Once he left the Haywood out for her with a page number on a scrap of paper, and she opened the book to recipes for Distillation. Jess laughed at the page George had found for her. There, between inst...
His fantasies were nurturing, not predatory. If he could have Jess, he would feed her. Laughable, antique, confusingly paternal, he longed to nourish her with clementines, and pears in season, fresh w...
She had no idea how George delighted in her funny ways, or watched her through the window as she stood outside, finishing an apple or nibbling sunflower seeds. She did not register his glances, his qu...
Sentimentally, he thought of Jess. Irrationally, he despaired of having her. But this was not a question of pursuit. Raj would laugh at him, and Nick would look askance. His fantasies were nurturing,...
At first she felt overwhelmed by the house, its airy symmetry its silence. Now she was accustomed to the place, but she caught herself wondering, Is this still Berkeley? George's neighborhood felt as...
I used to write poetry when I was younger, Jess said. She had kept a notebook by her bed, in case some line or image came to her in her dreams, but she had always been a sound sleeper, and no Xanadus...
She turned the next several pages and found a black-ink drawing on a slip of typing paper, a nude woman holding a round fruit to her mouth. Jess plucked it out and read the collector's tiny caption: D...
When I first enjoyed this superb view, one glowing April day, Jess read aloud, from the summit of the Pacheco Pass, the Central Valley, but little trampled or plowed as yet, was one furred, rich sheet...
He draws asparagus and cabbages, but he's obsessed with artichokes. He draws them more than any other vegetable. Why artichokes?George drained his glass. The artichoke is a sexy beast. Thorns to cut y...
You think there's something materialistic about collecting books, but really collectors are the last romantics. We're the only ones who still love books as objects.That's the question, said Jess. How...