“I’ve been in Australia all my life. So there you are. It’s great if you love the water, which I do. But I was in the mood to try something different. Rick thought this would be it.”
I couldn’t even begin to imagine the astounding number of words it would have taken for Rick to convince him of that. The guy I’d believed couldn’t communicate apparently could when he set his mind to it. Interesting. I was learning more about Rick in the short time I’d known Jude than I had in the four months I’d known Rick.
“Did you ring Rick up last night?” Jude suddenly asked.
“Ring him?”
With his hand, he made the universal signal for phone.
“Oh, call him. No. Well, yes. I called, but we didn’t connect. I left him a message. Not sure what he can really tell us, though. Not unless there’s a hidden couch somewhere.”
Jude furrowed his brow. “That’s probably not likely, is it?”
I nodded grimly. “No, probably not, which means he probably won’t be much help.”
Jude studied me for a minute. “So what are the plans?”
“Well, barring a secret couch, I’ll talk with Stephanie. Like I said last night, she might be okay with you staying here. One slight problem. Guys aren’t allowed on this floor after midnight, so we’d have to sneak you around.”
“I’m good at sneaking.”
Considering our encounter last night, that went without saying.
The door to the other bedroom opened and Stephanie—she was always Stephanie, never Steph—stepped out wearing flannel pajamas. She had curly brown hair, and first thing in the morning, it usually looked as though she’d stuck her finger in a socket. Her brown eyes were opened wide.
She arched a brow at me. “Uh, hello?! What’s going on here?”
Chapter 3
Jude had her at g’day.
“I love an Aussie accent,” she said. “Say something else.”
Jude laughed. It was the first time I’d heard him laugh, and I swear, it too rang with an accent. “Now, you’ve put me on the spot.”
Stephanie giggled lightly and repeated spot, saying it the way he had, somehow hiding the vowel. A lot of his words sounded shorter than they actually were.
“How cute is that? Totally,” Stephanie said.
Stephanie was in the habit of often asking a question and answering it herself. I wasn’t quite sure if she was mental and carrying on conversations with herself or if she didn’t have the patience to wait for the answers.
“You are the absolute cutest,” she went on. Then she shifted her gaze to me and crooked her finger. “Uh, can I see you in private for a minute?”
“If you don’t mind, I’m going to pop into the loo,” Jude said, pointing toward my bedroom.
“Uh, yeah sure. Actually”—I got up—“hold on just a sec.”
I hurried into my room. Who’s mental now, Alyssa? I asked myself as I dashed madly around picking up discarded clothes. I tended to avoid hangers when I didn’t have a roommate around who might object to tripping over clothes. Sheli had finished finals early and left a few days ago, so I’d immediately thrown caution to the wind. My clothes had suffered as a result.
Then I ducked into my bathroom to make sure I hadn’t left any underwear or personal items lying around. Why hadn’t it occurred to me that eventually he was going to need access to a bathroom?
Okay, okay, okay. I straightened things, placed a couple of clean towels on the counter, and calmly walked back into the living room. Hanging on to Jude’s every word, Stephanie was sitting on the edge of the coffee table. What did I care if she was ogling him and he was interested in her? Not my business. But I still had this strange urge to break up their conversation.
“It’s ready,” I said.
“I’ll visit with you more in a bit, Stephanie.” Jude stood up and grabbed his duffel bag. He winked as he walked by me. I wasn’t sure why or what it meant but it made me feel special.
Stephanie’s eyes followed him as he disappeared into my bedroom and closed the door.
“Omigod! Is he not the cutest?” Stephanie asked. “Where did you find him?”
“In the front yard,” I said truthfully, surprised he hadn’t shared every sordid detail. Then I told her all about last night’s misadventures. When I finished, she said, “So Rick made these arrangements and didn’t tell anyone?”
“Apparently. So how do you feel about letting Jude stay here?”
“As long as he’s using your loo and not mine. But if we get caught, it’s your problem.”
