Ambrose reached for her then and pulled her into his arms. The embrace was awkward, the gear shift sticking up between them, but Fern laid her head on his shoulder and Ambrose smoothed her hair, amazed at how much better if felt to give comfort than receive it. He'd been on the receiving end of care and comfort from Elliott and his mother, as well as his hospital staff for many long months. But since the attack, he had never given comfort, never offered a shoulder to cry on, never burdened the weight of someone else's grief.
After a while, Fern pulled away, wiping her eyes. Ambrose hadn't spoken, hadn't revealed his own feelings or responded to her professions of love. He hoped she didn't expect it. He had no idea how he felt. Right now, he was tied up in a million knots, and he couldn't say things he didn't mean, just to make the moment easier. But he marveled at her courage to speak, and beneath his confusion and despair, he believed her. He believed she did love him. And that humbled him. Maybe someday, as the knots became unraveled, this moment would wrap around him, tying him to her. Or maybe her love would simply loosen the strings, freeing him to walk away.
Strangely, with Fern's confession, a new peace settled between them. Ambrose didn't constantly try to hide his face or cower in the kitchen. He smiled more. He laughed. And Fern found that he was a bit of a tease. There were even some nights, after the store closed, when he would seek her out. One night he found her still at her register, immersed in a love scene.
Fern had been reading romances since she was thirteen years old. She had fallen in love with Gilbert Blythe from Anne of Green Gables and was hungry to fall in love like that over and over again. And then she discovered Harlequin. Her mother would have croaked face first into her herbal mint tea if she’d known how many forbidden romances Fern consumed the summer before eighth grade, and Fern had had a million book boyfriends since then.
Ambrose grabbed Fern's book from her hands and immediately opened it to where Fern was reading. She grabbed at him, mortification flooding her, not wanting him to see what had so captured her attention. He just held the book up in front of his face and wrapped one arm around her, effectively pinning her as if she were five years old. He was like a big ox, immovable and brawny, and all Fern's squirming to free her arms and retrieve the book was entirely useless. Fern gave up and hung her head in dejection. The heat from her cheeks radiated out around her face and she held her breath, waiting for him to howl in laughter. Ambrose read in silence for several minutes
“Huh.” Ambrose sounded a little flummoxed. “So . . . that was interesting.” His arm loosened slightly, and Fern ducked out beneath it, tucking a stray curl behind her ear and busily looking at everything except Ambrose.
“What's interesting?” she asked breezily, as if she hadn't been wracked with embarrassment only seconds before.
“Do you read a lot of this kind of thing?” Ambrose countered with a question of his own.
“Hey, don't knock it 'til you've tried it!” Fern said meekly and shrugged as if she wasn't dying inside.
“But that's just it.” Ambrose poked Fern in the side with one long finger. She squirmed again and slapped at his hand. “You haven't tried it, any of it . . . have you?”
Fern's eyes shot to his and her lips parted on a gasp.
“Have you?” Ambrose asked, his eyes locked on hers.
“Tried what?” Fern's voice was a shocked hiss.
“Well, let me see.” Ambrose thumbed through a couple of pages. “How about this?” He started reading slowly, his deep voice rumbling in his chest, the sound making Fern's heart pound like a frantic drummer.
“. . . he pushed her back against the pillows, and ran his hands along her bare skin, his eyes following where his hands had been. Her breasts rose in fevered anticipation . . .”
Fern swatted at the book desperately and managed to dislodge it this time, sending the book careening across several registers and landing in the back of a shopping cart.
“You've tried that?” Ambrose's expression was deadly serious, the corners of his mouth flattened in consternation. But his good eye gleamed, and Fern knew he was silently laughing at her.
“Yes!” Fern blustered, “I have! Many times, actually. It's . . . it's wonderful! I love it!” She grabbed a spray bottle and a rag from beneath the counter by her register and immediately started squirting and scrubbing away at her already pristine workspace.
Ambrose drew close and whispered in her ear, making the tendrils that had escaped from her ponytail tickle her cheeks as he spoke. “With who?”
Fern stopped scrubbing and looked up furiously, her face only inches from his.
“Stop it, Ambrose! You're embarrassing me.”
“I know, Fern.” Ambrose chuckled, revealing his endearingly lopsided grin. “And I can't help it. You're just so damn cute.”