A day after our matchmaking endeavors, Isobel and I officially claimed the library shelving project complete. I had wanted to call everyone into the room immediately and show it off, even though most of the staff had stopped by periodically to follow our progress, anyway. But Isobel wanted everything cleaned and all the books shelved before our “grand opening.”
So while I removed the drop cloths and ladders and tools, Isobel dusted and began to vacuum. When it came time to shelve the books, our great debate about how to organize them started.
“This is where I had the mysteries before,” Isobel started, narrowing her eyes as if daring me to disagree.
I just grinned, ready to play. “But this is a darker corner. Don’t you think mysteries should be in the darkest, most mysterious part of the room? And romances belong by the light, since they’re, you know, light and full of love with happy endings and stuff.”
She blinked at me as if I’d lost my mind. “You have the strangest logic I’ve ever heard.”
With a wink, I chuckled. “But you like my idea, don’t you?”
Scowling a moment longer, she chased it with a huff before she bit her lip and gazed around the room. “Okay, fine. The romances should go by the windows. But the mysteries need to be on the bookshelf covering the hidden door, and the horror novels can go in the darker corner.”
My mouth fell open before I pointed and said, “Even better. Perfect.”
So we got to work, carrying piles of books from the center of the room where some had been stored for the building project to their respective areas. After five minutes, I noticed a pair of eyes peeking around the opening of the library watching us.
I had no idea how long Kit had been there, but our mundane book carrying had clearly fascinated him.
“Hi, Kit,” I said good-naturedly. “Why don’t you come help us?”
Isobel paused what she was doing and turned to see the boy. When he realized her attention was on him, he gasped and disappeared.
“That does it,” I muttered, setting down the stack I was holding and charging after him.
“Oh, leave him be,” Isobel called. “Seriously. Shaw! What the heck are you doing?”
I held up a finger. “I’ll be right back.”
Then I raced from the room and reached the boy before he could make it to the kitchen. “Hey!” I caught him by the back of the shirt, pulling him to a stop.
I winced when he stumbled off balance from the abruptness and almost fell. Shit, I hoped no one had seen that. But when he looked up at me with big, scared eyes, my reason for chasing him down resurfaced.
“Why’d you run off?” I asked, shaking my head cluelessly.
He peered down the hall as if looking for signs of Isobel before turning back to me and whispering, “She looked at me.”
“Yeah.” I nodded before giving him a wink. “And you didn’t turn to stone. That’s a good sign, isn’t it?”
Considering that a moment, he finally gave a slow nod. “Yeah. I guess.”
“Here.” I grasped his hand and urged him to follow me back toward the library. “Just meet her. She’s actually very nice.”
“But—”
“Trust me, kid,” I told him, looking him straight in the eye. “I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you.”
He gulped audibly before whispering, “You swear?”
“On my life.”
After giving me a nod, he followed me willingly but hesitantly back to the library, but as soon as we hit the doorway, he pressed himself to my hip and hugged my leg.
“I found us some more help,” I announced to Isobel, grinning as if a trembling, scared child wasn’t clinging to me for dear life.
Isobel sent me a reprimanding glance, silently commanding me to stop torturing the poor child.
I ignored it. “Isobel, this is Kit. Kit, Miss Isobel Nash.”
Kit peeled his face from my thigh and slowly turned his attention to her.
She smiled at him, even though her lips trembled. She had her hair pulled back and face on full display. I knew it took everything she had to keep from hiding her scars from him, but I think we both realized he had to see them openly before he could combat his fear of them.
“Hey, Kit,” she said. “Are you really here to help? Because I have some important rare books I need put on this shelf over there, and I need someone special to do it.”
The muscles in Kit’s body relaxed fractionally; I felt every one of them because he seemed to have them all plastered against me. “I…I guess,” he mumbled.
Isobel’s face brightened. She looked more beautiful than I’d ever seen her before. “Great,” she said, “these books are super important to me. They’re first edition fairy tales with hand-drawn pictures. They’re really good pictures, too.” She began to gather an armful of crumbling old books. “Did you know, in some of the original versions of Cinderella, the wicked stepsisters cut off parts of their feet to fit them into the glass slipper?”
Kit perked to attention and stopped holding my leg entirely. “Really?”
“Yep. And they have pictures of it. It’s really gory and bloody.”
“Sweet.” The kid bounded away from me, hurrying toward Isobel as she opened the book on the top of her pile and started to flip through pages.
“Here it is.” She knelt down next to him.
Kit’s eyes grew wide as he stared. “Gross,” he cooed in absolute awe.
Isobel glanced up at me and grinned. “And, ooh, you should see the picture of the woodcutter cutting open the stomach of the big bad wolf in Little Red Riding Hood.” She flipped a few more pages until they came to the one she was looking for.
