Chapter 20
Astrid
The manager, his hair neatly combed away from his face, revealing wrinkles at his temples, led us down the corridor, filling the silence with endless questions directed mostly at Aeron—how long he'd be staying, if he'd arrived for the summer festival, and about ten other things that would’ve fit nicely into an interrogation.
Aeron answered him with short, crisp responses: yes, no, maybe. Occasionally, the manager remembered I existed and turned to ask where I was from, and if I'd moved to Orange Falls. When I said yes, his eyes lit up instantly. “Found a place yet?”
He began pitching his rental house on Bridge Street, just behind some bakery that was supposedly the best in town. He barely paused for breath, leaving me no space to politely decline. Aeron interrupted, telling him I’d already settled, and steered the conversation back to the festival.
On the way to the Archive Room, we passed a closed door labeled Town Hall Meeting Room—the very room I'd be sitting in tomorrow. We continued upstairs until we reached the Archive Room door.
The manager fiddled with the lock before pushing it open. Dust and stale air puffed out, tickling my nose.
I sneezed.
“This room hasn’t been opened in ages,” he said, looking mildly embarrassed.
Aeron glanced at me. “Allergic to dust?”
I waved a hand, suppressing another sneeze. “I'm fine.”
He wasn’t convinced. My eyes watered, and as I lifted a hand to remove my glasses, Aeron took the file from my other hand and stepped between me and the dust.
The manager handed Aeron the register and disappeared down the hall.
Rows of metal shelves climbed toward the high ceiling, stacked haphazardly with piles of yellowed documents, heavy ledgers, worn-out folders, and many more things. I opened the register, skimming down the page until I reached row 140. “Orange Falls Festivals. Rack B1, shelf seven.”
I glanced up at the impossibly high shelf. No way could I reach that. Spotting a ladder in the corner, I dragged it closer and had just set one foot on the bottom rung when Aeron’s hand stopped me.
“Let me,” he said. “You’ve already proven your talent for falling.”
Of course he had to bring that up again.
“It wasn’t dizziness—it was the stool. It wobbled. Not my fault.”
“Tell that to the trash can.”
Aeron climbed the ladder, and I eyed his perfectly positioned butt, tempted— so tempted —to give it one satisfying kick. Payback for all his teasing. But I behaved myself. Barely.
I'd find another way to settle the score.
He pulled out a heavy, worn-looking book and had one foot already on the way down when I stopped him.
“Wait,” I said, eyes glued to the register. “I need row 146 too. Festival Memories . Same rack, shelf six.”
“Rack D4, shelf six: Orange Falls Traditions .”
“And rack E1, shelf two: Festival Grounds Maps .”
I barely paused to breathe, flipping through the register faster. “Oh, and while you're at it, rack F1, shelf four: Orange Falls Traditional Food Recipes .”
Aeron moved from rack to rack, climbing up and down the ladder until he'd grabbed every last book I'd asked for without complaint. Finally, he stepped down and dropped the heavy stack into my arms, giving me a pointed look. “Planning to read these, or just building a fort?”
“Read.” I grinned.
“That’s all?”
“Absolutely,” I promised, smiling like a saint.
He was halfway to the floor, knees bent and ready to finally relax, when I called out, “Aeron.”
His body froze mid-sit, eyes shutting tightly like he was silently counting to ten.
“One more.” I said sweetly. “Rack A1, shelf six: Orange Falls Townspeople’s Pictures .”
He gave me a sharp glare, not quite murderous but definitely in the same neighborhood, but grabbed the ladder anyway. I fought to hide my smile as he turned away, grumbling something about patience and the things he had to put up with.
I cleared a small space on the dusty floor, placing a sheet down for both of us. Bundles of papers and stacks of records surrounded me. I began reading Orange Falls Festivals .
The festival began in 1910 as a celebration of the….
Aeron walked over, dropped the book onto the floor, and grabbed one for himself. He settled down beside me—close, may be a little too close—and stretching out his legs comfortably.
