“Ssssshhhhh. Julianne, it’s just me.” He held his hands aloft in complete surrender. He tried to smile disarmingly.
Julia was stunned. She’d been dreaming of him moments before. And now he was here. She rubbed her eyes. He was still there, staring. She pinched the skin on her arm between her fingers. He was still there.
Holy shit. He caught me.
“It’s just me, Julianne. Are you all right?”
She blinked rapidly and began rubbing her eyes again. “I…don’t know.”
“How long have you been here?” He lowered his hands.
“Um…I…don’t know.” She was trying to wake up and remember all at the same time.
“Is Paul with you?”
“No.”
Somehow, Gabriel felt relieved. “How did you get in? This is my carrel.”
Julia’s eyes flew to his, measuring his reaction. I am in so much trouble. And so is Paul. Emerson will evict him now.
She moved forward rapidly, knocking the chair over in the process and tipping over a stack of books that had been resting near her hands. A ream of loose notebook paper was thrown aloft by the general upheaval and began falling about her like massive, pinstriped snowflakes. Gabriel thought that she looked like an angel—an angel in a child’s snow globe, with whiteness fluttering all around her.
Beautiful, he thought.
She began to scramble, trying to put everything back in order. She was repeating an apology over and over again like a decade of the Rosary, mumbling something about borrowing Paul’s key. She was sorry. So very, very sorry.
In one stride, Gabriel was next to her, his hand gently but firmly on her shoulder. “It’s all right. You are welcome to be here. Be still.”
Julia closed her eyes and willed herself and her heartbeat to slow. It was very difficult to do; she was so afraid he would lose his temper and banish Paul from his precious carrel. Forever.
Gabriel inhaled sharply, and her eyes flew open, glazing over at his touch.
He brought his head close to her face and peered down at her. “Julianne? You’ve gone pale. Are you unwell?”
He didn’t know what to do. Why was she acting so strangely? Perhaps she was weak from hunger or not quite awake. The room was very warm. Too warm. She’d left the heater on. He caught her just as she swooned, wrapping her tightly and pulling her into his chest. She was not unconscious, at least, not yet.
“Julianne?” He pushed the hair out of her eyes and brushed the back of his hand across her cheek.
She murmured something, and he realized she hadn’t fainted, but was leaning against him as if she didn’t have the strength to stand. He held her to keep her from hitting the upturned chair or the floor.
“Are you okay?”
He began to move her so that she could sit down, but she clung to him, wrapping her arms about his neck without hesitation. He liked the feel of her pressed against him, so he hugged her tightly and leaned down to sniff her hair, somewhat surreptitiously. Vanilla. Her little body pressed against his perfectly, as if their shapes were ideal complements. It was astonishing.
“What happened?” she mumbled against his sweater, which was a brilliant green calculated to contrast with the blue of his eyes.
“I’m not sure. I think you grew light-headed because you stood up too quickly. And it’s hot in here.”
She smiled weakly, a smile that melted his heart.
Julia desperately wanted to kiss him. He was close. So very, very close. Two inches and those lips would be hers…again. And his eyes were soft and warm…and he was being sweet with her…
He pulled back from her minutely, testing her to see if she was going to fall over. When she didn’t, he placed her gently on top of the desk before righting the chair. Then he withdrew to the door of the carrel and straightened his tie.
“I don’t mind if you use the carrel—not at all. I was just surprised to find you here. In fact, I’m glad Paul suggested you use it. There’s no problem.” He smiled to put her at ease, watching as she grasped the surface of the desk for support. “I was looking for a book Paul borrowed.” He held the volume aloft and turned to look at Julia again.
Moving slowly but carefully, she stood up and began to stack books on the desk and pick up the white sheets of paper that had drifted to the floor.
“Were you supposed to meet Paul tonight?”
“He’s gone to a graduate student conference at Princeton. He’s presenting a paper tomorrow.” She looked over at him cautiously, and when she saw that his head was cocked to one side and he was still smiling, she relaxed. Marginally.
