Chapter 6 Lottie
CHAPTER SIX
LOTTIE
“Holy shit. This place looks like something straight out of Hoarders,” Knox breathes, taking in the unexpected mess that is Walter’s apartment.
“Except that instead of having a creepy collection of old school porcelain Madame Alexander dolls or something, it’s just old books stacked high on every available surface,” I add.
“The hell are Alexander dolls? Like Ken dolls?”
“Madame Alexander dolls. And trust me—you don’t want to know.” I shiver dramatically at the thought of the irksome porcelain dolls. “Just count your blessings that it’s not something worse.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say that confidently. We’ve barely walked into the apartment. Who knows whether the old man has something else hidden in one of his closets.”
I snort. “Walter wouldn’t.” But I do a mental double-take because I had never seen that man with a hair out of place, a shirt untucked, a piece of paper thrown on his desk. Walter was the picture of neatness, and this apartment… most definitely is not.
I laugh to myself.
“What? What is it?” Knox looks at me with a curious smile on his face.
“Nothing,” I shake my head. “It’s just, you think you know someone. And then… Well.
This.” I sweep my hand in the air before dropping it. “And you.”
“Me?”
“You.” I nod, with a small laugh. “I didn’t know you existed. This is like some movie.”
He laughs once. “That was exactly my first thought.”
I giggle at the absolute ridiculousness of the situation. “For real, though. A family member dies and suddenly this whole other secret family shows up, and all the things you believed to be true… aren’t. It’s insane.”
“Is that what Walter was to you? Family?” he asks, quietly. All humor has been stripped away from his expression, replaced by a gravity I’m sure is rarely seen worn on Knox.
I take a beat as I think over his question before replying: “Kind of. My kind-of-chosen extra family member. The one who never gave me any shit about my personal life. He was the one who took me as I was. Am. Whatever.”
He gazes at me with a curious expression in his eyes before leading the way through the loft. Treading carefully, Knox looks around at the small space—just big enough for one person and their gargantuan collection of books.
“Whoa,” Knox breathes, bending down to take a closer look at some of the titles.
“I know.”
I make my way to the bedroom area of the loft, to the perfectly made bed next to a large worker’s table that takes up at least a quarter of the apartment floor plan. On it, is another book. This time, however, its cover is missing and it’s secured to the table with two yellow C-clamps.
“What the…”
“It looks like he restored old books,” Knox says quietly, picking up a bottle marked Acid-Free Glue. “Did you know about this?”
“I had no idea,” I shake my head, taken aback by the increasingly unsettling feeling that I had no idea who Walter Adams was. Doctor Walter Adams, I mean. “We saw each other almost every day, but I guess…”
Knox picks up the other items one by one—a spool of waxed string, an upholstery needle, drill, some leather scraps—all while lost in thought.
I’m dying to ask how he’s doing, whether he’s okay. I want to—need to know how he is, need to make sure he isn’t freaking out internally despite the several times he’s told me he’s fine, despite how unaffected he’s seemed all day. I open my mouth, unable to bear it any longer—
—but stop myself just in time because, Jesus Christ, we are nothing more than one-nightstands to each other. And I guess business partners, too—an even bigger reason not to get involved, not to care, not to wonder whether he’s okay or needs someone to talk to.
Distance.
We need emotional distance from each other.
I keep to one side of the loft while he explores the other, both of us in silence, and it isn’t until I’m getting to the good stuff, snooping through an old box of photos and documents, that Knox calls my attention back to him.
“Holy shit, Lottie.” I nearly shiver at the familiar way in which he says my name, the way his deep voice sinks into my bones. But then I reel it in because, again… dead boss and all.
I swear to god I’m going to hell. I just know it.
“What is it?”
“This book. I think this is a first edition On the Road.” Knox’s eyes widen as he holds the black book up.
I run over to him just as he opens the cover of my favorite Kerouac novel. “Stop! If it really is a first edition, you shouldn’t be touching it without gloves. This book was published in the fifties or something, right? And it looks almost brand new. It must be worth a lot of money.”
With wide eyes, Knox gently places the book onto the pile he must’ve found it on.
“Do you think—Do you think all of these are first editions?” he asks, his eyes scanning the apartment. “Holy shit, Lottie. Are all the books in the store first editions?”
