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I would recommend that you allow me to take this back to Boston--" No." He eased himself even closer to me. "It stays here. If you would like to authenticate it, so do you."It would take days. I looked at him a moment to see if he was serious. Clearly, he was."I... I'd have to call the library. They only authorized an overnight trip."He stepped aside.“If it helps,” he said as I squeezed past him, “let them know that the collector might be willing to part with it."I froze. My lips parted. "Are you?"He brushed a lock of my hair out of my face. "Maybe."I hesitated, but not for long. Then, I backed out of the vault."I’m going to go make that call."#I met Michael Baptiste eleven years earlier, at Brown University, when he started dating my roommate, Marcia. He talked to me while she got ready to go out, teasing me for studying antiquities. I was too shy to hold my own.Marcia had no filter and no need for privacy."I’m sore,” she said one morning, sitting down with a wince. I handed her a. While he ate, he heard her busily putting things away in the kitchen and sighed happily. Obviously, she cared enough to fix the meal for him and it had been no small feat. He could go home with a smile on his face but he wanted to make love to her. To feel that care and concern wrapped around him. He arose and stood in the doorway, his empty plate and glass in hand, just watching her and was suddenly extremely jealous of her husband. ‘Done?’ She held out her hand for his plate and he moved forward, entranced by her and watched as she put the dish and the glass into the dishwasher, closed it and set it running. ‘How about a nightcap before you go?’ Before you go. The words fell like stones in the pit of his stomach and it took him a moment to compose himself and answer. ‘Sure.’ She poured a DiSaronno amaretto for him and a Frangelico for herself, then took his hand, leading him into the den where a fire was burning in the fireplace. She sat back on the leather couch, propping a.
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