“Princeton. Yes, of course. I forgot. That’s a very fine briefcase you have.” He smiled at her knowingly, gesturing to the bag that was propped up against the wall.
Julia blushed, trying very hard to keep her secret knowledge secret.
“But there appears to be something alive in there. I can see a pair of ears poking out of one of the zippers.”
She whirled around. Gabriel was right; two little brown ears could be seen sticking out of the briefcase, almost as if she had tried to smuggle a pet into the library. Julia blushed even more deeply.
“May I?” He gestured to the briefcase, but made no move as he waited for her permission.
Hesitantly, she pulled the stuffed toy out of the briefcase and handed it to him, biting her lip in embarrassment.
Clearly Miss Mitchell has a bunny fetish.
Gabriel held the toy rabbit between his thumb and forefinger, gazing at it curiously as if he didn’t know what it was. Or as if, in a fit of temper, it might decide to emulate the behavior of the famous rabbit in Monty Python and the Holy Grail and go right for his throat. Gabriel placed a hand to his neck as a precaution and resisted the sudden and overwhelming urge to say Ni.
The toy was brown, of course, and soft, made of velvet or something. It had long ears and short limbs and very pleasant-looking whiskers. It stood straight up, looking rather stiff. It looked familiar to him, strangely enough. Something Grace would have owned and loved. Something from a childhood he never had.
Around its neck someone had tied a very sloppy bow out of pink ribbon. Gabriel measured the bow with his eyes and came to the conclusion that someone who was either slightly handicapped (no disrespect intended), or perhaps who had very large hands and lacked the fine motor skills of someone who was gifted with manual dexterity (such as himself), had tied the bow, such as it was. And there was a card.
Not wishing to embarrass her further, he smiled and let his eyes dart momentarily to the card, just so he could catch a glimpse of it:
R,
Someone to keep you company while I’m away.
See you when I get back.
Yours,
Paul.
The Angelfucker strikes again, Gabriel growled to himself.
He handed the bunny back to Julia. “It’s very—ah—nice.”
“Thank you.”
“But who is R?”
Julia turned away as she placed Paul’s latest gift back into her briefcase, taking great care not to catch the bunny’s ears in the teeth of the zipper. “It’s one of my nicknames.”
“But why that letter? Why not something that begins with B?”
Julia frowned at him. Like what? Bitch? Badass? Bovine? Bunny?
“Beautiful,” said Gabriel. Then he blushed, for the word had slipped out by mistake. “So you’ve been asleep here for hours, with Rabbit Songs and a pet rabbit to keep you company? I didn’t realize you were a bunny lover.”
Julia seemed embarrassed. He couldn’t help himself; the characterization was obvious, if a little flirtatious.
“I like your choice in music.”
“Thank you.” She quickly turned off her ancient laptop and placed it carefully in her briefcase with the CD.
“The library is closing shortly. What would you have done if I hadn’t arrived?”
She looked around, slightly confused. “I don’t know.”
??
?If no one noticed that the carrel light was on when they checked this floor, you could have been locked in the library all night. Without any food.” His smile slid off his face at the mere idea. “What are you going to do to ensure that doesn’t happen in the future?”
She looked around quickly. “Set the alarm on Paul’s clock?”
He nodded as if that answer satisfied him. But it didn’t. “Are you hungry?”
“I should be going, Professor. I’m sorry I’ve intruded on your personal space.”
If only you knew how true your words were, Julianne.
“Miss Mitchell, stop.” He took a step closer as she picked up her new briefcase with one hand and cleared the desk of debris with the other. “Have you had your dinner?”
“No.”
Gabriel’s eyebrows knitted together like thunderous clouds.
“When did you have lunch?”
“At noon.”
He scowled. “That was almost eleven hours ago. What did you have?”
“A hot dog from the cart in front of the library.”
Gabriel cursed. “You can’t live on that kind of rubbish. And I wouldn’t eat street meat ever. You promised you’d tell me if you were going hungry—and now you’re fainting on me.”
