"Well, they should," Hope informed him with a pointed glance. "You should treat the people who prepare your meals well, Ryan, and they'll repay you a thousandfold with their loyalty and kindness."
Ryan opened his mouth to educate Hope on the reality of the modern-day world and shut it just as quickly. Hope may see things from the cockeyed angle of the early twentieth century and the influence of her idiosyncratic social reformist father, but that didn't mean her point of view held no validity whatsoever. Maybe she had a few things to teach him about his time period as well. So instead of lecturing her he tucked one of her errant curls behind her ear, smiling to himself when he felt her go utterly still beneath his touch.
"You know, you're right. I'll make sure I give an extra good tip."
She gave him a radiant smile.
There was no doubt about it. He was going to go bankrupt heating this monstrous old house and giving fat tips to every delivery boy in the city. But if it meant Hope Stillwater blessed him with that smile, he'd be the richest poor man in the city.
***
Hope sat cross-legged on the bed, her back against pillows that had been stacked next to the headboard. She gave a muffled cry of triumph when she successfully maneuvered the last piece of Mongolian beef into her mouth using chopsticks.
"This is delicious," she told Ryan, who sat opposite her on the bed, his back leaning against pillows and the foot railing and his legs stretched out in front of him. He'd put on a dark blue shirt earlier that only made his eyes look lighter and more striking in contrast to it. He wore a faded pair of the type of the thick cotton pants, similar to the ones he'd had on when she first saw him in the mirror. It was difficult for her to keep her stare off how well they fit his trim hips and long legs. She'd been impressed at how adroitly he handled his chopsticks, as though he had been born in China. "May we use the cell phone to order more of it for tomorrow's dinner?"
"Yes," Ryan said.
"Could you please pass the orange chicken?"
"You already ate it all."
"Oh." She frowned in disappointment and patted her belly thoughtfully. "Perhaps I'm fuller than I thought. I've never tasted food half so good. So many flavors. So exotic. And the delivery boy said he'd been to Hong Kong twice to visit his grandparents! Do you think he'll remember to bring the photographs of his last trip the next time he visits?"
Ryan's low laughter brought her out of her reverie.
"He'll remember all right. It's not likely he'll forget talking to you for a long, long time."
Hope put her chopsticks in the empty carton and carefully placed it on a paper napkin on the bedside table. She'd been unimpressed when Ryan had explained that the rough white paper was meant to be a substitute for cloth napkins and immediately asked why they didn't make napkins as soft as the paper she'd found in the bathroom. He'd laughed at her then just as he did presently.
"I suppose I must seem very foolish to you," she murmured.
Ryan shook his head and swallowed a bite of sweet-and-sour pork. "You don't seem foolish, honey. You make me see my world in a whole different way. I only meant that boy would never forget having such a beautiful woman listen to every word he uttered like she thought he was the most fascinating male on the planet."
Warmth flooded her at Ryan's compliment. He hadn't kissed her and only briefly touched her since they'd awoken from their nap; The heat in his eyes when he looked at her combined with his special small smile made her feel as if he'd been caressing her intimately the entire time, however.
"I did think he was fascinating. How many people do you know who have been to Hong Kong twice by the time they were sixteen? And these airplanes that he spoke of . .." She trailed off, gazing off into the distance and fantasizing what it would be like to get on a vehicle and be on the other side of the globe within a day and a night. "Airplanes sound like something right out of one of Mr. Jules Verne's novels. I can't wait to discover the other miracles of your time. I can't wait to tell my father about it all .. . the airplanes, the cell phones, the Chinese food delivery, the toilet paper . .."
It struck her suddenly that there was a very good chance she'd never have the opportunity to tell her father anything ever again.
A moment later she glanced up and saw Ryan standing beside her through an annoying veil of tears. He came down on the bed next to her. She found herself enfolded in his arms. She buried her face in his shirt, infinitely thankful for his steadying presence as her world rocked precariously. He said nothing as she cried but he ran his hand soothingly along the back of her head and shoulders, once pausing to pull the combs out of her hair.
"I'm sorry," she said wetly against his chest a whil
e later. At some point her attention had turned from her grief to the sensation of Ryan's fingers running through her unbound hair.
"You don't have to apologize. You've been through a lot in the past twenty-four hours."
Hope sniffled and raised her head to look at him. They were so close she could perfectly see the vivid pinpoints of color in his cerulean eyes. For a moment she found herself drowning in the depths of his gaze as though she'd dove down into a warm, sunlit sea. "I want you to know something, honey." "What?"
"When I first came into this house—when I first starting seeing you—I was convinced you weren't dead." He saw her crinkled brow and continued. "Ramiro—he's my partner—tried to tell me you were a ghost. The documents and newspaper articles I read stated that without a doubt you'd died in the year 1906. But I didn't believe it, Hope. And now you're here in my arms proving me right." His hold tightened around her. Her body slid along his several inches, until their faces were only inches apart. "I don't understand what you mean," she whispered.
"I'm trying to say that I don't think time works the way you and I had always thought.
Somehow—some way—I knew you weren't dead. I sensed that we were only separated by something human beings usually don't have the power to penetrate. But you and I—we're solid proof that it's not an impossibility."
Hope merely watched him soberly, emotion clogging her throat. He opened his big hand along the side of her head, his thumb caressing her damp cheek gently.
"I'm trying to tell you I don't think your father is dead . .. not in the way we used to think of it. We're separated from him at present, that's true. But if a gateway could be formed, you would see him, alive and well."