His hands brushed against my knee.
My heartbeat skipped.
His warmth soaked into my skin. The soft woodsy scent of his cologne drifted over me, warm and comforting. I could count every steady, calm breath he took, while mine turned embarrassingly short and shallow. Passing out onto his lap would only give him more evidence to support his Dizzytrid theory.
I flipped through the pages with the intense focus of a bomb defuser, though by now, the words barely registering.
Aeron leaned in closer. “Are you reading or just turning pages?”
My fingers froze. “I’m a fast reader.”
He snatched the book from my hands. I reached out to grab it back, but he easily held it beyond my grasp.
“Glad your long arms are good for something. Now, give it back!” I reached for the book, hopelessly outmatched.
“Not yet. Let's test those genius reading skills. When exactly did the festival tradition start in Orange Falls?”
My brain promptly went offline.
All I could think was: Who knows, you idiot? If you weren’t here turning my brain into a bowl of melted ice cream, I’d probably be able to remember.
I offered my best fake-confident smile. “The year they decided to have one?”
To my complete surprise, he laughed. Really laughed, warm enough to melt ice cream and probably a few of my brain cells along with it.
I stared at him, forgetting how breathing worked. First because I’d never heard his genuine laugh before. And second, being annoyingly attractive wasn't bad enough, he had to reveal dimples, too.
“Your history teacher must’ve loved grading your exams.”
I snatched the book back. This time I genuinely started reading, even as he began grilling me about my grades, asking if I'd slept through classes or drawn cartoons on my exam sheets. Oddly enough, it was easier to concentrate when he was busy annoying me.
The festival began in 1910 as a celebration of the summer. It started as a fair, soon followed by the annual harvest festival—and after that, Orange Falls kept adding more festivals.
It has so much detailed information about the town that my earlier Google search on Orange Falls' history felt like scattered breadcrumbs in comparison.
Aeron had stepped out when the manager called him, but half an hour had passed, and he still wasn’t back. Without him around to annoy me, or even just his presence, I found myself surprisingly bored.
I never imagined that spending two hours in a dusty archive room researching town history could actually be fun.
Strangely, Aeron's crankiness had finally broken something in my brain.
Because, annoyingly enough, I was enjoying myself.
He'd clarified things I didn’t understand and even suggested bringing back the outdoor movie screenings, the ones Orange Falls had stopped hosting nearly thirty years ago.
Right on cue, my stomach reminded me it was lunchtime.
And there was nothing to eat nearby.
I'd either have to go to the town square or, worse, head home and cook something myself.
Neither was ideal when I needed every minute to finish this research.
As I was starting to convince myself that water could totally pass for lunch, Aeron walked back in, holding out a bag that smelled suspiciously, and wonderfully, like actual food.
“You bought lunch!” I grabbed the bag before he'd even fully offered it. “Thank you!”
“You hadn't eaten all morning. Thought I'd save us both the trouble of you fainting again.”
“People might think you’re actually nice.” My attention quickly shifted to the contents of the bag. Sandwiches, pasta salad, fruits. They were all deliciously packaged and clearly homemade.
“Not if you keep it to yourself.”
“No promises. Your mom sent this?”
He nodded, already clearing space at the table.
I set down the bag and glanced at my hands. My fingers were coated in enough dust and grime to pass for a ghost crawling out of a horror movie.
“Restroom’s in the far-left corner.” Aeron’s tone suggested he'd already noticed my grimy hands.
I quickly washed up and returned.
“This pasta is incredible. Does your mom have magic hands?” I scooped another forkful, savoring the way the creamy sauce and perfectly tender noodles melted on my tongue.
He chuckled, taking a bite of his sandwich. “I'll let her know you said that. Fair warning, she considers compliments as an invitation to dinner.”
“If dinner’s anything like this, I’ll be there every night.” My phone started ringing. It was Kelly. I tapped ignore, not wanting to answer with Aeron sitting across from me, but she persisted, immediately calling again.