He glanced at his white-gold Rolex Day-Date. “It’s too late to take you for steak—Harbour Sixty is closed. Why don’t you join me for dinner somewhere else? I was caught up working on my lecture, and I haven’t eaten either.”
Julia stared at him. “Are you sure?”
His expression hardened. “Miss Mitchell, I am not the kind of person who makes idle invitations. If I invite you to dinner, then I’m sure. Now are you coming or not?”
“I’m not dressed for dinner, thank you very much.” Her voice was satin over steel, and she arched an eyebrow at him. She had gotten over her initial shock at being surprised in his carrel and was now fully awake and fully annoyed at his tone.
His eyes passed over her slowly, pausing to regard her lovely figure and then resting for a long time on her sneakers. He despised sneakers on women, for they were a waste of a perfectly good podiatric opportunity. He cleared his throat. “You look fine. I think the color of your blouse brings out the blush in your skin and the butterscotch flecks in your eyes. You look nice, actually.” He smiled at her a little too warmly and looked away.
I have butterscotch in my eyes? Since when? And since when has he looked at them long enough to notice?
“There is a little place near my building that I frequent during the week, especially on late nights. I’ll buy you dinner, and we can talk about your thesis proposal, informally, of course. How’s that?”
“Thank you, Professor.”
Their eyes did not meet for long, but they met, and warm and somewhat hesitant smiles were exchanged on both sides.
He waited patiently for her to put everything in order before he stood aside and waved his hand toward the hallway. “After you.”
She thanked him, and as she was passing, he reached out his hand and grasped the handle of her messenger bag, brushing against one of her fingers. Julia pulled back instinctively, dropping the bag.
Thankfully, he caught it. “This is a very fine briefcase. I think I should like to carry it for a little while. If you don’t mind.” He smirked at her, and she blushed.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “I really like it. It’s perfect.”
Gabriel made no attempt to engage her in conversation until they were at the restaurant, Caffé Volo on Yonge Street. The Caffé was a quiet but friendly establishment that boasted perhaps the longest and best beer list in Toronto. It also had a very fine Italian chef, and so their food was some of the finest simple Italian fare on offer in the neighborhood. The restaurant itself was small, only ten tables, which were supplemented in the summer by a patio. The décor was rustic and included antiques, such as reclaimed church pews and old harvest tables. It gave Julia the impression of something like a German weinkeller, like the restaurant Vinum that she had visited with friends when she was in Frankfurt.
Gabriel liked it because they sold a particular kind of Trappist Ale that he preferred, Chimay Première, and it pleased him to have pizza in the Neapolitan style to pair with that beer. (As ever, he was impatient with mediocrity.) Since Gabriel was a frequent patron of Caffé Volo and more than somewhat persnickety, he was offered the best seating, which was a quiet table for two tucked into a corner near the large picture window that looked out on the madness that was Yonge Street at night.
Transvestites, university students, frat boys, policemen, happy gay couples, happy straight couples, celebrities slumming, yuppies walking their pretentious pets, eco-friendly activists, street persons, buskers, possible gang members, Russian mafia, a wayward professor or Member of Provincial Parliament or two or four, etc. It was a myriad of fascinating human behavior, it was live, and it was free.
Julia settled cautiously into her seat, which was a converted church pew, and pulled the lambskin rug that the waiter had draped over the back of the pew tightly around her.
“Are you cold? I’ll ask Christopher to seat us near the fireplace.” Gabriel moved to signal to the waiter, but Julia stopped him.
“I like to people watch,” she said shyly.
“Me too,” he admitted. “But you look like a Yeti.”
Julia reddened.
“Forgive me,” he hastened to add. “But surely we can do better than a lambskin rug that has been God knows where. It probably used to grace the floor of Christopher’s apartment. And who knows what kind of shenanigans went down on it.”
Did he just use the word shenanigans in a sentence?
