Chapter Eighteen
Bye, bud?
What in the he-wants-me-he-wants-me-not fuck was that?
Or was it, what in the I-want-him-I-want-him-not fuck?
I didn’t know. I knew nothing, ever. I knew I’d hated Laken Augustus for the past three years, and I knew I’d told myself I’d never let love in again. But… did I still want that?
Walking through town, I’d made it to Wilson’s before I could even get a grip. Grateful for the distraction, I blinked the thoughts away.
“Mr. Wilson?” I called at the elderly man carrying lumber way too heavy for him into the library. Running, I tried to catch up before he dropped it on his head or foot or something else. I turned the corner to see a shattered window.
He didn’t do it, but his front window had been broken and he’d swept a glass pile into the corner by the door.
Stepping through the threshold, it became apparent the window wasn’t the only thing damaged inside.
Bookshelves leaned to the sides, books were scattered from where they’d fallen, and a corner part of the ceiling had fallen through.
“Mr. Wilson.” I caught his attention after he safely dropped the wood. “What happened?”
The thin-shouldered, frail, aged man stood up and his eyes brightened once he saw I’d entered. “Oh, it’s you, Reece.” He used his blue shirt caked with dirt and dust as a rag and wiped the sweat from his hairline. Blood had dried over his brow from a deep cut.
“Are you alright?” I gestured to the wound.
A cheap smile stretched across his face. “Oh, of course. A loose board fell earlier and caught me.” He gave a very unconvincing laugh.
I jumped at the realization: “Here!” I pulled my bag off my shoulder. “I have some of our lotion with me, you can have it.”
“No, Reece, it’s fine.” He shook his head, waving a hand.
I gave him a good glare and insisted he take it. His library was in bad enough shape, he didn’t need to worry about a cut too when we could just take care of it now. The lotion is expensive, but I was happy to lose one little jar for him.
As he applied a layer to his forehead, my fingers glided over the surfaces slick with rain.
My own heart contorted in my chest; I couldn’t imagine how it felt to him, to see his beloved library like this.
No books flew overhead, no wanderlust tugged at my bones.
Water edged his eyes as he stood with his hands on his hips, looking around at what used to be a beautiful library.
“The storm hit us hard and…” His voice failed. “And my library took a good hit.”
I forgot where I needed to go; it didn’t matter. This mattered. “Well, you aren’t fixing this on your own.” Examining the room, I didn’t wait for his approval or disapproval. This place meant enough to me, too. I wanted to help.
The damage seemed bad, but it looked worse than it actually was. A few new boards here and there, some new nails to better support the shelves, and a curtain or something until a new window could be ordered. “We’re going to fix it. It’s going to be fine.”
Mr. Wilson gave me a look, and I wasn’t sure if he felt touched over me offering to help, or if he doubted I could. But I could do this. I could hammer in a few nails, right?
Right, I mindlessly reminded myself repeatedly as my arms ached and sweat dripped from my brows. Mr. Wilson owned a raggedy rolling ladder for stocking books. Meaning, after an hour of fixing boards, both my arms and legs burned from using the shelves themselves to anchor myself.
As I climbed up and down where shelves were knocked crooked, a couple others came in and out to help. Goldie dropped off some nails and swept all of the shattered glass into a trash can. Some locals, mostly a father and his daughter, helped dust off fallen books, some soaked from the rain.
Dust clumped into soggy piles, almost like mud.
My arms ached, my fingers cramped, and taking a glance around, the library didn’t look much better off.
I wasn’t a fast worker, or a smart one, or even a good one at that—okay?
But I was a worker. My knowledge on fixing bookshelves came in next to zero, but fixed is fixed… enough.
Needing a few more nails, I reached for my little stock in my pocket but came up empty-handed. Hesitantly, I climbed down and searched for where Wilson had stashed them.
Behind his chestnut desk, he’d left the box of nails from Goldie, along with other items luckily untouched.
It surprised me how well organized his belongings were.
One shelf for cleaning: dusters, rags, and spray.
One shelf for writing ink and parchment.
One recently made empty judging by the dust, and one more holding something that caught my eye.
Pulling out the folded sheet, I realized it was a painting.
A man and a woman stood in front of the library doors with the pink awning above them.
The woman, her smile beaming brighter than any I’d seen before—one of those smiles people said could light up an entire room.
She wore a high-waisted brown skirt and a white tunic tucked into it, bright gold earrings hung from her ears, and her hair trickled all the way down her back.
The man standing next to her—Mr. Wilson himself.
I dusted off the portrait, taking in everything it showed.
“Ah,” a voice behind me said with a crack. “She’s a beauty, always was.”
My spine locked into place. I half-ass rolled and spun to see the library owner returned.
Letting my heart return to its normal beating rhythm, I panted and readjusted from the near-defense position I’d scooted into with my back to the desk before catching on to what he’d said.
“Who is she? The woman in the painting?”
Raising it for him to take, Mr. Wilson illuminated with a pure sense of reminiscing. “She was my wife.”
His wife? I wasn’t aware he’d been married at all. “I didn’t know…”
Passing the painting back to me, sitting on the floor, his eyes hardly passed mine. “Reece, how old are you now?”
“Twenty-four.”
Closing his eyes, his fingers tapped the surface. “You would have been somewhere around three years old when she left this world behind.”
Oh. “Mr. Wilson, I apologize. I shouldn’t have pulled it out—”
“Do you see her smile there?”
His words brought me to a stop; he didn’t want to end the conversation about her. Actually, if I guessed by the glimmer in his eyes, I’d say he wanted to gush about her once again. Looking down at it, I nodded and hummed to say yes.