I felt an amazing sense of relief. I really hadn’t wanted to let Jude down. “I think I can handle that.”
By the time Jude came out of my bedroom, Stephanie had left to spend the day on the slopes with some friends.
I put my hand beneath my chin, striving for nonchalance as I worked to keep my jaw from dropping.
Omigod! Freshly showered, Jude looked absolutely amazing. He was wearing a forest green cable-knit sweater which really brought out the deep green of his gorgeous eyes. Now that they no longer contained a hint of red, they were even more beautiful. If his emerging from my room hadn’t knocked the breath out of me, noticing his eyes would have.
I suddenly felt very awkward. I didn’t know what to do with my hands, because they wanted to reach out and brush his autumn-colored hair off his brow. I tucked them beneath my arms, as though they were cold. Actually nothing about me was cold. Jude somehow had the ability to raise my temperature to the point that I probably appeared fevered.
“So what’s the verdict?” he asked.
“Stephanie is okay with you staying in our suite. So our couch is yours if you want it.”
“Do you have a problem with it?” he asked.
“What? No, not at all.” Did I sound too eager? I thought I sort of did. He was fascinating, and what I’d thought was going to be an uneventful winter break suddenly had possibilities.
Jude gave me a big grin. “Fantastic.”
“So what are your plans for the day?” I asked.
“Take a walkabout. Want to come with me?”
“You know, I would but I need to go to the campus bookstore.”
“I like bookstores.”
That was all I really needed to do today. Pick up my books for Monday’s classes. So why not?
We walked to a little pancake house near campus. I’d changed into jeans and a curve-hugging red sweater. I’d felt a compulsion to at least look like someone Jude wouldn’t be embarrassed to be seen with—although he seemed to just go with the flow, no matter how turbulent it might be.
He ordered scrambled eggs, crisp bacon, sausage, biscuits, and a “cuppa tea.” I ordered buttermilk pancakes and a glass of skim milk.
It was a bright clear day. The snow that had come through the night before had left a fresh blanket of white, but most of the sidewalks and the roads were already cleared. When you live in snow country, the city is always prepared.
“So how’d you get into couch swapping?” I asked, pouring maple syrup over my pancakes.
“Money.”
“There’s money to be made in it?”
He crumbled his bacon over his eggs, stirred them up. “No, my lack of money. You read the note, right? Rick said you’d hook me up with some cheap eats.”
Considering how much Jude was eating for breakfast, I didn’t think I’d have much luck in that department. Maybe it was my fascination with watching $40 a Day with Rachael Ray that had convinced Rick I was the cheap-eats go-to girl. She could go to any city and eat all day without spending more than forty dollars. She always had interesting meals—and everything was absolutely delicious. Just once, I wanted to see her taste something, grimace, and say, “Okay, this was a bad choice.”
But I didn’t want Jude to know that I had concerns about delivering on the inexpensive food. It would be a challenge, but not impossible.
“Speaking of eats, you absolutely can’t come to Vermont and not have our maple syrup.”
I nudged my plate nearer to him. “Help yourself.”
He grinned. “You’re such a small thing, you should finish them.”
I’d never had anyone refer to me as small. I was short and relatively slender, but I held my own when it came to scarfing down food. “I’m not offering you the whole plate. Just a few bites.” I pushed the syrup toward him. “Pour some more on so you get the full flavor.”
I watched as he drenched a portion of the pancakes in syrup. Using a fork and knife—I didn’t know anyone who used a knife on pancakes—he sliced neatly through the stack, created perfect little wedges, and gathered up the pieces with the fork. He popped them into his mouth. His eyes got really wide as he chewed. “Now, that’s smashing.”
“We’re famous for our maple syrup. My dad pours maple syrup on everything.”
“Can’t say I blame him. What’s your dad do?”
