Intrigue (Elvis Presley Story)

Chapter 14

Olivia's mouth was still gaping open when she walked into the kitchen area and found Elvis sitting at the island counter, pouring over her journal a quick scan last night had assured her that the personal contents were limited to career aspirations and future goals-nothing as potentially humiliating as the rambling thoughts she'd recorded last night in another volume.

They included a few brief paragraphs along the lines of how a woman could know the difference between making a colossal mistake and pushing for what she wanted with a man. That one, she thought thankfully, would never see eyes other than her own. Still, it was a bit disconcerting to see something so private being dissected and notated in the small notebook Elvis normally carried in his pocket.

Some sixth sense, or her own lack of stealth, must have alerted him to her presence. He glanced up from his notes.

"Good morning."

He looked surprisingly well-rested, not at all perturbed by events from the night before, and though his clothes were still creased from the adventures she'd put him through yesterday, he was clean-shaven and his hair glistened from the dampness of his shower.

She had to snap her jaw shut before she could answer.

"I see you found the razor I set out."

"Yeah, thanks."

"No problem." With her Aunts conspicuously absent, olivia had a hard time coming up with what to say next. How did you sleep? Trite. A couch was a couch. Will there be any more kissing lessons today? Too desperate. Perfect setup for laughter of some kind. Work should be a safe enough topic. She nodded towards the journal.

"Did you find anything useful?"

"I'm coping down everything my father wrote. Some of it is really out of context, your ancestry isn't German, is it?"

"Not that I know of." A spark of an idea tried to show itself. "This was a German church. The settlers who built it were from bingen. I don't know why your father would comment on that, though."

"Me, either. And there are so many abbreviations, it's hard to see any kind of pattern." He closed the journal. "Maybe you can make sense of it for me later."

"I'll try."

He slipped his notebook inside his jacket pocket. "Will it still work to drive you into the office? Or would you prefer that I follow you in your car?"

"Since we're running to the bank at lunch, we can just go together this morning. If you're sure you don't mind driving me home again. That seems like a big imposition."

"It's not," he answered matter-of-factly.

"Are you sure? Cause I could have my aunt Peggy pick me up. Or maybe we should drive separately, after all."

"It's no imposition. Especially since I will be spending the night here again, anyway."

"You...? Again...?"

"You can't talk me out of it," he stated, as if she'd just offered up a logical argument instead of babbling her surprise. "Even if I have to sleep outside in my car I am not leaving you unprotected. You're the key to understanding whatever my father was trying to tell us. I won't let anything happen to you."

Right. Her journal. Elvis wanted to protect the journal his father had written in-and, by extension, her, since she seemed to be the only one who could decipher Vernon presley's shorthand. Her stalker was an inconvenience that was getting in the way of them finding the answers they needed.

She should be feeling crushing disappointed that in Elvis's mind, she came in second place to a book. Instead, she was relieved to have a clearer understanding of their relationship. They were friends-partners, even, on this investigation. She didn't have to worry about her plain looks or shy ways or inexperience handling an intimate relationship with a man. As long as she remembered she was a friend and-despite last night's passionate tutoring session-nothing more, then she couldn't set herself up for embarrassment or heartache.