“I wanted to bottle that smile up and keep it with me at all times, so I’d have it when I needed it.” My lips tightened into a thin grin. “But because that wasn’t possible, I had this painting done. It might have been my idea, but she decided everything about it.” He laughed, offering me a hand.
Taking it carefully, with a nod of his head, he motioned for me to follow him into the back where the table and chairs were. Mr. Wilson sat next to me. “She picked the location. The day, the time. My goodness, she even picked my outfit.”
His tone said enough, rich with happiness and joy—but not regret. Or sorrow. Or pain. Mr. Wilson had nothing but gratitude for those times. “Mira was full of grace and stubbornness. Patience and hell-bent determination.
“I never planned on marrying young, but once I met her, there was no going back for me.” He sighed.
“We actually worked together down at what used to be the library, where the commissioners work now. She hated me, but when they closed us down for the commissioners, we had an idea.” Wilson laughed, tearing my own lips into a grin as he gestured around us.
“She made me fight tooth and nail to marry her and I’d do it all again if I got the chance.
“You know, I lost Mira earlier than anyone wants to lose the one they love. And after having a love so grand, I only wanted to share it. I kept the library up, and somehow her magic keeps it alive.” He glanced up at his store with a glimmering awe.
“You don’t waste a great love when you got one”—he paused—“and I had the greatest.”
Am I wasting a great love?
“You don’t remember your parents that way, do you?”
My parents? Chester McCarthen, head over heels in love? “Not really.” I shook my head. “I remember how things were back then, at home and with the sanctuary. And… I remember how it all changed when we lost her,” I confessed, for a reason I wasn’t too sure of.
Wilson hummed. “Losing love does something to a person, especially when it made you feel so alive.”
I knew losing my mother made my father the absentee he was, but I never cared enough to truly imagine. And really thinking about it, one might say he shut off his heart the same way I had…
“Knock knock.” I blinked away the thought.
Behind us, Maeve, the town witch who lived nearby, walked in.
I hadn’t seen her in years and had accidentally forgotten she even stayed in Honey Brooke.
“I heard you needed some help.” She wiggled her magical fingers.
Her blue hair almost seemed black. Her porcelain skin paired with inky, black eyes suited well with her black dress. She looked cool, for what it mattered.
Realizing it was time for me to meet Laken again, I faced… an old friend. “Thank you for sharing your story with me, Mr. Wilson. I hope my remodel holds up.”
He smiled with thin lips, wrinkles gathered around his eyes and mouth. “Thank you for listening.” He patted my hands.
Despite how I could sit and listen to him for hours, I waved and bid him farewell. Laken had said if I didn’t see him before sunset to meet him at home. But as I came closer to my house, Laken wasn’t either of the men waiting there.
Two men dressed in black leathers and boots stood inside the yard, poking their heads around the gate.
If they trailed any farther, Maeve’s ward would shock their bodies.
I should’ve let it, but it was too late.
I couldn’t see their faces, but with all of Laken’s talk about people wanting my creatures, my stomach tore up.
“Hello?” I called, still outside the fence. “Can I help you?”
They whipped around, nearly hitting heads before looking at me, then at each other as if trying to decide what to do. One of them took the lead and crossed the yard toward me. He had dark shaved hair and oak-brown eyes aged with tired circles under them. “Yes, we were looking for the owner.”
“In the back?” I crossed my arms and tilted my head, waiting for his response.
Scratching his head, he faked a laugh. “Well, when nobody answered the door, we thought we’d check before leaving. You wouldn’t happen to know the owner, would you?” His companion started coming closer as well, glancing around, presumably to see if we were alone.
My throat tightened. Where the fuck was Laken? He should have been there any minute. If I could keep them off until then… “It is a small town, everybody knows everybody.”
His deep eyes glinted with hope and something dangerous. Stomach tightening, I started wondering what objects nearby I could use as weapons because I damn sure wasn’t outrunning anyone. “Perfect; can you point us in the right direction, then?”
Turning my head toward town, just in the nick of time, Laken materialized with the sun outlining his body from behind in a red haze. For once, I actually was a damsel in distress. “Ah, there is an employee! He can help you more than I can.”
The man staggered back a step, clearly not as comfortable confronting Laken as he was me.
Laken quickened his steps, the muscles in his neck feathered, and he checked his pocket for something before taking out that dagger he carried.
It wasn’t a wolf like he’d said, but it was as much of a predator.
Yet he didn’t stop there, but started cleaning out his nails?
Gods, I thought mindlessly to myself, what dramatics.
“Hello, lads.” Laken grinned. “Can I help you?”
“Oh, they were wanting to speak with the owner,” I answered. “I told them you were an employee and could help.”
My ex-boyfriend, part-time assassin flipped the dagger in his hand, catching the hilt and pointing the tip at our visitor. “Ah,” he sighed, “what can I do for you, then?”
Staring down his nose at Laken, the man checked him up and down with a serpentine grin. Looking for trouble. “We heard you have healing cream. We’re interested in buying a few jars.”
Laken sighed, unbothered. “All out, sorry, fellas.”
“Is that so?”
“Yep.” Laken tilted his dagger, catching the sun on its edge. “Sold out yesterday.”
“How unfortunate.” He laughed in a high-pitched howl. “We’ll be going, then.”
Sliding his dagger back in its sheath, Laken grinned with a nod. “You two have a nice evening.”
Sauntering through the gate, the same one who’d done all the talking turned to face us once again. “You might want to keep a supply of your healing cream on hand, you know.” The slight curl of his lip made me sick. “You never know when you’re going to need it.”
Asshole. Laken had yet to say anything as the men faded into the distance and we turned toward the house, but his face was set in a stern grimace.
“About that.” He aimed his gaze over his shoulder at me, his eyes burning with a fire I’d never seen from him.
Determined and dangerous. I swallowed. “We need to talk.”