“Awesome.” Kit seemed to vibrate with excitement as he asked, “Are there any more?”
“Well.” Isobel bit her lip before her eyes sparkled. “Yes. They have one of the witch burning in Hansel and Gretel just after Gretel pushed her into the stove.”
As she began to flip pages, Kit glanced up to study her face. “Did it hurt a lot?” he asked, sympathy clogging his voice. “When you burned in the fire?”
Isobel slowly stopped flipping pages. She turned to look at him before admitting, “It was the worst pain of my life.”
Kit nodded slowly, his eyes large but full of understanding. “Do you think my dad and your mom hurt a lot when they died?”
Shit. I hadn’t meant for things to take this turn. I’d only wanted the boy to stop treating her like a monster. But he was suddenly taking it somewhere I wasn’t sure Isobel could handle going. I started toward them, to stop the kid, even drag him away from her if I had to. But Isobel lifted her hand in my direction, asking me to stop as she kept her attention on Kit.
“I think it hurt, yes,” she admitted, her throat working through what had to be a difficult swallow. Then her chin lifted a fraction of an inch. “But then I think it stopped and was over quickly. For me, the pain lasted for months and months, because I survived. For them, it was only for a few moments. That’s the only consolation I can give myself when I think of them. At least their pain stopped.”
The kid watched her a moment longer before his head slowly moved up and down. “I think you’re right,” he agreed.
I drew out a long, relieved breath, glad the moment hadn’t ended as awfully as I had feared it might. Just as I set my hand against my heart and finished blowing out a breath, Mrs. Pan appeared in the library.
“Kit! There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you, child. It’s time to…” Her words trailed off when she realized who was sitting next to her son. She blinked once, then twice. Suddenly, she flushed and began to stutter, “I…I’m so sorry, Miss Nash. Is he bothering you? I can—”
“No, no,” Isobel rushed to assure her, setting the book aside and pushing to her feet before brushing off her knees. “We were just looking at pictures in some old fairy tales.”
“They’re so cool, Mom. You should see what the wicked stepsisters did to their feet to fit into Cinderella’s slipper.”
“I…well…” Mrs. Pan shook her head and flushed before she seemed to remember why she’d originally come into the room, looking for him. “I will later, darling. For now, we need to get you down to the school and enrolled into third grade.”
“Oh man, really, Mom? Already? But summer break just started.”
“I’m afraid so. Then we’ll need to go shopping for school supplies and new shoes after that.”
“Can we get ice cream too?” the kid begged, a natural negotiator.
His mother squinted as if she had to think it through before saying, “Maybe.”
To Kit, I guessed that meant absolutely.
“Yes!” He fisted the air and started toward his mom, only to jerk to a halt and turn back to Isobel. “Thank you for showing me your book, Miss Isobel. Do you think I could come back later to look at more pictures and help you put the books back on the shelves?”
I swear Isobel’s bottom lip trembled before she gave a slow nod and smiled, her eyes glassy and emotional. “I’d like that very much,” she said, her voice so hoarse she nearly whispered the words.
“Cool.” Kit leapt forward and gave her a hug.
Mrs. Pan turned slightly to the side so she could discreetly wipe the corner of her eye, while the kid pulled away from Isobel, calling, “See you later.” Then he remembered to wave my way. “Bye, Shaw.”
“See you later, kid.”
And then he was gone, racing from the room at full bore.
“Kit!” his mother cried after him, chasing him into the hall. “Don’t run in the house.”
As their pounding footsteps faded from the room, I risked a glance toward the woman standing there, still staring at the doorway as if overcome.
“You okay?” I asked, edging closer to her.
She blinked, coming out of her daze, and looked up at me. “What?” Then she shook her head. “I mean, yes, of course.” A smile bloomed across her face. “Did you see him hug me?”
“I did.”
She touched the side of her waist as if she could still feel the pressure of him squeezing her. “He smelled like bologna,” she murmured distractedly.
I chuckled, moving even closer to her. “Typical kid smell, I bet.”
She nodded, her hand moving to the side of her arm. “Yeah. Probably.” She looked up at me again. “He didn’t seem afraid of me at all by the end there, did he?”
I shook my head. “Not at all.”
Another smile lit her face. “That was pretty amazing.”
You’re amazing, I wanted to say.
I stayed next to her, waiting, not sure what to do but remaining nearby in case she needed…well, anything.
“I guess we should get back to shelving these books,” she murmured, sounding as if she were still a little lost.
She knelt and gathered the heaping pile she’d set down in order to go through the fairy tale books with Kit, and tried to stand with them in her arms.
“Here, let me help.” I reached out, but she shook her head.
