“It is for me.” I stroked the spine, counting the ribs. “But I wonder why she wants me to do the work.”
“Apparently, Abraham visited her a few years ago and talked you up.”
“Really?” I smiled. Abraham had been my bookbinding teacher for years. I turned another page slowly, unwilling to disturb the binding too much. The book was at least three hundred years old, and I was shocked to see that it was written in English. But then, the English had ruled India for centuries, so I supposed that made sense.
I turned to a page near the middle of the book and saw an illustration of a couple having sex in a most fascinating style. I closed it quickly. Then I couldn’t help but sneak another peek.
“Wow, it’s all hand painted,” I said after clearing my throat. “Isn’t that interesting?”
“Yeah, it’s all about the strokes. Paint strokes, I mean. Beautiful.”
We both began to giggle. It must’ve been the wine.
Robin let out a deep breath. “Well, hey, speaking of sex . . .”
“Were we?”
She laughed. “Well, sort of.” She waved her hands as if to get rid of that thought. “And I’m not talking about the sex you’re having. It’s about me. I met a man.”
“Oh.” That got my attention. “In India?”
“No, here in San Francisco, on the way home from the airport. I was starving, so I stopped at Kasa to get some food to go. He was waiting for his order, and we struck up a conversation.”
“You went to Kasa after coming back from India?”
She laughed again. Kasa was part of a small local chain of good Indian restaurants. “I still had a taste for the food. But that’s not important just now.”
“You’re right. So who’s this guy?”
“He’s . . .” She looked baffled. “He’s . . . wonderful.”
“Okay,” I said slowly. “What’s his name?”
“Michael.” She smiled softly. “He’s an engineer—can you believe it? He was born in Ukraine, but he’s lived here forever. His family calls him Mischa. Isn’t that cute? He’s great. Really handsome and funny. And smart.”
“You found all that out while waiting for to-go food?”
“We ended up grabbing a table and eating there together. It was a great conversation, and we found out we actually have a lot of stuff in common. He’s wonderful, you’ll see. We’re going out tomorrow night.”
I stared at her in surprise. “Oh, no, you’re blushing. You never blush. You really like him.”
“Give me a break.” She rolled her eyes. “I blush sometimes. But yeah, I like him.”
Disconcerted, I glanced down at the Kama Sutra and decided that further inspection could wait. I closed the book and looked up at Robin. “Okay, he sounds great, but I have to ask why you’re seeing Mr. Wonderful when you’re in love with my brother.”
Her lips twisted into a frown. “Austin hasn’t made any moves in my direction lately.”
I frowned, too. “Well, it’s not like you live in the same neighborhood anymore. He’s going to have to make an effort to come after you.”
“Yes, he is,” she said wistfully. “Look, he traveled and partied for years, and now he’s ready to settle down back home in Dharma and run the winery. But I’m not ready to do that, yet. Not that he’s asked me to.”
I sighed. “I don’t want my brother to blow this.”
“I don’t want him to, either. But I’m not going to sit at home waiting for the phone to ring, either.”
She looked like she could have used a hug so I jumped off the chair and wrapped my arms around her. “You know I love you, no matter what happens. So for now, I’ll just hope you have a good time with Mr. Wonderful.”
“Yoo-hoo!”
We both jolted in surprise. I turned and saw my neighbors Jeremy and Sergio poking their heads through my open door. I guess I hadn’t locked it earlier.
“Hi, guys,” I said. “Come on in. You remember Robin, right?”
“Of course,” Jeremy said, waving both of his hands at us.
Sergio gave me a hug, then said, “Hi, Robin.”
“We’re sorry to bug you,” Jeremy said, pacing around my workroom, staring at the shelves. “But I’m preparing for my performance art debut at the Castro Street Fair, and I’m hunting for accessories. Do you have a boa or any girlie hats or big jewelry?”
“Big jewelry isn’t really my style,” I said, “but I probably have a hat you could use.”
“I have lots of pretty things at home,” Robin said.
“Your stuff is probably too nice for what he wants,” Sergio said. Then he whispered, “He’s presenting an homage to the homeless.”
“Yeah, the tackier, the better,” Jeremy said. “Ooh, what’s this?” He grabbed the funky Indian scarf and wrapped it around his neck.
“It’s yours if you want it,” Robin said.
“I love it. It’s so scruffy.”
“I have other stuff you can look at,” I said.
“No, this is perfect. Shabby but colorful.” Jeremy scurried over to the small mirror hanging near the front door and tossed the length of the scarf back and forth and over his head. “I love the sparkly beads. It’s kind of me, don’t you think?”
“Yes, it’s you,” Robin insisted. “Take it. I’ll never wear it. My mother is insane to think I would.”
“Would you guys like a glass of wine?” I asked.
The men exchanged a look; then Jeremy shrugged. “If you insist.”
“I’ll get the wine,” Robin said, laughing. “You show them your sexy new book.”
“You have a sexy book?” Sergio said, moving closer to the worktable. He was fascinated with my bookbinding work. “Is this it?” He touched the spine of the Kama Sutra.
“Yes, and wait till you see it,” I said, excited all over again. I opened the book and turned to the page Robin and I had been peeking at earlier.
Jeremy began to squeal and slapped my arm. “You naughty girl.”
“This is fantastic,” Sergio said in awe as he carefully touched the outer edge of the book. “Maybe I’ll take that bookbinding class you teach after all.”
The following night, Derek returned from his Kuala Lumpur trip. I made pasta with a creamy tomato-vodka sauce, and we drank an Etude pinot noir I’d been saving for a special occasion. Our relationship was new enough that Derek coming to stay at my house definitely qualified as a special occasion.
After dinner, we snuggled on the couch. In my wildest imagination, I never would’ve used the word snuggle in regard to the ruggedly masculine Derek Stone. But there we were, snuggled. And I felt completely satisfied with life.
Of course, the next thing I knew, Derek was sound asleep. Jet lag had hit him hard. I dragged him off to bed where he continued to sleep like a dead man.
It was five o’clock in the morning when the pounding began.
“What the hell is that?” Derek muttered.
“I don’t know,” I said, sounding whiny as I punched my pillow. Were they cleaning the streets? The pounding continued, so I finally tossed the covers back, sat up, and mumbled, “I hope it’s not the little kids that just moved in down the hall. That won’t make for good neighborly relations. I’d better go find out.”
I grabbed my short robe and threw it on, then stood on wobbly legs as the pounding grew louder. It wasn’t coming from outside, I realized. There was someone knocking at my front door.
Then I heard the screaming.
Derek jumped out of bed. “Stay here.”
Ignoring his command, I raced after him down the hall, through the living room and out to the workshop. I skidded to a halt behind him as he threw the door open.
It was Robin and she continued to scream as tears rolled down her cheeks. She was covered in blood.