Sighing, I picked up. “Kel, I’ll call—”
“I saw your message!” she screamed. “I cannot believe this!”
“You have to,” I whispered urgently. I'd sent her a message while Aeron stepped out.
“Why are you whispering? You're starting to sound exactly like that grump. Please tell me it's not contagious.”
Her voice was loud enough to have been on speaker. Aeron looked up at the exact moment, eyes meeting mine. Yep, he’d definitely heard that. I quickly mumbled an excuse and hurried out.
“Kel, calm down,” I hissed. “He’s right here.”
“You can’t just drop a message like that and expect me to chill!” she shot back. “How does he even know your house? I need details. Now.”
I closed my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Not now. I’m working.”
“At least text me!” she pleaded.
“Impossible,” I whispered as if Aeron could somehow hear me through solid walls. “I promise I'll fill you in the second I get home.” After sitting for two hours, stretching my legs felt
“Kel, calm down,” I hissed. “He’s right here.”
“You can’t just drop a message like that and expect me to chill!” she shot back. “How does he even know your house? I need details. Now.”
I closed my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Not now. I’m working.”
“At least text me!” she pleaded.
“Impossible,” I whispered as if Aeron could somehow hear me through solid walls. “I promise I'll fill you in the minute I get home.” After sitting for two hours, stretching my legs felt so good.
“God, Azzie, I’ll die of curiosity before you get home. Please tell me he is at least halfway tolerable. I don't have bail money ready.”
I laughed.
He'd patiently helped me with the books and even brought lunch. But admitting I was enjoying Aeron's company would trigger Kelly’s detective mode. So, I settled on “Manageable.”
“I was hoping for a war.” She sounded disappointed. “But I’ll settle for peace. Call me the minute you’re home.”
I walked back inside. Aeron was scrolling through his phone. Quietly, I returned to my pasta, carefully avoiding eye contact. Asking if he'd overheard our conversation felt like poking a sleeping lion.
“Was that Motormouth?” Aeron asked, eyes still glued to the screen.
I paused, fork halfway to my mouth.
Motormouth? Who was he—
He glanced up, catching my confused stare. “Kelly.”
I laughed.
“You have a name for her?”
“She was the school’s human loudspeaker,” he said. “You could track her exact location from three hallways away, just by her voice.”
“Oh, come on. She wasn’t that loud,” I protested, then admitted to it. “Okay, maybe just a little. But she’s my best friend. I have to defend her big mouth.”
Kelly would lose it if she ever found out Aeron had nicknamed her Motormouth. Not that I planned on telling her. Besides, she had her own nickname for him: Grump.
“Right, best friend code. Defend your loudmouth friend, even when she can shatter windows with her voice.” He paused, lips curving slightly as if recalling something funny.
“Though I’ll admit, she is persistent—got every senior to sign her yearbook.
She chased me around the entire school before I finally gave in. ”
The mental image of Kelly chasing Aeron through the hall with her glitter pen, refusing to stop until he signed her yearbook, made me laugh harder than I probably should have.
Now I was curious. What exactly had he written?
“It must’ve felt like a personal victory for her.” I rested my elbow on the table. “Getting an autograph from the school’s famously quiet boy.”
His gaze flicked up, meeting mine with quiet amusement. “Kelly told you?”
“I asked her,” I admitted, not bothering to hide it. After we'd both confessed to stalking each other, hiding anything now seemed pointless. It felt strangely comforting to realize neither of us was innocent here, that this silent curiosity went both ways.
Aeron’s eyes softened. “I do talk, Astrid.” He leaned in just enough to narrow the space between us. “But only around people I like.”
People I like.
My heart skipped. I lowered my gaze, trying not to let him see just how deeply those words had affected me.
“Finish your food quickly.” He stood up. “We’ve still got work left.”
I watched him walk away, wondering how he managed to act so normal while I was still fighting to steady my breathing.