Page 91 of Flirting with Forever

“My Latin’s not great,” she said with a chuckle.

“Nor mine.”

She handed the ring back, letting her fingers brush his palm. “So, you sketch?” She turned the book toward her. Peter wished he had thought to close it.

“A little.”

“You’re quite good.”

He bowed.

Anastasia curled forward and regarded him closely. “Are you and Cam involved?”

At last, the heart of the matter. Or was it? “If you’re looking out for Cam’s best interests, I might suggest starting your work a little closer to home.”

The smile on Anastasia’s face grew tighter. “Touché.”

The cars stopped at the red traffic beacon outside, and the high street filled with people crossing from one side of the street to the other. It was the time of day when workers returned from their jobs. Peter waited for Anastasia to ask him to take Cam off Jacket’s hands, for that would mean Jacket’s heart was not committed, but Peter doubted Jacket had the capacity to be committed, let alone recognize that he was, and it was clear Anastasia had no more interest in Jacket than she would have in a piece of squab pie. Jacket was a carnal first course, to be consumed and forgotten.

“I notice you’re still in Pittsburgh,” she said.

Another burst of travelers. He looked at the shop’s clock. “I’m finishing a project.”

“Is it one Cam’s helping you with?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean by that.”

“You know, putting it in the hands of the right people, bringing it to the attention of critics?”

“Do you think I would use her in that way?”

She took a long sip. “It’s been known to happen.”

“Your concern for your sister is admirable.”

“Look,” she said, “it is possible to be concerned about my sister and fucking her boyfriend at the same time. Cam is too nice, too naive. Men have always used her. It’s the reason I’ve never liked Jacket much. I’m just wondering if it’s the reason I shouldn’t like you.”

There she was.

Cam had stepped into view. She wore a dark orange shirt that set off her hair and a pair of formfitting breeks that made him ache with the memory of their joining. The wind blew harder and she clutched her sides. She hadn’t dressed warmly enough, he thought. He watched her stride across the street, looking up at the sky, then stop when she reached the corner and open her mouth, catching a snowflake on her tongue. Peter’s breath caught. The last person he had known to do that was Ursula.

“Happy news,” he said to Anastasia. “You may choose a different reason for not liking me. That one doesn’t apply.”

But he realized with a start Anastasia wasn’t listening anymore. She had followed his gaze and was watching Cam too. He felt the heat rise above his collar.

Anastasia wheeled back, mouth agape. “You’re in love with her.”

He didn’t answer, couldn’t. His throat had turned to dust. “Pardon me.” He stood, eager to remove himself from her gaze. He ventured to the counter and signaled for another cup. When he had composed himself, he turned back to Anastasia, who was fiddling in her purse. She snapped it closed and gave him a long look. He tried not to let his gaze wander to the orange shirt, still waiting for the signal to cross.

“You being in love with my sister,” Anastasia said when he returned, “that doesn’t work for me. Not at all. Jacket is supposed to be taking her to London, leaving me with the museum directorship. For a while there, I wasn’t sure, but Jacket’s a man, and, well, let’s face it: his ethical system is not exactly sophisticated. Cheating he’s always been able to justify, but cheating with Cam’s sister? That’s a trickier proposition. There’s only one way to make that go down easier in that little pea-sized thing he calls a conscience, and that’s marry her.”

Peter blanched. Anastasia’s machinations sickened him. “And what if I were to let Cam in on your little ruse?”

“Remember what I said about the male ethical system? You may be the opposite of Jacket, but you’re still easy to read. You’d cut out your tongue before you’d tell Cam that Jacket was sleeping with me. But you’re missing my point. You’re a diversion I can’t afford.”

The light turned, and Cam began across the road, this time with an eagerness in her step. Peter wondered why. In an instant he had his answer. Jacket stood on the corner, holding a long camel coat. She slid into it and turned into his arms, almost the movement of two dancers. Then he put his arm around her shoulder, and they walked slowly to the entrance of Cam’s building.

Peter said mournfully, “I don’t think you’re going to have to worry.”