raised her fork to her mouth,
noticing only as she closed her lips around the tines that he was
watching her intently. The cheesecake went down like gravel. "I
mean, Peter had ever so much more fun."
"There's fun to be had in living and
working. In doing something you love and producing something that
will show the world you were here. That you really
existed."
"Isn't it enough to exist?" she asked.
"Why do you have to prove anything?"
Gaelen smiled, "Maybe because..." He
puffed a chuckle. "I guess it must be a man thing. Live, work,
die." He scraped at the crumbs on his plate. "Maybe it's a fear
that I could disappear and no one would ever know I'd been
here."
Annabelle could hear there was more to
his fear than just not accomplishing anything in his
life.
"But, Gaelen, you are. You don't need
anybody's belief to make it so."
"That is a comforting thought. I'll
have to put it to the test sometime."
His words carried a heavy dose of
irony. Anxious to put him at ease again, she asked about the
subject obviously closest to his heart.
"So what exactly does a professor of
Celtic Lit do?"
He looked up from his plate. "Sure you
want to open up this topic? I'm just a man, dear, and very likely
to go on for hours once a beautiful woman shows interest in my
work."
"I'll take the chance."
A smile lit his face. "Well, I work in
the language department, actually. I pour Old, Middle and Modern
Irish into the sponge-like minds of my eager students." He looked
into her eyes to make sure she got his joke. "And I also teach in
the Medieval Studies department."
Well, she'd gotten him started. She'd
never had much interest in Ireland, but found herself caught up in
his passion for the subject.
"In fact," he said, stabbing his fork
in the air, "if it weren't for Ireland and her monasteries, there
would have been no Renaissance. Everything would have been
forgotten in the Dark Ages." He stopped suddenly and smiled,
clearly embarrassed. "Sorry. I didn't mean to get carried
away."
"Don't apologize, it's
fascinating."
He smirked a grin. "You're kind.
There's nothing more boring than a professor spoutin' off on his
area of study. And nothing less called for during an intimate
dinner with a lovely lady."
He'd done it again. He'd made her the
center of discussion. Though she couldn't say she minded how he did
it. Charming didn't begin to describe him.
A moment or two of silence passed
before he made her reporter's instincts twitch to life again with
an entirely innocent question.
"I don't suppose you've heard anything
of Lucas?" he asked.
Annabelle chuckled. "Don't you have
your brother's phone number, Dr. Riley? Why don't you just call him
if you want to talk to him."
He smiled, and the effect it had on her
wasn't even decent.
"Well, as I said before, Miss Tinker,
my brother seems to have forgotten how to return a
call."
He raised his coffee to his lips,
sipping slowly.
In the extending silence, Annabelle had
to fight the urge to talk. It was a clever reporter's trick, one
she'd used herself, and she admired the smooth way he'd done
it.
"Why do you keep asking me that
question? I assure you, if I'd seen Lucas today, I'd have told
you."
Something flickered across his eyes.
Irritation? Humor?
She decided on the latter when his
smile returned, and he reached over to her cheesecake, digging his
fork in to steal a bite. He shoved it into his mouth and ate it
with a sly smile. Lasciviously licking his lips, he raised his
coffee and sipped again.
"I suppose you've been too busy caring
for your sister to have heard the story circulating about town?" He
paused for an instant, as though waiting for an answer. A deep,
warm chuckle rumbled from his chest and he went on. "It seems
Erin's first story was that my brother had been taken by
aliens."
Annabelle laughed with him, as though
it was the funniest thing she'd ever heard.
"Aliens? Oh, well..." To hide the fact
she had nothing to say, she sat back and sipped her
coffee.
"So, do you
noticing only as she closed her lips around the tines that he was
watching her intently. The cheesecake went down like gravel. "I
mean, Peter had ever so much more fun."
"There's fun to be had in living and
working. In doing something you love and producing something that
will show the world you were here. That you really
existed."
"Isn't it enough to exist?" she asked.
"Why do you have to prove anything?"
Gaelen smiled, "Maybe because..." He
puffed a chuckle. "I guess it must be a man thing. Live, work,
die." He scraped at the crumbs on his plate. "Maybe it's a fear
that I could disappear and no one would ever know I'd been
here."
Annabelle could hear there was more to
his fear than just not accomplishing anything in his
life.
"But, Gaelen, you are. You don't need
anybody's belief to make it so."
"That is a comforting thought. I'll
have to put it to the test sometime."
His words carried a heavy dose of
irony. Anxious to put him at ease again, she asked about the
subject obviously closest to his heart.
"So what exactly does a professor of
Celtic Lit do?"
He looked up from his plate. "Sure you
want to open up this topic? I'm just a man, dear, and very likely
to go on for hours once a beautiful woman shows interest in my
work."
"I'll take the chance."
A smile lit his face. "Well, I work in
the language department, actually. I pour Old, Middle and Modern
Irish into the sponge-like minds of my eager students." He looked
into her eyes to make sure she got his joke. "And I also teach in
the Medieval Studies department."
Well, she'd gotten him started. She'd
never had much interest in Ireland, but found herself caught up in
his passion for the subject.
"In fact," he said, stabbing his fork
in the air, "if it weren't for Ireland and her monasteries, there
would have been no Renaissance. Everything would have been
forgotten in the Dark Ages." He stopped suddenly and smiled,
clearly embarrassed. "Sorry. I didn't mean to get carried
away."
"Don't apologize, it's
fascinating."
He smirked a grin. "You're kind.
There's nothing more boring than a professor spoutin' off on his
area of study. And nothing less called for during an intimate
dinner with a lovely lady."
He'd done it again. He'd made her the
center of discussion. Though she couldn't say she minded how he did
it. Charming didn't begin to describe him.
A moment or two of silence passed
before he made her reporter's instincts twitch to life again with
an entirely innocent question.
"I don't suppose you've heard anything
of Lucas?" he asked.
Annabelle chuckled. "Don't you have
your brother's phone number, Dr. Riley? Why don't you just call him
if you want to talk to him."
He smiled, and the effect it had on her
wasn't even decent.
"Well, as I said before, Miss Tinker,
my brother seems to have forgotten how to return a
call."
He raised his coffee to his lips,
sipping slowly.
In the extending silence, Annabelle had
to fight the urge to talk. It was a clever reporter's trick, one
she'd used herself, and she admired the smooth way he'd done
it.
"Why do you keep asking me that
question? I assure you, if I'd seen Lucas today, I'd have told
you."
Something flickered across his eyes.
Irritation? Humor?
She decided on the latter when his
smile returned, and he reached over to her cheesecake, digging his
fork in to steal a bite. He shoved it into his mouth and ate it
with a sly smile. Lasciviously licking his lips, he raised his
coffee and sipped again.
"I suppose you've been too busy caring
for your sister to have heard the story circulating about town?" He
paused for an instant, as though waiting for an answer. A deep,
warm chuckle rumbled from his chest and he went on. "It seems
Erin's first story was that my brother had been taken by
aliens."
Annabelle laughed with him, as though
it was the funniest thing she'd ever heard.
"Aliens? Oh, well..." To hide the fact
she had nothing to say, she sat back and sipped her
coffee.
"So, do you
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