Leaving Normal Stef Holm (classic literature books TXT) 📖

if he was really the right person for her. Other times, she was very lonely at school and she was so glad to have him in her life.

Her mood grew sullen.

Outside, the weather was bleak like a water-faded, old newspaper. It was windy, too. That wind always had so much bite to it, it could take a person's ears off if they didn't cover them. While Idaho winters weren't that great, Chicago winters were the worst. The streets were always littered with sheets of paper and debris that spilled from office doorways and then were sucked onto the streets. Chaos.

Chaos. A good word. She'd write that in her journal tonight.

Her first year in college felt like chaos at times.

"Austin," she said, snuggling next to him and feeling those butterfly feelings stir in her stomach. "Do you love me?"

"Of course. I tell you, don't I?"

"Yes…but I mean it—do you really love me?"

"I do. I mean it, Cassie. 1 love you."

Relief poured through her body, her hands and legs and toes. She needed to hear that, needed the reassurance that he was only interested in her.

"I love you, too," she said, but questioned just how deeply. How real. She had nothing to compare it to.

Austin Mably was her first big crush.

Chapter Eighteen

Sex Bed

Tony had never been to the Boise Art Museum. Just hadn't been on his list of places he felt like visiting. It wasn't what he expected. A little more urban, maybe.

The floors were colored and lacquered concrete, a small gift shop was to the right of the main entry. Exhibition rooms veered left and right, all full of art.

The exhibit was flowers in still life by various artists.

"This one is great," Natalie said, walking several feet ahead of him. She kept her tone lowered at a respectful volume. He felt as if he were in a library or the Catholic church during mass.

"I like the pastel color palette," she commented while studying the large painting. "And I like the arrangement. It's not symmetrical. I have to try and not do that so much."

"Why?"

"Because abstract can be better."

He was truly clueless. "Why?"

"Just because it tricks the eye. You don't want everything to be just right, so perfect."

He shrugged, moved along and viewed the other paintings. The side room wasn't lit real well, the walls making him feel closed in. He said he'd come to this, to see a piece of her "world," but an art museum wasn't his thing. While it didn't turn his crank, he respected Natalie enough not to tell her that this place went unappreciated on a guy like him. Give him a beer and a crowd; he preferred loud sporting events or anything outdoors.

"That one's nice," he said, just to say something positive.

A sunflower painting was illuminated by a light beaming above it. There were some nice strokes of paint on the canvas, the yellow and gold colors bright. Other than that, it was just a vase of sunflowers.

"I like it, too." She gave it her attention.

He gave her his attention.

She wore jeans and a thick sweater, and a coat that was unbuttoned. He liked her when she was carefree. That was one good thing to say about the art museum. Natalie Goodwin felt comfortable here. She walked with a casualness, an ease he didn't normally see in her. The art exhibit brought out her smile, sometimes laughter or thoughtful words.

She was enjoying herself.

He appreciated that.

They'd agreed not to decide anything about their re- . lationship and just continue as friends who did things together. It was an easy compromise for him to do—if one called it a compromise. He'd already made up his mind he was only going to date women who had the potential to be his best friend. Kim had never been that for him. He'd never been able to really go to her with things that were deep issues for him. He vowed never to have that isolated feeling again.

They wandered the rest of the halls, walking into a large room with a sculpture of metal. He couldn't see the attraction to it, but she stood and studied it for a long while.

He studied her.

She'd pulled her hair back in a claw, pieces falling along her cheeks and neck. Diamond stud earrings sparkled from her earlobes. When she'd turn her head, they'd catch the light. Her eyes seemed greener, her lips were pinker, fuller.

He recalled sleeping next to her on his sofa. They'd woken up in the early hours of morning when the newspaper hit the front door around 4:00 a.m. He knew right away who he was with, where he was. His sleep had been surprisingly deep and sound. He woke with a clarity about his senses and was glad to have this woman in his arms. She smelled great, too, was so soft and warm.

He'd felt himself need her, want her. His body stirred slowly, like a drug that came to the surface of his senses. There were things about her that made him desire more than a casual friendship. Her independence and strength, the way she smiled and looked at him.

When he was being a realist, he was aware that she wanted different things at her age and was at a different place. But boundaries were like firebreaks. Sometimes a spark leaped over them and started a fire. Issues that seemed to be hurdles could look differently suddenly. Sometimes seeing too much wasn't the best way to deal with something. Sometimes going by feel, relying on a sense of touch, was better. It was how he was trained. Love didn't come with instructions.

When they'd finished looking at the exhibit, she buttoned her coat. "Do you want to get something to eat?"

"I was hungry an hour ago," he said before he could stop himself.

"You didn't like the show?"

He held the door open for her. "It wasn't that I didn't like it, it's just not something that I would do on my own."

She smiled at him. "And I wouldn't