And with that, Professor Emerson gracefully pulled his British-racing-green cashmere sweater over his pretentious bow tie and head and handed it to her. Julia accepted it and moved the objectionable Yeti-like carpet to one side. She gently pulled on his generously-sized sweater.
“Better?” he smiled, trying to smooth his now mussed hair.
“Better.” She smiled, feeling much warmer and very comfortable, blanketed in the warmth and scent that was Gabriel. She folded up the cuffs considerably because his arms were much longer than hers.
“Did you go to Lobby on Tuesday?” she asked.
“No. Now, why don’t you tell me about your proposal?” His tone immediately became businesslike and professorial.
Thankfully, Christopher interrupted them at that moment to take their order, which gave Julia precious minutes to gather her thoughts.
“Their Caesar salads are quite good, as are their Neapolitan pizzas. But they are both a bit large for one person. Are you the type to share?” Gabriel asked.
Julia’s mouth dropped open.
“I mean, would you share with me, please? Or you could order whatever you like. Perhaps you don’t want salad and pizza.” Gabriel frowned, trying very hard not to be an overbearing, domineering professor for at least five minutes.
Christopher tapped his foot quietly, for he did not want The Professor to notice his impatience. He’d seen The Professor when he was irritated and did not wish to witness a repeat performance. Although perhaps he would behave differently now that he had female companionship (which was Christopher’s professional prescription for any kind of personality disorder, small or large).
“I’d like to share pizza and a salad with you. Thank you.” Julia’s quiet voice ended the deliberations.
Gabriel placed the order, and shortly thereafter Christopher appeared with their Chimays, which Gabriel had insisted Julia try.
“Cheers,” he said, clinking his glass to hers.
“Prost,” she replied.
She sipped the beer slowly, unable to forget her first beer and who it was with. That beer had been a domestic lager. This beer was reddish brown and sweet and malty all at once. She liked it a great deal and hummed her approval.
“It’s over ten dollars a bottle,” she whispered, not wishing to embarrass Gabriel or herself with loud incredulity
.
“But it’s the best. And wouldn’t you rather drink one bottle of this rather than two bottles of Budweiser, which really is like drinking appalling bath water?”
I can only assume that all bath water would be appalling to drink, Professor Emerson, but I’ll take your word for it. Sicko.
“Well? Let’s hear it,” he prompted. “What are you thinking? I can see the wheels turning in that little mind of yours. So out with it.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest and grinned, as if her little mind gave him no end of secret, condescending amusement.
Julia bristled. She didn’t like the fact that he’d used the diminutive little in referring to her mind, for it seemed to signify his contempt for her intellectual ability. So she decided to strike back.
“I’m glad I have a chance to speak to you privately,” she began, withdrawing two envelopes from her messenger bag. “I can’t accept these.” She slid the Starbucks gift card and the bursary award letter across the table.
Gabriel glanced at both items, recognized them immediately, and scowled. “What makes you think these are from me?” He pushed them back across the table.
“The powers of deduction. You’re the only one who calls me Julianne. You’re the only one with a bank account large enough to fund a bursary.” She returned the envelopes.
He paused for a moment. Was he really the only one who called Julianne by her proper name? What was everyone else calling her?
Julia.
“You must accept them.” He slid the papers over to her once again.
“No, I mustn’t. Gifts make me very uncomfortable, and the Starbucks card is too much. Not to mention the bursary. I will never be able to repay you, and I owe your family too much already. I can’t accept them.” She pushed them back.
“You can accept them, and you will. The gift card is inconsequential; I spend more than that on coffee in a month. I need to show you, in some tangible way, that I respect your intelligence. I said something in an unguarded moment that Miss Peterson took and twisted. So, it isn’t even a gift—it’s more like restitution. I maligned you; now I’m praising you. You must accept it, or this injustice will remain unresolved between us, and I won’t believe you’ve forgiven me for my verbal indiscretion in front of one of your peers.” He slid the envelopes across the table and glared at her for good measure.