“He actually just unscrews the top, removes it, and pours syrup like there’s no tomorrow. He can’t stand the tops with the little holes. Says they’re as slow as tapping a maple tree.”
Jude laughed, and again I was struck by what a wondrous sound it was. “No. I meant what’s he do for a living.”
“Oh yeah, of course.” I wanted to crawl beneath the table. What made me think he’d care how my dad poured syrup? My thoughts this morning were obviously as scrambled as the eggs Jude had eaten. “Uh, he’s in real estate. My mom, too. Family business. Struggling family business at the moment, but as my mom is fond of saying, ‘what goes down must come up.’ Although I’m not sure that’s exactly true, because that scenario sort of defies gravity.”
He grinned at my babbling. Even when I was talking nonsense he paid attention. I wondered if he found my New England accent fascinating.
“Is that what you’re gonna do?” he asked. “Go into the family business?”
“No. I want to go to med school. Be a pediatrician.”
“Take care of ankle biters?”
I gave him an exaggerated, teasing grimace. “Come on! Kids aren’t that bad.”
“They’re little buggers. I have three brothers, all much younger. They’re a pain in my bum. And I have a sister, a tad older, who I think is pretty cool. What about you?”
“Are you asking if I’m a pain in your bum?”
He laughed. “You’re not. Absolutely not. I was asking if you have any brothers or sisters.”
“Nope, it’s just me.” Using my fork, I cut off some pancake. “So is it weird? Sleeping on strangers’ couches?”
“Not so far. I like it, actually. Gives me a chance to get to know the people and the customs of wherever I’m visiting. Like this, for example.” Using his knife, he pointed toward the pancakes. “If I was on my own, I might have never tried the maple syrup. Which is marvelous, by the way. But I’d have never known if you hadn’t shared.”
“Didn’t you research Vermont before heading over here? Didn’t you know we have world-famous syrup?”
“Not really.” He grinned. “I like being surprised, learning as I go. Coming here with no preconceived notions of what to expect. Well, except for the snow and the cold, of course. Makes every day an adventure.”
I shook my head. “See, I like to have everything planned out.”
“Nothing wrong with that. But I’m thinking my spontaneous way is a bit more fun; leaves opportunities for unexpected possibilities.”
I wasn’t sure it was his way as much as it was him. He struck me as someone who really brought the party with him.
“Isn’t it lonely, traveling alone?”
“Nah, I’ve got you, now haven’t I?”
I felt this silly tightening in my chest. What he said might have been the sweetest thing anyone ever said to me.
“Besides, if I was traveling with someone,” Jude continued, “I’d probably spend all my time visiting with my mate and talking to him, instead of talking to the strangers around me. I wouldn’t learn a lot about the people in the country I’m visiting. What’s the point in that? Traveling and not getting to know the people?”
“I never thought of it like that.”
“I like sightseeing, don’t get me wrong. I like seeing the buildings and the monuments and the museums, but the people fascinate me. And you never know who you’re going to meet.” He shifted in his seat and I could see the excitement rippling off of him. “Last year, I’m riding the tube in London—that’s the underground railway by the way—and I’m talking to this bloke. Turns out he works for Scotland Yard. He took me on a private tour of the place. Fascinating.”
I didn’t think it could have been nearly as fascinating as Jude.
“So I enjoy meeting people. I can see my mates when I’m home. But the world, I just want to explore it.”
When we finished eating, we bundled back up and headed outside. The day was clear. The air was crisp, but cold enough to create an ache in my lungs.
I took Jude on the grand tour of the campus, trying to remember some of the things I’d been told about its history during orientation.
“You don’t have to be my official tour guide,” he finally said.
I blushed, realizing I might be taking my role too seriously. I was spouting off facts and figures that I didn’t think anyone really cared about.
“I’m not too good at it,” I confessed. “Trying to make history and facts interesting. I don’t have a flair when it comes to being a storyteller. I can point out the building where I had classes with a certain degree of authority.”
