Thomas & January

“It’s Chopin’s,” January told me, running her fingers along the wrought-iron fence surrounding the tomb.



“How fitting that the last grave we see tonight was the poet of pianists,” I told her.



“How is that fitting?” she asked me honestly.



“Uh, maybe because you’re a poet pianist?”



“Oh, hush.”



“January, I’m not buttering you up. I’ll get what I want from you regardless the compliment,” I teased. She feigned dismay and made a move to hit me but I caught her hand, bringing her close. I whispered, “I’m telling you that you are a poet pianist. You have a lot in common with him.”



She stared at me a long while and I let her. “I think that is probably the sexiest compliment I’ve ever gotten and if we were alone, I’d probably jump your bones right now.”



“You tease.” I smiled but looked around me. “January, there’s no one here.”



“Excuse him, Fred.” She told the tomb and made an exaggerated movement with her head toward Chopin’s grave.



“Oh, I apologize.” We heard a noise and January literally jumped on me. “You’re good on your word, MacLochlainn.”



“Let’s get out of here?”



“Yeah.”



We walked toward the massive main double door entrance of the cemetery but discovered it was barricaded for the night.



“Crap, we’re going to have to walk to one of the side entrances.”



“Oh my God, that is, like, totally far away,” January whined.



“Like, for sure.”



“Shut up, Eriksson. It’s one in the morning and we’re illegally trespassing on a city cemetery. I’m a little nervous. I channel my inner Valley girl when I get nervous. I can’t be arrested in every country we visit.” She was quiet for a moment as we trekked it back and to the right. “Wait, is that something I should aspire to?”



“No, collect shot glasses or snow globes or something equally garish.” I took her flashlight and turned the light off. The moonlight lit the cobblestone path enough to see where we were going. No sense creating a beacon for the guards. “If you can decipher which European country has the most comfortable handcuffs, I believe your goody two-shoes reputation may tarnish.”



“Both of my shoes are very good.” God, I found her unbelievably adorable when she said things like that. “But I already collect snow globes, remember?”



“Oh, yeah. Then collected arrests are the next natural step.”



“Naturally.”



“Naturally.”



“You know who else is buried in here?” she asked.



“Who?”



“Abelard and Heloise.”



“Seriously?”



“Don’t make fun, Tom.”



“What? I’m not. I’m seriously not. You know of Abelard and Heloise?”



“Uh, yeah, I-I’m a bit of a history buff, if you couldn’t already tell.”



“January, it’s like you were made for me,” I told her. I realized what I’d said way late in the moment and the silence was palpable. The cemetery trip was proving to be way more discerning an occasion then I ever thought possible. It seemed that light was being shed even as we walked through the dark night. I shook it away. “You know what they say about history,” I said, pretending I hadn’t made things awkward or revealingly uncomfortable for myself.



“It’s doomed to repeat itself?”



“I hope not,” I said, shivering at the thought of Abelard’s fate.



“You’re thinking about Abelard, aren’t you?



“Exactly.”



“Let’s change the subject then.”



Chapter Nine



When the Levee Breaks



Thomas



“Have you ever been to Rome?” January asked me the next morning as she exited her room.



I had to swallow before answering or she would have realized she’d tied my tongue. She was wearing a dress. Zap. A short one. Zap, Zap. And as dark blue as her eyes, making me want to keel over at her feet.



“Never,” I told her as I grabbed her bag from her. “January?” I asked her, walking a bit ahead.



“Yes, dear?” I smiled to myself, refusing to look at her.



“You look lovely today.”



“Thank you,” she said, an answering smile hidden on her face as well. I could hear it. “So, who’s in Rome?”



“A South African band named The Great Remember. I’ve been wanting to see them for some time now. I got wind of them through a mutual friend of Jason’s and mine.”



“Cool. What’s their sound?”



“Kind of a cross between folk and rock. Chicks will dig ’em. They use a lot of unusual instruments in their recordings as well as live, a lot of acoustic stuff, a lot of sweet sounding melodies. For some reason they favor G major.”



“That’s my favorite key.”



“You may like them then. I haven’t seen them live yet though, looking forward to it.”



 “Do you have anything by them?”



“I do.”



“All right then.”



“Have your medicine?” I asked her.



“Aye, aye, Cap’n!” She saluted me as we stepped onto the elevator.



“Have-Have you thought any more on Kelly’s wedding?” I stuttered like a blithering idiot and settling in as the doors closed.



She hesitated. “Honestly? I don’t think it would be wise for me to go.”



She shifted slightly and leaned against the wall closest to her.



“Can I ask why?” I asked, my stomach dropping to my feet.



