Page 50 of Shape Of My Heart
Chapter12
The melodious tuneof violin music filled the house as Amy stepped in. She recognized it as Bach’sPartita No. 2. She’d gotten into classical music a lot when she was in college. Her roommate played the cello and always dragged Amy along to her concerts. The music always calmed her and filled her with inspiration. She actually liked listening to it as she created herdesigns.
She never expected to hear it playing in Josh’s house, and he had it on just loud enough for it to create that ambient relaxation you’d feel when you went to watch the opera, ballet, or listen to anorchestra.
Josh was in the living room sitting in the armchair with a low fire going in the antique fireplace. It was just like the vision she had when she first saw this room. Josh was reading a book. He looked tired but a hundred times better than onSunday.
His lips slid up into an easy smile when he saw her enter. She walked over and stood a few paces awayfromhim.
“Hi.” He gave her a warmsmile.
“Hey.” She returned the smile and gazed into the openness of his enchanting eyes. “Areyouokay?”
He nodded. “Ithinkso.”
“I love themusic.”
“It’s my sister’s compilation. It’s all the pieces sheperformedto.”
He’d told her all about his mother and sister on Sunday. It was difficult for him to talk at first but then he did. She was intrigued to hear all that they’d done, and truly impressed. More than anything she was thoroughly captivated by the way he spoke about them. His eyes brightened and his face lit up with pride. Just like it did now. That must have meant that yesterday’s visit to the cemetery had helped him insomeway.
“It’sbeautiful.”
He looked her over from head to toe and said, “Yeah,youare.”
“Thank you.” Her cheeks warmed as he continued to stare. “What are you reading?” The book lookedveryold.
“Poetry.”
She started to laugh. She’d probably have the same reaction if she came in and found him reading thebible.
“What?”
“Are you serious? It’s actual poetry?” She didn’t know if she couldbelievethat.
“Yes. Look, see.” He held it out to her and she took it. It was a collection of post-romantic poetry and she could see that her favorite poet was listed in there: Alfred Tennyson. “Believemenow?”
She leaned her head to the side and handed the book back to him. “Josh, I feel like I just walked into theTwilight Zone. But the good part. Ithink.”
He chuckled. “You don’t believe I likepoetry?”
“It’s hard to get my head round.” She looked at him and observed his overly masculine presence and stature. There was no way that she would guess that he had a softer side, one that would appreciate classical music and poetry. But here he was. “What’s your favorite fromthebook?”
“‘In Memoriam’ by Tennyson.” He said it withoutthinking.
She loved that poem, and anything byTennyson.
“That’s a reallylongpoem.”
“Doesn’t bother me, princess.” He straightened up and smiled, setting the book down on the coffee table, then recited, “Be near me when my light is low, when the blood creeps, and the nerves prick. And tingle; and the heart is sick. And all the wheels ofbeingslow.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. He was actually quotingthepoem.
He smiled when he saw her reaction and continued, “Be near me when the sensuous frame is rack'd with pangs that conquer trust. And time, a maniac scattering dust. And life, a fury slingingflame.”
She thought she’d do a little reciting of her own and join him. “Be near me when my faith is dry,” she cut in. His smile widened. “And men the flies of latter spring. That lay their eggs, and sting and sing and weave their petty cells and die. Be near me when I fade away. To point the term of human strife. And on the low dark verge of life the twilight ofeternalday.”
“Well this is interesting, now isn’t it,” he stated. “Now we have something incommon.”
