Chapter 6

The cards slid through her fingers easily as she shuffled - old familiar friends. Her grandmother had taught Lydia to use them from the time she could talk. Some of her earliest memories were of sitting around her grandmother's kitchen table, peering into teacups and learning from the tea leaves or watching while Granny did palm readings and Tarot spreads for the neighbors.

Finally, Lydia stopped shuffling, cut the deck and eased her breath out through her nose. She focused on her life and her future. And she willed the cards to show her the best path for her to take.

She had flipped only one card when she heard the knock on her door. Her hands stalled and she glanced down at the card, her heart rising into her throat. The Hierophant. Also known as the High Priest, or the Pope. It was often used to denote a mentor or teacher. A wise, tradition-bound older man. She could never look at the card without envisioning Galen's golden hair and blue eyes, even though that wasn't what the picture showed. The knock sounded again and Lydia scooped up the card and sat the deck on the nightstand as she scrambled off the bed. Then she grabbed an oversized T-shirt and pulled it over her head before she moved through her tiny living room to answer the door.

Her breath caught as she peered through the peephole. With her fingers trembling, she unlocked the door and threw it open. She was just in time. He'd already turned and was just about to go back down the steps.

"Galen?" It didn't even occur to her to call him Dr. Forsythe anymore. Since that day in his office, he would always be Galen. She took one step out onto her second-floor entry porch. "What are you doing here? It's almost midnight."

He turned back to face her, his hand still gripping the wooden stair rail. "I'm not sure, really. Agnes Duncan mentioned that you were moving in today. I was driving home and I saw your car, saw the light on... I don't know. Maybe I should just go."

"No!" She reached out a hand, felt relief flood her when he stepped toward her and took it. "Come in. Please."

He nodded briefly and stepped inside. He looked around the cozy living room and kitchen area and smiled. "I haven't been in here in a long time. I'm glad it's still a decent place."

"It is. And the Duncans seem really nice. Thanks for giving them my name." She motioned to the couch and moved to the fridge. "Have a seat. Can I get you something to drink?"

"Uh - sure - that would be nice." He sat down on one end of the couch, stretching his long legs out in front of him. She'd never seen him in jeans and sneakers before and she spared a moment to drool over the way his polo shirt hugged his sculpted chest before she turned away.

"I just moved in so there isn't much - a few cans of diet soda, three light beers and half a bottle of Chablis my friends left behind." She pulled out the wine for herself. With Galen here she was going to need the fortification.

"The beer, I guess." His tone was uncertain.

"Sure. Bottle or glass?" She picked up her own wineglass from earlier and filled it while she rummaged in the cupboard for another clean glass. She hadn't unpacked much out here yet.

He must have guessed what she was up to. "Bottle's fine."

She uncapped the bottle and carried it, along with her glass over to the couch. Their hands brushed as she handed it to him and she gasped at the spark that traveled straight to her sex. Legs gone shaky, she sat down on the opposite end of the couch, facing him and curled her legs up beneath her, tucking the T-shirt carefully around them. Then she took a slow drink, studying the lines and planes of Galen's face as he sipped his beer.

"The other day in my office..."

Lydia felt her cheeks flush red at the reminder of how quickly and completely she'd given into her inner slut. Her eyes shifted down to study her glass.

"You said some things. Things I wanted to ask you about." He tapped a finger on his beer bottle. "I probably wouldn't have had the courage to stop here if I hadn't already had a couple of these during my monthly poker game tonight. But only two over the entire evening, with lots of food. I want you to know I'm still sober."

"Me too." She raised her glass. "This is maybe my fourth since six o'clock." The glass wasn't very big.

"I wasn't sure you'd be alone." He looked around. She was sure his keen eyes took in the empty pizza boxes and dirty glasses, clear signs that others had been here tonight.

"I had some friends help me move in. I fed them dinner to say thank you. Then I sent them home. There's no one - special in my life, Galen, if that's what you wanted to know. I told you the truth in your office." Could this conversation get any more awkward? But she knew deep in her soul that they did need to talk if they had any chance of having anything further happen between them.

"Are you really twenty-nine?" He blurted out the question and then winced, as if he'd horrified himself by asking out loud.

"Yep." She began to tick off years on her fingers. "Graduated at eighteen - barely. Five years for my undergrad - I had a double major in history and lit, plus I've always had to work. Then I did a year of study abroad, at Cambridge, before starting my masters. Finished that in three, then three more for the doctorate here at SMU, and there you go. Twelve years later, I'm finally done."

"Wow." He lifted his beer bottle. "Impressive."