Chapter 22
Fable
I don’t know if I’ve taken a steady breath in the two hours since that kiss. Have my lungs forgotten how to function normally? That’s my best explanation. Because it makes way more sense than the second option, which is that Theo kissed away my ability to breathe. Stole it right from my lungs.
That kiss should’ve been strange. I’ve known him for eighteen years.
We’ve cried together while watching The Land Before Time.
I know he used to put Goldfish on his peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and that puke-green was his favorite color for about six weeks.
I was there when he face-planted into the mud at school, and I wiped blood off his face with my shirt after a bike wreck when he was eleven.
All of that should’ve equaled not wanting to kiss him. It should’ve meant overwhelming awkwardness when our lips touched. But instead . . . the math isn’t working in my head, because instead, I want to kiss him more.
This is a problem. A huge problem. Because that man is supposed to be my fake boyfriend. Emphasis on the fake. This thing between us isn’t going anywhere. Can’t go anywhere.
Yet that kiss was . . . incredible. I think it altered something in my brain chemistry, and all I can think about is doing it again.
Out of the corner of my eye, I peek over at him in the driver’s seat. His focus is on the road, but a smirk crosses his lips, like he knows I’m looking.
“I don’t feel like any of those houses were it,” Mia says from the back seat. After touring the final house, we picked up Bree, who was doing some work at Coffee Cottage. She and Mia wanted to see whatever birthday present Theo has hiding at the A-frame.
Theo hums in agreement, turning the steering wheel to pull us into the driveway. “Me either.”
“It’s still helpful to see places you don’t like,” Bree says. “Then you get closer to figuring out what you do.”
The truck comes to a stop in front of the A-frame and Theo shuts it off. No one moves for a moment as his gaze travels over the cabin. I watch his eyes trace the peaked roof and porch, a muscle flickering in his jaw. “Yeah,” he murmurs, sounding almost in a daze. “I’m starting to figure it out.”
I follow his gaze and sweep my eyes over A-frame.
The rain has stopped, but the skies are still a gloomy gray, painting the view in the same muted tones.
But even though the world around it appears dull, the cabin seems to glow.
A lamp got left on inside, and the golden light cascades over the front windows, making it seem soft and cozy—almost alive in there.
On the way inside, I cast a sad, quick glance at the empty flower beds around the porch.
I’ve been weeding, giving the soil extra nutrients, and sending as many good vibes to those little tulips bulbs as I can—even whispering happy things to them on a regular basis—but they still haven’t broken through the ground, and on the tulip timeline, they’re behind. They might really be gone.
We take a brief intermission in the living room for Mia and Bree to love excessively on Knocks before walking to the bedroom door. The sign that has been here all week greets me, but Theo pulls it down and tosses it aside.
“Ready?” he asks.
I whisper a yes, and he reaches past my hip to open the door and let it swing wide.
The sight before me makes my legs turn to jelly. I tilt back a bit to find Theo right behind me, and I lean against him at the threshold, absorbing as much as I can.
The atmosphere has completely changed. He has rearranged the room to build bookshelves along one wall—five long boards attached with brackets underneath. Gramps’s reading chair has been uncovered, and his favorite lamp is illuminating the dark green fabric.
Mia and Bree gasp behind me.
“Theo,” I whisper, more to myself than to him. “It’s . . .” It’s everything.
The room calls to me in a visceral way, and I step inside. In the foggy back of my brain, I remember a few weeks ago when I couldn’t walk in here. When this room felt like a tomb. Cold and lonely.
But now. It’s brimming with possibilities. Even without the books, it feels warm. Welcoming. Homey.
Running my fingers along the wood, I walk the length of the room, sensing everyone’s eyes on me.
“I can paint them if you want,” Theo offers, his voice soft. I turn back to find him standing in the middle of the room, golden lamplight dancing across his features. His hands are shoved in his pockets. Shoulders by his ears. Dark gaze trained on me. A shy smile hooking the corner of his mouth.
“No, they’re perfect,” I tell him. “The wood matches the A-frame.”
That lopsided smile widens as he leans on the edge of the table he has pushed against the wall. Beside him on the surface sit the six water-damaged books and the metal box of photos. “Thought you might want to organize the books yourself. I can carry boxes in for you.”
My heart leaps into my throat. Theo has built me this birthday gift in a house that isn’t mine, and I’m not sure how to reply.