“I just like to look around,” he assured me.
As traditional as the campus was, with its redbrick buildings, it also possessed an intimacy that I’d always liked. Glancing over at Jude, seeing how relaxed his facial features were, I was fairly certain that he noticed the welcoming feel of the campus.
“How’s your face today?” I asked.
He shifted his eyes over to me. “Not bad. Stings a bit but nothing to worry over.”
“I’m not sure I would have been as understanding if someone had attacked me with pepper spray.”
“It was sorta Rick’s fault, now wasn’t it?”
I nodded. Rick was at the bottom of the whole mess, although I was starting to view it as less of a mess and as more of an interesting development. I’d never met or visited with anyone from Australia. As a matter of fact, I couldn’t remember ever talking with anyone who wasn’t American.
“So I’ve got no hard feelings,” Jude continued, “but you can make it up to me.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah.”
He unzipped his jacket pocket and took out a tiny digital camera. “If I take some photos, will you let me upload them on your computer and send them home?”
“Oh, sure, not a problem.”
“Fantastic.” He held up the camera and clicked a picture of me.
“Oh, no!” I covered my face. “I hate candids!”
He laughed. “Why?”
I looked at him through splayed fingers. “My nose was red. My mouth was probably in some absurd shape.”
“You looked great. ’Sides, I don’t like the posed pics. They’re not the real person. They’re a reflection of what the person wants the world to think of her—not what she really is.”
I’d never thought of it that way. “But if that’s the image she wants to leave behind, shouldn’t you respect that?”
“How’s this? I’ll take pictures my way, and any you don’t like, I’ll delete—no arguments.”
Why did he want pictures of me anyway? To serve as a reminder of the unprepared tour guide/problem solver who’d been responsible for the most boring vacation of his life?
“Deal,” I said, deciding it didn’t really matter. I wanted him to have a picture of me. And maybe I could sneak in a shot or two of him.
“Did you want me to take a picture of you?” I asked.
“Nah. My mates know what I look like.” He snapped a picture of a building.
“So what does UQ stand for?” I asked, t
hinking of the sweatshirt he was wearing last night.
“University of Queensland.”
“Is that where you go to school?”
“Yeah. Studying aeronautical engineering.”
“Ah, then you’re a genius.”
“Nah. Just study a lot. That’s the reason I take these trips. Get away from it all for a bit. Revitalize myself.”
“I was thinking about doing that over spring break. Just ditching the whole academic world for a few days.”
“You could come to the Land of Oz.”
I laughed, envisioning me arriving on a twister. “The Land of Oz?”
“That’s what we call Australia.”
“Thought you called it the Land Down Under.”
“That, too. I mean, you don’t just call Vermont Vermont, do ya?”
“No, we’re also the Green Mountain State.”
“See, that’s too long for us. We shorten things. If we give something another name, it’s usually shorter than the original. Like barbecue is barbie. Crocodile is croc. Alyssa is Lys.”
He said it all so naturally. “I’ve never had anyone call me anything except Alyssa.”
“Do you mind me calling you just Lys?”
“Just Lys?” I pretended to think about it. “So if you wanted my attention, you’d shout, ‘Hey! Just Lys!’”
“Ah, funny. Maybe I will call you Just Lys. Serves you right for being difficult.”
I gave him an impish smile. “Lys is fine. Actually, I like Lys.” Of course, he could call me dirt with that lovely accent of his and I’d like it. I was pathetic.
“I like her too.”
“No.” Now I was laughing. “No, I meant the name. How can we have a communication problem when we both speak the same language?”
“Well, it’s not quite the same, now is it?”
“You’re right. I like the way you talk much better.”
And the way he grinned and the way he laughed and the way he looked when he was sleeping…and when he wasn’t sleeping.
“You know,” he began, “I have a list of a hundred things to do before I die—”
“Omigod!” My chest felt like it was caving in on itself as I gasped. “You’re terminally ill.”