The Reluctant Nude - Meg Maguire [21]
“You lead a quiet life?”
She nodded. “I guess so. But my job is really physical—the conservation side of it. And the other side, the advocacy, it’s stressful and I have to deal with all sorts of obnoxious people. I probably work about fifty or sixty hours a week, and when I’m off, I just want to be off, you know? Well, maybe you don’t,” she added, looking him over. “Your schedule seems pretty loose. Did you even realize it’s Saturday?”
He grinned, glad for her contrary side to flare up again. “I did. I know these things. Tuesday is recycling day and on Friday evenings I walk to the pub for a drink and watch the live music. I pay attention to such things as days of the week.”
“I see.”
“So. Tell me more. You must be passionate about something aside from crossword puzzles and finding fault with me.”
She pursed her lips. “My work is important to me. It’s important to defend the things and people that don’t have a voice.”
“Of course. But nothing else? Nothing frivolous?”
She looked thoughtful for a moment. “Yeah. Old movies. I love old movies.”
He nodded, pleased. “Black and white?”
“Doesn’t matter. I lived with my aunt when I was a teenager, and that’s what we did together. Especially in the winter, when it was too crappy to go outside for whole weekends. Big, long marathons of classic movies.”
“Which is your favorite?” Max asked.
“Ooh… It’s probably a tie between My Fair Lady and Singin’ in the Rain.”
“You like musicals?” Max would have thought her far too practical to care for such things.
Fallon nodded and bit her lip, stifling a grin.
“Why are you smiling like that?”
She blushed and grinned down at the sand. “I always smile like that when I think about Gene Kelly.”
Max smiled back. “Now we’re making progress. Do you date?” He immediately felt Fallon slip back into her invisible shell.
“Eh, not much, lately. Too busy.” She clawed absently through the sand until she reached water. “It’s not on my priorities list.”
“What is, then?”
She dug deeper. “Making my mortgage payments. Saving up for whatever’s next, for when my housemate eventually gets engaged or one of us decides to move away or what have you. And being good at my job. I’m where I want to be, for right now. In my life. I just want to do good, and be around other decent people.”
“You’re too close to Manhattan for that,” Max said.
She met his eyes, unimpressed. “So you think. But there are good people and lousy people everywhere. You can’t write an entire place off because of the few assholes you encounter.” She brushed her hands off on her jeans and lay back on the sand, staring into the cloudy mantle. “I think you’re too quick to condemn people.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Would you like to hear my theory about you?” she asked, and Max realized from her tone that she must be tipsy from the wine.
“Yes, I would. What is your theory?”
“I think you find it very difficult to believe that anyone can be decent and worthwhile unless they’re damaged goods.”
“Damaged goods?”
“Yeah. Wounded or traumatized. Like no one’s good enough in your book unless they’re a victim of something.”
“That’s a lot to infer from knowing me for a day,” he said, mildly indignant but nonetheless curious. His gaze lingered over the deep valley of her narrow waist, the sharp rise of her hips. “What else?”
“That’s all I’ve gathered. It’s just my theory.” She closed her eyes and interlaced her fingers atop her ribs.
“It is an interesting theory,” he admitted. “Perhaps you should be a psychologist.”
She smiled, as if to herself. “Doctor Frost and Inspector Emery…”
“I have theories about you.”
She opened her eyes. “Oh yeah? Like what?”
He stared into the bright patch where the sun hid behind the clouds. “I think I’ll be keeping them to myself for now.”
Fallon blinked, looking exasperated. “Suit yourself.”
Max lay down beside her, propping himself up on one elbow, bringing his face close to hers. For the briefest moment he imagined climbing on top of her, knees sinking into the sand beside her hips, his body pressing into hers. Fascinating.
“How do you think you will