“Because, Tom,” she said as we both stepped off the elevator, “I don’t like being used and that’s what I think you’re doing.” She left me with my jaw hanging open and checked us out of our rooms. All I could do was watch her beautiful figure and restrain myself from groveling at her feet, begging her to change the way she thought about me. I felt like such a pathetic loser. She had more control over me than I thought possible and I wanted so badly to feel bad about that but couldn’t and that made me even more peeved. We cabbed it to the train station in a stony silence. I was fuming and could tell by her defiant body language that she’d caught on.



“Just out with it already, Tom.”



We approached a bench to wait out our train.



“How in the hell did you get the impression I was using you?” I asked. She sighed loudly and plopped onto the seat. I sat next to her, closely. “How, January?” I whispered. There was more hurt in my voice than I’d imagined I’d allowed.



She turned her body so that her face was next to mine. “I won’t be made a fool, Tom. Ever. I’ve had lots of practice at it and I’m confident enough to know that I’m worth more than showing up to a wedding on the arm of the man who’s still in love with the bride.”



I shook my head at her. “Haven’t you been listening to me, January? I’m not in love with Kelly. I haven’t been for more than six months. I’m completely and utterly over Kelly.”



“Nobody gets over the love of his or her life in six months, Tom. Nobody.”



I studied the stressed lines in her beautiful face and how the light glinted off her glassy blue eyes. I ran my fingers along the crease in her brow, relaxing the worry away.



And it clicked.



I let the recognition spread through the slow smile on my face and grabbed her shoulders, squeezing her into a hug, using every bit of restraint I had not to press too tightly. I wanted so badly for her to melt into me. “You’re right,” I secreted into her ear, crushing her to my chest. “Nobody gets over the love of their life in six months, January. Nobody. In fact,” I told her, kissing her neck so softly it could have barely registered and speaking even softer. “You never get over the love of your life.” I felt the movement of her neck as she swallowed my words. “I swear to everything, January, I am over Kelly.”



I gently placed my mouth on hers and a surge of electricity seemed to pass between us. All I could think of was that I’d somehow zapped January MacLochlainn, that she’d been served a tablespoon of her own medicine and that its effects were immediate.



I’d fallen so hard in love with her, I was surprised I hadn’t been knocked out cold.



And when I got to thinking about it, feeling so confident I was in love with Kelly Simsky six months prior was about the biggest joke I’d ever played...and it was on myself.



January



Oh. My. Lord. I’m in love with Thomas Eriksson.



Since our first kiss six months prior, I’d been falling hard for the stranger, but the short time I’d had him all to myself was enough to solidify it and in stone it seemed. I had it bad. It scared the crap out of me, to be perfectly honest. I’d only been in love twice before and both times I never felt it in my stomach the way I felt it with Thomas Eriksson. In fact, I was starting to question whether I truly loved the boys I thought I loved. They paled so white in comparison and further bolstered my confidence in my decision to wait. Tom was the only man, and I mean man, I’d ever met that could possibly endeavor to deserve my virginity and that made my insides tremble in cool anticipation.



I also wasn’t prepared to experience the entire, almost exhausting, consuming sensation that was being in love with Tom. My body seemed to ache for him. My chest and stomach hurt a dull sort of pang whenever we were apart, even for a short time, and burst in a euphoric peace when he closed whatever gap lay between us, whether it be time or proximity. It was strange and exciting and altogether a feeling of extremes but, ugh, I wouldn’t have had it any other way.



With my insane new awareness, I boarded the train headed for Rome with the most butterflies ever to take root in a person’s stomach. I couldn’t stop the stupid-ass smile on my face and I know my cheeks were glowing the deepest cherry they’ve ever shown but I was okay with that. I was so gosh dang cool with that it wasn’t even funny. I wanted to do something terrible like run in circles on top of an Austrian mountain like Novice Maria in The Sound of Music, singing ‘My love is alive for Thomas Eriksson!’ I’d get my sisters to sing back up. Get the effing crackers out! Apparently, in-love-January is nothing but a ball of cheese. I was so high on what I felt for Tom, I could not care less what anyone thought of me.



Everyone, except for Tom, that is. I was pretty confident if I’d went around belting out my love for him in the key of ornery nun, he’d have me committed. It’s why I was quiet instead and acting insanely unlike myself just staring at my folded hands. I looked over and found him smiling at me.



“What?” I asked, my cheeks burning deeper. Maybe he’ll think I’m embarrassed instead of cracked out of my noggin for him.



“This,” he said, running a finger over my blazing cheek, branding me with his equally hot touch. “You’re so goddamned beautiful, January.”



My eyes widened a bit at his heart felt exclamation. “Th-Thank you,” I gulped.



“Come here,” he said, leaning over my body. He enveloped me in his arms but didn’t kiss me. He just stared and studied every line of my face. He looked at me with such unwavering intensity, he was stealing away my breath. My chest started pumping in air at an alarming rate. I was hyperventilating.