Chapter 8

Jamie managed to stay absorbed in the sound and fury of recording and remixing, fine-tuning raw material into something that glittered and shone, until nearly six. Glancing at the clock, he leaned into the mic and hit the button to carry his voice into the recording room.

"Hey, Charles, that's good for today. Let's get out of here." His friend nodded, cracking open a bottle of cold water and drinking thirstily. Jamie gathered his bags and started for the elevator before his friend could catch up, not wanting to hear any more ribbing about his new lady. Or, more accurately, the lack of one.

He waved Charles off towards the subway and hailed a cab. He caught himself humming through the snarls and delays of holiday traffic, all the way home, all the way to his door. He juggled bags until he could get the key in the lock, and the door opened before he could turn it. Celeste's face was worried and relieved, all at once.

"Hey," he laughed, finding himself surprised to see her there. She held the door open for him silently and he trundled through with his packages. "I'm sorry I took so long."

"You told me you would be back at six o'clock," she replied calmly. "It's only a little after that now." He raised a quizzical eyebrow at her and she shrugged. "I slept most of the day, anyhow."

"You look better," he commented. "Less tired." It was true, the dark shadows under her eyes had faded somewhat, and her skin looked rosy and flushed. Obviously, the rest had done wonders for her, as she managed to give him a small smile. He jerked his head towards the couch.

"Sit down," he urged her. "I got you some things." The sudden way she startled, and the suspicious look she shot over her shoulder at him made him smile sheepishly. "I thought maybe you could use some clothes that don't look like concentration camp issue."

"Why?" The caution in her tone tugged at his emotions and he shook his head.

"Because I wanted to, Celeste. Nothing more than that. It's a gift. Accept it, please?" She looked at him for a long moment, then shrugged gracefully and folded herself down onto the leather upholstery.

"Okay," she said slowly. A sudden mischievous glimmer in her eyes made him chuckle. "So what kind of clothes are they?"

"Warm ones!" Taking a seat next to her, he piled the bags on the floor around their feet. "Here, start with this one," he demanded, handing her a gaily gift-wrapped box. "I want to see what you think."

For the better part of an hour he watched as some of the carefully built walls around her feelings came down. Uncertain at first, she slowly melted, taking a childlike delight in every piece of fabric, every color.

"Oh, it's so soft," she crooned, rubbing the sleeve of the blue sweater against her face. "Here, feel!" The fine-combed cashmere tickled against his skin, leaving his cheek tingling. He smiled and nodded, absently reaching out and pushing her hair off her face so he could see her blue eyes change color to match the shimmering shade of the sweater. She giggled like a child at the smooth, buttery feel of the leather pants. When she reached for the final box, he stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm.