Chapter 22
LEO’S NOTES
Place: Partridge Used Books Online
Misc: No value. Collected for personal archive
Leo forced himself to wait two hours before texting Pan. Then he berated himself for caring about that hard-to-get bullshit. He didn’t need to play dumb games with Pan.
I am thoroughly showered, he texted.
Pan responded ten seconds later: Finally! I didn’t want to say anything.
I am also thoroughly moisturized.
Well, I’m glad we got your dating profile sorted
Hey! I don’t need a dating profile. There’s a reason I’m telling you this.
Keep your kinks to yourself please!
Yes ma’am
He tossed his phone onto the couch beside himself, and returned his attention to the payroll spreadsheets on his laptop. Two minutes later his phone dinged.
Fine! Pan texted. What’s the reason?
I’ll tell you in person. Meet in your dad’s garden in ten.
Okay, but your skin better not be softer than mine.
Leo texted her a goat emoji, then shut his laptop and headed for the old swing bench where they used to meet as kids.
Pan arrived, wearing an ivory knit skirt and matching cropped top that clung to her curves in all the right ways. Leo wanted nothing more than to run his hand along the sliver of skin visible between the skirt and the top, but he kept his hands to himself.
“I shaved,” she said, sitting beside him. “So you can stop with the goat emoji. I’m not turning into a satyr.”
“What about your horns?”
Pan fluffed her hair. “I have unruly curls, you know that!”
They swung together for a minute, falling into an easy rhythm, gazing over the rows of Pan’s dad’s vegetables. The sun cast shadows across the garden and the green beans and tomato vines looked oddly like the lush woods in the illuminated manuscript.
“If you squint,” Pan pointed to the shadow the sundial made, “it kind of looks like one of the gnomes in the manuscript.”
Leo scratched his hand. “I was just thinking that.”
“Are there mosquitos?” Pan asked. “Dad’s worried that wasps aren’t the only thing getting into his garden.”
He stopped scratching. “Nope.”
“Not this again,” she said. “You showered, you moisturized and—”
“I stayed itchy. It’s my gift, Pan. I’ve been taking Deja’s pills, so I can focus on the manuscript, but the itching’s getting stronger.”
“Which means—”
“I’m pretty sure the book is in your house.”
“How could it be here?” She brightened at a sudden thought. “Ooh, maybe you’re going haywire. Maybe when I got my gift, you lost yours!”
“Why do you sound so happy about that?”
“Who, me?” she said, widening her eyes in fake innocence.
He laughed as he scratched his forearm. “Did you take any books from the library in the past couple days? Did Albert give you a book?”
“Albert barely even talks to me. Oh, wait, I took that old Beane Isle recipe book for Sheila. I thought she’d think it was funny.”
“Show me.”
Leo stood and took Pan’s hands to pull her from the bench. He tried not to stare at her, but she was fucking gorgeous and her palms felt warm and right in his. She pretended she didn’t notice and preceded him toward the side door. He didn’t mind following her.
“Hey, Sheila,” Pan said, as they entered the kitchen. “Do you have that old cookbook I gave you?”
Sheila gave a shudder as she stirred risotto on the stove. “There’s a recipe for cranberry sauce with jello and cream cheese.”
“So you’re definitely making that,” Pan teased.
“Can I see it?” Leo asked.
“Sure, babes,” Sheila said. “It’s on top of the fridge.”
When Leo pulled down the spiral-bound book of Beane Isle recipes, he felt nothing. “This isn’t it.”
“It’s worse than TikTok recipes,” Sheila said, from the stove.
Leo turned to Pan. “You must’ve taken something else.”
“I didn’t.”
“Then why am I so itchy?”
“Maybe you have lice.”
“I don’t have lice, Pan!”
“Babes, babes,” Sheila said. “You’re giving me a headache. When did you last eat?”
“I had a few pistachios in the pantry,” Pan said.
“You didn’t offer me any pistachios,” Leo said.
“Oh, shut your mouth and pop your pills,” Pan told him. “All your scratching is making me itchy.”
“How can I pop my pills if I shut my mou—”
“Enough!” Sheila ladled out two steaming bowls of risotto. “Take this and go. I can’t deal with the two of you while I’m cooking.”
Pan grabbed soup spoons from the drawer. “Smells divine.”
“What is it?” Leo asked, after taking another pill.
“Pear and celery risotto,” Sheila said.
“Huh.” Pandora frowned at her bowl. “Sounds like something my mother would make.”
“Yes, but I made it,” Sheila said, and imperiously ushered them out the kitchen door.
Leo found himself on the doorstep, a scalding bowl of risotto in his hands. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have accused you of taking a book from the library.”
“I shouldn’t have said you have lice,” Pandora said. “Though I wouldn’t blame them. You have nicer hair than an ancient gladiator.”
“That’s oddly specific.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Let’s eat on the dock.”
Pandora’s parents had as much ocean frontage as Leo’s, but the shore was rockier and unsuitable for boating, so when Pandora said “the dock” she meant at his house.
He followed her through the blueberry field, feeling like they were kids again.
Though he’d never appreciated watching Pandora walk this much, not even at seventeen.
The way her body swayed under that knit skirt.
Dark curls tickled her neck. He wanted to brush them aside and press his lips to her skin.
Not yet. Don’t move too fast and scare her away. Leo reined himself in as they settled in the wooden Adirondack chairs on the dock and began to eat.
Pandora moaned. “Oh, Dames.”
He stared at her, suddenly hungrier than ever.
“What?” she said. “It’s sooo good—and I’m still tingly from getting my gift.”
Leo took a bite then blinked at his spoon in awe. The flavor was sweet from the pear but savory from onions and celery. And Sheila had added some kind of broth that made the texture silken and delectable.
“What’re the green bits?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Sesame leaves? Dad grows them for her.”
Once they’d scraped their bowls clean they sat together and admired the view.
Leo didn’t want to talk about the manuscript or the island—and to his surprise, Pan seemed to agree.
Either she was tired of worrying about her gift, or she just needed a break from the world.
The tide ebbed and flowed. A cormorant dove into the ocean and plovers played tag with the tide, sticking their beaks into the sand.
When Pan made a humming noise of satisfaction, Leo felt himself relax. Waves splashed the dock and the warm island air carried the scent of evergreens and seaweed. Then Pan closed her eyes and tilted her face to catch the warmth of the sun lowering in the sky.
Leo took the opportunity to stare. He loved the curve of her upper lip and the freckle beside her nose. Her lashes fluttered ever so slightly.
Pan’s eyes opened and she caught him staring.
He didn’t stop. As Pan watched him watching her, he was struck again by the presence of her.
He hadn’t seen her for years, yet he already couldn’t imagine not seeing her every day, hearing her laugh and complain and tease.
He wanted her so badly. He wanted to kiss across every inch of skin and—she licked her lips.
“I can’t—” he started, his voice rasping. He was afraid to finish, to admit that he couldn’t bear not touching her.
“Some people dream when they get gifts,” she told him. “Some people get hungry, some laugh. Me? I get needy.”
“Needy?”
She leaned closer and her voice turned husky as she said, “Very, very needy.”