“Come on,” Mia says, already carrying in a box. “It’ll take the four of us no time at all.”
Before I can reply, Bree is handing me a knife to cut through the tape. I don’t think I’m emotionally prepared to see more of Gramps’s books, but there’s no time for my emotions to catch up as everyone heads to the living room to grab another box.
This is fine. I can get Gramps’s books out and give them some fresh air. They deserve better than cramped cardboard boxes, and they’re probably safer on shelves anyway, given my house-flooding tendencies.
With my hands planted on the top of the nearest box, I draw in a deep breath. Nerves skitter under my skin, but I cut through the tape anyway and pull out the first book.
It’s a worn, hardback copy of My Side of the Mountain by Jean Craighead George.
What a book to start with. Gramps read this to me countless times.
Tears gather in the corners of my eyes as I open the front cover.
I glance around the room to make sure I’m alone, then pull the book to my nose, close my eyes, and inhale.
It smells exactly the way I remember—exactly the scent I associate with Gramps—like old books that absorbed a little of his tea aroma over the years.
It hurts deep in my chest when that smell hits my lungs, like it’s digging right into the tender part of my heart. But I drag in another hit of it and my lips curve into a sad grin.
When I lower the book, Theo’s there, his gaze caressing my face. “You okay?”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Thank you for this,” I whisper. “All of it.”
His lips brush my temple in a soft kiss. “You’re welcome. Thought it might be time to get them out of boxes.”
My lungs constrict as I glide my hand over the title page, the old paper smooth under my fingers. “Other than the flood incident, I haven’t looked at these books since he died. Haven’t even read a paperback because . . .” I fade out, feeling my face pinch with grief.
But Theo must hear the words I left out. “Want me to help you?”
At first, I don’t answer. Mia and Bree drop off two more boxes, but Theo’s gaze never leaves me. He waits. Watches. Lets me think.
This is painful—digging into these boxes, seeing books that meant something to Gramps, touching the same pages he did.
It’s going to be emotionally taxing and heart-wrenching, but if I’ve learned anything from crying in front of Theo several times in the last two weeks, it’s that I’m safe with him.
Sure, he knows how to tease me and push my buttons, but I can trust him with these emotions.
Nodding, I whisper, “Yes, I’d love your help.”
“That’s the last one,” Bree says, sliding an old poetry book into place.
I step back and lean against the table on the opposite wall, surveying the shelves.
Mia, who oversaw the color-coded organization, perches herself next to me and loops our arms together. “Turns out my brother is handy sometimes.”
“Every once in a while,” Theo agrees from Gramps’s reading chair, a smug grin on his mouth.
“Which one are you going to read first?” Bree asks.
I think about it for a moment—imagine sitting down in Gramps’s chair and opening a paperback.
It’s been so long since I felt the desire to do that but after holding them in my hands and seeing them on the shelves .
. . maybe it would be nice to open them up and discover what memories are tucked inside.
“I don’t know. Definitely nothing from the nonfiction section.” I wave a hand toward the left corner, where the history books got placed. “Who wants to read about the real world?” I ask with a laugh.
Bree raises her hand. “Me?”
Aghast, I look to Mia. She shakes her head. “I know. It’s her only red flag.”
Bree purses her lips. “Well, it seems like Gramps would’ve appreciated that about me.”
Mia kisses her on the cheek. “For sure. You two could’ve read World War II books and talked about cardigans to your heart’s content.”
“Oh, he appreciated a good cardigan too?” Bree asks.
“He did.” My heart goes achy behind my ribs.
I reach for the tin box behind me. The lid makes a loud pop when I open it and grab the stack of pictures inside.
Bree’s eyes light up as I hand them to her, but I can’t watch her go through them.
Instead, I walk over to the shelves and peruse the book collection.
Behind me Mia and Bree giggle over Gramps’s adorable hats and sweaters, the ice cream cones that made a frequent accessory, and how I slowly grow up through the photos.
“What’s the story with the Our Bookshop notes on the back?” Mia asks.
Still facing away from them, my eyelids fall shut. “He always wanted to open a bookshop. Said we’d do it together one day.” Two sad awws sound behind me. “So every time we went somewhere, he’d track down the perfect spot in that town and take a picture.”
“Did he ever open one?” Bree wonders.
I scrunch up my face even though they can’t see it. “No. A dream that didn’t come true.”