Everlasting by Nancy Thayer Page A

want to be a judge?”
    Kit hesitated. He looked down at Catherine, and she felt his scrutiny, his caution. “No. I want to go into government. Politics.”
    Catherine returned Kit’s gaze. In the candlelit night, his face was gentle. “You don’t seem the type to be interested in power.”
    “I’m not.” He hesitated again. “I don’t talk about it much. I always end up sounding like some sanctimonious drip. It’s just—in my family, there’s a tradition. ‘Not for self alone.’ I know I’m fortunate, extraordinarily lucky, but I also know this world is in a bad state and getting into a worse one. I want to change that.” Kit looked at her. “I want to change a lot of things. I want—” Kit stopped. “Sorry. I’m boring you.”
    “No!” Catherine objected, putting her hand on Kit’s arm. He looked down at her. “I know what you mean, how you feel, at least a little, I think. That’s why I like what I’m doing now, working in a flower shop. It sounds pretty insignificant, doesn’t it? But few things can claim to be as good as flowers are. There’s nothing soiled or evil or degraded about them. They make people feel loved, and cheerful, or consoled, they brighten our spirits, our day, our thoughts of the future—” She caught herself and laughed. “So you see? I do understand. I mean, it’s not the same level, and it’s much less complicated, but—” She paused, unsure of just what she meant. “But I do understand,” she said finally.
    She realized she was still holding on to his arm. All this eager understanding plus this lover’s clutch—what would he think? She started to pull away.
    But Kit said softly, “Hey.” He slid his hand down to hold hers. His skin was warm and electric.
    They walked around the pool and gardens, talking in a companionable way. For Catherine, it was a new and delicious sensation to feel both safe and excited at the same time. She had forgotten how charming a well-educated man could be. After a while they went back into the ballroom for another mineral water, and realizing they were hungry again, they took plates of smoked salmon, cheese and raspberries and bread, and sat on the terrace, eating. They talked. They had friends in common. New York and Boston were not so far apart. They had much in common, a similar sense of humor, of perspective.
    They danced again. By now the tone of the party was changing. The quieter couples danced in solitary worlds of their own, drawing closer and closer to each other with each dance. The rest of the party was getting silly and boisterous and outrageous, performing stunts on the dance floor, spilling champagne. Catherine had lost track of time and was glad to let it flow.
    She liked Kit’s voice. It was low and even and calm. He was not glib or flirtatious; he didn’t pepper each sentence with a compliment or a sexual innuendo. Still, as she listened to him, as his body grew more familiar to her as they danced, she felt sexual desire rising within her as if each of his gentle words were rain, wetting and nourishing something hiding deep inside her, something so fragile it would not respond to harsh light, a bright sun, or a torrent of seductive speech. Something within her lifted, responding to him.
    From time to time, when she pulled her head back a bit as they danced so that she could look into his eyes, she realized that for once she was not afraid. Once, after she had looked at him as they danced, searching his eyes for a clue to the nature of this man, he gently brought his hand up and pressed her head against his shoulder, as if she were a child. He stroked her hair. He let his hand linger on her head, so gently it brought tears to her eyes. It felt like the times when she had been a child with a nanny who had touched her so fondly, and she remembered being loved.
    The next time she drew her head back to look in his eyes and smile at him, he bent and kissed her, lightly, on the lips.
    Suddenly she was impatient. She