“God, no. I mean, we do have older books that are locked in a display case to keep safe, but no one ever buys them—maybe the odd tourist in the summer. But they’re not as valuable.
” I wonder idly how much the copy in his hands is worth and choose not to think too hard about it.
“But it does make me wonder… Walter wasn’t one to share much about his life”—obviously— “but he did mention going to rare book conventions and trade shows. I just never expected him to be an actual rebinder and trader of rare books.”
“This is going to be fun.” He scoffs, shaking his head.
I laugh softly, which makes him look at me.
“What?”
“I just… I want you to know that your father was actually a good guy. Even if he was grumpy at times. He—Well, he wasn’t always like that. At least not with me. A little cold, yes. But never a dick.”
And because he looks like he doesn’t believe me, I go on: “When I came back to town, it wasn’t under the best circumstances and.
.. I guess by coming up to the loft, I thought I might be able to show you something, to prove to you that he was a good guy, deep down.
Very misunderstood, but… Yeah. It’s just all a mess.
This apartment is a mess. This whole situation is a goddamn mess.
Not exactly a reflection of the man I knew. ”
He nods thoughtfully. “I get what you wanted to do—and I appreciate it. But you don’t need to worry.
To be honest… I feel kinda relieved, him being impersonal one final time.
” He laughs, almost embarrassed. His words devastate me, heart aching for him.
For Walter, too, for not being able to give his son the goodbye they both deserved.
“This whole thing was a mystery to me. I kept wondering what made him change his mind enough to leave me everything. Well, almost everything.” He smiles.
“But now that I’ve seen this apartment, I know it was his final ‘fuck you’ to me. ”
“What do you mean?” I frown.
“Well, do you really think this whole thing is going to be easy? That cleaning this place up and figuring out what to do with the bookstore will be something I can wrap up in a week?”
He lifts a brow. “Nah. He’s forcing me to stay in one place, to see this through, because he knew I wouldn’t pass up this opportunity.”
“What opportunity?” I’m so confused.
“The money selling the apartment would bring. The store, too, maybe.”
Wait, what? Sell the store? But…
“I could use it all to buy some new equipment I desperately need. Finally go on a photo trip that I want to take and not one I was assigned to this time. All I have to do is extend my time here by who knows how long.” He shrugs easily, and it hurts.
Does he not understand how special this place is? But then I process his words, and my heart jumps at the thought of Knox staying here for a few more days. I do my best to squash whatever type of hope or excitement I feel in that moment because that’s just not me anymore.
Needless to say, I’m not too successful.
Nothing can happen, I try to remind myself. But I can’t help the way my skin flushes and heat builds deep inside just at the thought of having him around for longer.
It’s like he knows exactly what’s going through my head, because his next words are: “Though spending time with you like this doesn’t sound too terrible” Knox’s lips quirk at the corners, stepping closer to me.
The look in his eyes reignites what I lost the second I slipped out of the warmth of his hotel bed and into the cold night.
“We’ll be working here together a lot. Side by side.” He takes a step closer still, his voice low, eyes flickering down to my lips for a second too long before moving back to my eyes.
I swallow hard once, wanting desperately to take a step back—figuratively and literally. To put more of that much-needed space between us. But Knox is a wild predator, prowling toward me. I’m rooted to the spot, unable to move. Hints of citrus absolutely hypnotizing.
And I want nothing more than him. Nothing more than him ever.
“I-I guess so,” I manage to stutter.
“So, since we’ll be spending all this time together, maybe we should go out? Have dinner and get to know each other some more?”
The word dinner almost brings my daydreaming to a screeching, near-deafening halt. But then...
Then my brain fogs over as he pushes a stray strand of her behind my ears again, and I’m gone. Dead. Deceased. Someone call the morgue.
“You look cute in those glasses, by the way. Have I told you that yet? Kinda like a sexy teacher.”
Something warm unfurls in my heart, making the heat build in my core.
His pupils are blown, his breathing as ragged and fast as mine (and when the hell did that happen, anyway?).
I can see his chest rise and fall, the pulse in his neck.
All of a sudden, however, he frowns and pulls his hand away, taking a step back.
I feel his retreat like a punch to the gut.