The shadow disappears. He picks up Fifty Shades of Grey and winks. “You can keep the quill, I’ll use my pen.”
We sign side by side, our thighs touching. He picks up his barrage of questions about me. Since Powell’s, he has bombarded me with everything from trivia to Rorschach analysis. As I answer his questions, I’m really wondering how I can wheedle information out of him. Despite my valiant efforts at Powell’s (“I’ve already read these books, Elisa, this is for you.”), on our drive back (“Benson needs silence in the car, Elisa.”) and during dinner (“It’s not advisable for one to talk while chewing, Elisa.”), Aiden remains more elusive than Element 115.
“Favorite vacation?” The interrogation continues as he signs A Tale of Two Cities.
“I plead the fifth.”
“You what?” he smiles.
“I plead the fifth. I’m not answering one more question about myself until you tell me something about you. And what’s more, I will quit my painting,” I threaten, using what little leverage I have.
“We can’t have that.” He signs The Secret Garden and sets his pen down. He takes a sip of wine. His eyes tighten but he smiles. “Fine, what would you like to know?”
I’m so stunned by the invitation that the quill drips on The Arabian Nights and the question fires unfiltered. “Why is there nothing personal about you anywhere?”
“Because by definition, such a thing would no longer be personal.”
“Where do you go when you want to get away?”
“I can’t really get away, as we’ve already established.” He taps his temple. His voice hardens so I move on to safer territory before he shuts down again.
“Who is your best friend?”
The smile remains unaffected. He picks up his pen and signs A Farewell to Arms.
“Marshall.”
I grin as I get the first real answer from him. Something as normal as a best friend. “Does Marshall live around here?” I have a strong desire for the answer to be yes. Not necessarily for me to meet him but because it means someone can break through Aiden’s walls and be by his side.
He takes another sip of wine and signs Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. “No.”
Oh! “Do you see him often?”
“Not like I wish.” He signs The Birth of Venus and stands. “Would you like your dessert? I’m sure you’ll find it more enriching than my friendships.” Without waiting for my answer, he strides to the kitchen.
“I doubt that,” I say, following him. He has moved so fast that he is already at the cabinets. I take a seat at the breakfast bar. I’m about to ask how long he has known Marshall when he turns with a smile.
“Not even Baci?” he says, holding a dome of silver chocolates, stacked neatly on a silver platter, framed by apple slices.
A gasp leaves my lips. How many Baci are there? One, two, three, four—
Aiden’s laugh drowns my arithmetic. He sets the platter in front of me.
“Thirty,” he says.
My stomach twists and burns, as though an ulcer erupted there. “What did you say?” I whisper.
He frowns. “Thirty? Er—I have more if you want? What are you thinking here? Sixty? One hundred?” For the first time since I’ve heard it, his voice is confused. The timbre is so endearing that I tear my eyes from the silver chocolate tower and glue them on him.
He is still frowning. “I can see if the company that makes them is for sale?” he offers, perfectly serious. It’s enough to make me laugh. Aiden Hale may have a genius brain but a girl’s obsession with him is clearly beyond his deductive powers.
I grip his shirt collar and kiss him.
“Let’s start with thirty,” I say even though “starting” has nothing to do with it.
He cups my face, his lips and tongue surpassing mine. His heartbeat is thumping under my hand. Suddenly, he pulls back and watches me. His eyes are utterly still. It’s not until I see them free of movement that I wonder whether for once he is not remembering.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “An errant thought. Would you like more wine?”
“Actually, some warm milk, if you don’t mind,” I mumble because my brain is fully occupied with deciphering the look on his face.
“Milk?” He smiles.
I nod. I have an ulterior motive for this. Milk helps me with nightmares and I am not having another one tonight.
“Okay, milk it is.”
He opens the fridge, pours milk out of the carton in two crystal tumblers and warms it in the microwave. I snap a picture with my camera.
He narrows his eyes. “Why do you take so many pictures, Elisa?”
“End of an era,” I answer truthfully.
He takes the glasses out of the microwave, eyes on me. It’s disconcerting that he never has to look at what he is doing. He sits next to me, hands me my glass and clicks his to mine.
“To new eras,” he says.
“And to the old ones.” I smile, unable to toast to the new epoch ahead of me. I reach for the Baci tower, picking the top chocolate and resolving to save the rest for each of my remaining days.
“Share one with me?” I ask him.
“Can you spare it?”