Deliver the Moon Read Online Free PDF

himself into oblivion often enough during that last year of his marriage to permanently engrave the sensations into his brain.
    A young woman sat on the next stool. She smiled openly when Gabe glanced her way.
    “Buy me a drink?” she asked, long lashes lowered over blue eyes.
    Gabe shrugged and waved the bartender over.
    “I’m Jennifer,” she said. When Gabe just nodded, she asked, “Do you have a name?”
    “Gabe.”
    “You here alone?”
    He nodded again.
    She tapped a perfectly manicured fingernail on the bar next to his still-full Scotch. “Singing the blues tonight, Gabe?”
    “You could say that.” He stared into his glass, weak for being here with a drink in his hand, but not strong enough to push it away. At least it hadn’t passed his lips. Yet. His clutch on the glass tightened.
    “Aren’t relationships a drag?” Jennifer asked, crossing her legs beneath a skimpy skirt and leaning toward him to present her ample cleavage. “Don’t you wish men and women could just get together without having to worry about commitment and all that sort of thing?”
    Gabe turned to stare at her. His gaze dropped to her chest. Then back to her face. Her cotton-candy lips curved into a sexy smile. Hmm. Nothing about her reminded him of Louisa, which was good. Jennifer was rather attractive in an obvious sort of way. Too much make up, too short a skirt. But he liked her hair. She did too, judging by the way she kept tossing it over her shoulder and how she twirled a silky blonde strand around her index finger.
    Louisa used to do that. But she’d used her pinky finger. He’d noticed it the night they met.
    He’d been working in the photo lab at college late one winter night. All the other students had long gone, which was prudent because he wasn’t exactly a student anymore since his finances ran out and because he wasn’t exactly supposed to be using the facilities anymore.
    “Hey.” The soft voice behind him made him jump, and he nearly dropped the photo back into the developer.
    He turned to see who’d caught him. He had to look down to see her. She was at least seven or eight inches shorter, just a little thing. Her hair was a short mass of springy, dark curls, and she twirled a strand around her pinky finger.
    “Hey,” he said back. “You scared me.” In the red light of the darkroom, it was hard to see into the corners and outer hallway, but she appeared to be alone.
    “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before,” she said. “Whose class are you in?"
    Gabe was suddenly conscious of the sloppy way he was dressed, although he supposed he looked no less unkempt than she did in her baggy sweatshirt and pants. He pushed his long hair out of his face, wishing he’d gotten it cut like he’d been meaning to forever. “I, er, am doing an independent study.” He watched her face to see if she believed him.
    Apparently she did, because she stuck out her hand and said, “I’m Louisa Rhodes. I’m in the beginning photography class. At least until they kick me out. I’m really bad. I just don’t understand why we have to learn how to use a darkroom when we have digital cameras. It’s so old-fashioned.” She peered around his shoulder to see the pictures becoming clear in the solution on the table.
    He was about to tell her it was important for a good photographer to understand the traditional methods, but she brushed against his arm, and the odd tingle at the contact kept him from speaking.
    “Wow. You took these? They’re fantastic.” She stepped around him to grab one of the photos on the drying rack. “Are you a graduate student or something? You’re really good.”
    It had been a long time since Gabe had really smiled, but he did at her sincerely given compliment.
    After that night, she caught him in there a few more times before she figured out what he was up to. Instead of turning him in, she struck a deal with him—if he would help her pass her photography class, she would keep her