a sex-starved spinster in my old age.”
“You just work too hard,” I said. “Besides, we’re practically the same age, so let’s shut up about being old.” I went still as I heard the click of my front door lock. Even knowing it had to be Derek, I found the sound was momentarily disconcerting.
“It’s me, darling,” he called out immediately, knowing I still worried about someone breaking into my place. Which made him totally superhuman in my book.
“‘Darling,’” Savannah whispered on a sigh. “Isn’t he romantic? Especially with that accent.”