“No, I’ve got it.” And she tried to stand again, but I was still attempting to relieve her of them.
We were both determined, and it kind of caused a collision in which we bumped into each other and lost our footing. The books in her arms went flying, we tripped over another pile sitting nearby, and to the floor we went.
“Shit!” I cursed, landing on top of her, face-first, while plastering her back to the floor with a full impression of the woman under me, breasts, hips, thighs, legs. “I’m sorry. Oh God, I’m so sorry. Shit. Are you okay? Isobel?”
I sat up, the feel of her breasts smashed into my chest following me.
When I looked down at her, she blinked but didn’t move or speak. She just stared up at the ceiling and curled her hands up against her collarbone.
I sat next to her and hovered over her. “Are you okay?” I repeated, fearing the worst.
She started to nod, making a stray piece of hair that had come out of her ponytail fall into her face, a few strands tangling with her overlong eyelashes.
Unconsciously, I brushed them from her eyes, asking, “Are you sure? You’re not talking.”
“I’m—” She gasped when the tips of my fingers traced lightly over her scar while I was sweeping her hair aside.
“What?” I asked immediately, starting to freak out. “You are hurt, aren’t you? Where?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “No, I’m not—I’m not hurt. It’s just… you…”
“What?” I demanded, ready to rush her to a hospital if I had to.
“You touched my scars,” she breathed. Then she blinked up into my eyes. “No one ever does that.”
My mouth fell open before I said, “Oh, God. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize they were that tender. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
She let out a small laugh and began to sit up. “You misunderstand. It didn’t hurt. I don’t feel much of anything there anymore since the nerve endings were damaged. It was just…weird that someone voluntarily touched them.”
I watched her wipe another piece of hair from her face. “A good weird or bad weird?” I finally dared to ask.
She paused then nodded. “A good weird.”
The way she said it made me wonder if it might hurt her feelings when people purposely avoided the scars. Of course, making fun of them and degrading her for them would be upsetting to her, but maybe pretending they weren’t there was another form of condemnation in her book? Maybe she just wanted people to accept them.
I began to reach out without thinking, only to stop myself a few inches from her face. “I mean,” I said, shaking my head in apology. “Is it okay if I…?” The words fell gently from my lips.
Isobel blinked wide surprised eyes before she slowly nodded her head up and down. “O-okay. I guess. If you’re curious.”
I swear, we both held our breaths as I slowly reached out. As soon as my fingers made contact, we released the air in tandem.
“It’s not as bad as it used to be,” she told me. “I had a lot of laser surgery, a compression mask, massage therapy. But it’s the best they could get. My dad spared no expense.”
“Did it hurt?” I asked. “I mean, all the surgeries and work they did.”
She shrugged, which I’m sure meant yes.
I smiled. For the haughty, pampered snob I’d taken her for the first day we’d met, Isobel was actually quite modest.
“I have this itching urge to say it really doesn’t look that bad, because honestly, you still have all your hair, your ears aren’t like hanging half down your neck and the skin isn’t really that discolored. There’s some bumps but no major craters or anything.” I looked into her wide, watchful eyes. “But I have a feeling that would be the wrong thing to say, wouldn’t it?”
She nodded her head. “It really would.”
I nodded as well. “Then I won’t say it. But honestly, it doesn’t dominate what I see when I look at you. Sometimes, I’ll even forget you have them. And I’ll turn and look at you, and they’ll surprise me all over again.” My grin turned playful. “You hear that, scars?” I told them. “I know you like to hog all the attention away from my girl here, but I gotta tell you, she’s still prettier than you are ugly.” And then I leaned in and kissed her cheek, pressing my lips directly against scar tissue.
Damn, she always smelled so good. I think roses were my new aphrodisiac.
But I didn’t get long to enjoy this up-close-and-personal experience of her. She gasped again, and jerked against me, reminding me I’d just freaking put my mouth on her.
Oh, shit. I’d just kissed Isobel. On the cheek, but still…
Eyes wide, I pulled back and gaped into her face, realizing she looked as stunned as I felt. “I…I’m sorry,” I gushed. “I don’t know what I was thinking.” Oh, God. What the hell had I just done? “Are you going to tell your dad?”
She stared at me and pressed her hand to the scar as if I’d just slapped her instead of kissed her. And then I had to wonder if I had. What if some of the shit I’d just blurted came out all wrong and upset her instead of made her feel better?
Shit, oh, shit, oh, shit. I’d fucked up epically, hadn’t I?
She pushed to her feet to stand above me, still holding her hand to her cheek and staring at me as if I’d just plunged a knife into her back. Then she murmured, “Of course I won’t tell him,” and she rushed from the room.
