Dolby(20)
Author: Maryann Jordan

 

“Follow me.”

 

It was only two simple words given as an order and not a request, but he leaped to his feet, anxious to see where she was taking him.

 

A door opened from the side of the living room, and as soon as they entered, he was engulfed in a room so different from the stark one they’d just left. Built-in wooden bookshelves filled the back wall of the study, and windows overlooking the ocean view lined the opposite wall. A heavy wooden desk sat in the middle of the room facing the windows, with a desktop and two laptop computers, notebooks, colorful sticky notes, and cups of multicolored pens covering the top. A filing credenza sat opposite the door with a small leather loveseat nearby.

 

The room was lived-in, slightly messy, and was an intimate look at the woman who was now standing in the middle of the room, her gaze holding his. She wasn’t smiling. Instead, her nerves poured from her as she twisted her fingers together again. It struck him that she had invited him into her private space, probably more intimate than where she slept. And he was also hit with the thought that other than her friend, probably no other person had stepped into this room. Christ. The realization of what she presented to him nearly took him to his knees.

 

Finally, dragging his gaze from her eyes, he forced his legs to move. Walking past the desk, he hoped to gain clues as to what she did but wasn’t about to open one of her notebooks or lean too close to see what she’d written on a sticky note or computer screen.

 

The top of the credenza held a collection of bird figurines, and moving closer, he could see they were all doves. Some ceramic and some carved from wood or stone. “You like birds?”

 

She was silent, and he turned to peer over his shoulder at her. Her lips were pressed, rubbing together. He looked back down at the collection.

 

“I like doves,” she finally said.

 

Not wanting to make her nervous, he offered a little smile.

 

“Mourning doves,” she continued, walking next to him and picking one up. “I like their symbolism.”

 

His head cocked to the side as he waited, hoping she would elaborate.

 

“A visit by a mourning dove represents encouragement.” Her gaze held his, and she swallowed deeply. “It’s supposed to be gaining hope from a loved one. Um… one who’s… gone before.”

 

He tried to steady his breath as she opened up a small part of herself, and it was like she was giving a gift to just him. With slightly curved lips, he squeezed her hand and then continued to peruse the room.

 

When he turned, the bookcase captured his attention next. His breath halted in his throat as he stared at framed awards, bestseller lists, and prominent reviews hailing the author’s talent. Rows of print books snagged his attention as he recognized the covers… and the name underneath the titles. M.B. Burns.

 

The air rushed from his lungs as he swung his head toward her and gasped, “You. You’re the author of the Inspector Marley mysteries? You’re M.B. Burns!”

 

 

 

 

 

9

 

 

 

 

 

Marcia’s mouth was dry as she led Jonathan into the study. When Angela discovered the house for rent, this room sealed the deal for Marcia until she found her own place. The rest of the house was just for living, but this room was her sanctuary. Her space for creating. The room where she could make it her own, giving it life and, in turn, having it give life to her characters and their stories.

 

But standing in the middle of the room as his penetrating gaze glided around, taking in the contents, she wondered if she had lost her mind in bringing him in here. We’ve just met. What do I really know about him?

 

He walked to her dove collection, and she blurted about their meanings. Something about him made it so easy to reveal things to him. Maybe I can do this.

 

Next, he moved toward the bookcase, and she noted the instant that his body jerked, and she winced. Leaning closer, he moved from the frames to the books on display.

 

Her breathing became so shallow dots appeared before her eyes. Suddenly, he whirled, his eyes bulging as his intense gaze pinned her in place. His voice held a touch of incredulity as he gasped, “You. You’re the author of the Inspector Marley mysteries? You’re M.B. Burns!”

 

Unable to speak, she simply nodded her head in a jerky motion, praying she wouldn’t faint. His expression gave her nothing other than stunned shock. Light-headed, more spots filled her vision.

 

Then his face transformed into a beautiful smile, making his blue eyes twinkle and her heart race. Her expression didn’t change, though. It was locked into a terrified, what-have-I-done, I-think-I’m-going-to-be-sick expression. Suddenly, she blurted, “I don’t know why I showed you. Please… you can’t tell anyone!”

 

His brow lowered, but before he had a chance to speak, she continued to plead. “Please, I’m begging you, don’t tell anyone!”

 

He stepped closer, stopping only when a tiny space remained between them, yet she didn’t feel crowded. Nor did she feel afraid. Still holding her breath, she waited.

 

“Marcia, you don’t have to beg me to keep your secrets. I know we’re still new to each other, so I’ll give you this… I’m a man of my word. As a former Army Ranger, a current LSI Keeper, and the son of two people who loved me but would’ve kicked my ass if I told a lie, I give you my promise that I won’t ever betray your trust.”

 

He leaned closer and put his hands on her shoulders, dropping his head so all she could see were his eyes. “But I need you to do something for me,” he said.

 

At that comment, she would’ve done anything he asked.

 

His lips curved as he said, “Breathe.”

 

She gasped, sucking air into her lungs, trying not to cough. The black dots filling the perimeter of her vision finally cleared. Letting the air out in a rush, she breathed several more times deeply until, finally, her world stopped spinning.

 

He straightened but kept his hands on her shoulders as he inclined his head toward the bookcases. “I have to tell you, I’m so fucking surprised and so fucking impressed! To know that you’re the author and creator of those wonderful characters and those amazing stories! I’m so humbled you shared this with me.”

 

Finally, with his words and acceptance, her lips curved ever so slightly. “Thank you.” She winced slightly at the poor thanks she’d given in light of his effusive praise. That had always been the way with her—it’s so much easier to write than speak.

 

“Then I think it’s even more awesome,” he admitted with a wink.