3. Chapter 3 Maggie #2
The carefulness of somebody trying to decide whether this conversation is emotionally safe.
I lower my voice a little. “Can I tell you a secret?”
She glances up immediately. “Okay.”
“When I was nine, I accidentally read the word ‘chaos’ out loud as ‘chah-hoss’ in front of my entire class.”
Sophie blinks. “Really?”
“I was extremely confident about it too.”
“What happened?”
“My librarian laughed so hard she snorted.”
That finally gets a genuine grin.
“She shouldn’t have laughed.”
“No, honestly, she absolutely should have. It was a terrible pronunciation.”
Sophie giggles quietly while I continue.
“Reading out loud is weird because your brain has to do like six jobs at once. Seeing words. Understanding words. Saying words. Not panicking while people listen to you say words.”
“I hate when people stare.”
“Same. That’s why librarians hide behind desks. Defensive positioning.”
Her shoulders relax another tiny fraction.
Progress.
Across the dining room, I catch Eli glancing toward us mid-conversation with Luke. Not hovering exactly. Just watching carefully the way parents do when something matters more than they want to admit.
There’s protectiveness there.
But also worry.
Like he’s bracing for disappointment before it arrives.
Sophie traces the edge of Charlotte’s Web with one finger. “Dad tries to help me practice.”
“I bet he’s good at it.”
“He is.” She hesitates. “But sometimes I get embarrassed.”
“That makes sense.”
“He never gets mad though.”
The immediate fierceness in her defense of him warms me unexpectedly.
“You really love your dad.”
“Obviously.”
“Obviously.”
Sophie looks down again before asking quietly, “What if I’m just bad at reading out loud forever?”
Absolutely not.
I crouch slightly so we’re eye level. “Sophie Turner, absolutely nobody is naturally good at reading out loud. That’s why audiobook narrators get paid actual money.”
That earns another tiny laugh.
“Reading isn’t about being perfect,” I continue gently. “It’s about finding stories that make you feel something. The rest is just practice.”
Something uncertain flickers across her face then.
Hope maybe.
Careful hope.
And behind her, I notice Eli watching us again from across the room with an unreadable expression that suddenly feels a whole lot less guarded than it did an hour ago.
Sophie lingers beside me while the breakfast crowd slowly shifts into smaller conversations around the inn.
Margaret and Dottie June move toward the porch with their pastries.
Earl disappears outside after announcing he wants to “check whether the rain smells electrical.” Wren follows him immediately, which feels wise.
The dining room finally settles into something quieter.
Sophie still holds Charlotte’s Web against her chest.
“You know,” I say casually, “I happen to possess a highly classified librarian strategy for reading out loud.”
Her eyes widen immediately. “Really?”
“Top secret. Extremely advanced.”
“Does it work?”
“Sometimes magnificently. Sometimes with dramatic consequences.”
That earns the small laugh I was hoping for.
Across the room, Eli leans against the archway talking with Luke, but I can feel his attention drifting back toward us every few seconds. Not intrusive exactly.
Protective.
Like he’s monitoring weather conditions around his daughter.
I lower my voice conspiratorially. “The trick is that you’re not actually supposed to read perfectly.”
Sophie frowns. “Then why does school make it feel like that?”
“Because adults occasionally lose perspective and start using clipboards incorrectly.”
She snorts softly.
“The real goal,” I continue, “is making the story feel alive.”
“How?”
“Well.” I glance around dramatically. “You weaponize ridiculous voices.”
Sophie blinks.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, “did nobody tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“Every excellent reader eventually becomes emotionally unhinged about character voices.”
Now she’s smiling again.
I take the copy of Charlotte’s Web gently from her hands and flip it open.
“When Wilbur talks,” I say in an absurdly dramatic deep voice, “‘I am extremely concerned about farm-related developments.’”
Sophie immediately giggles.
“And Charlotte,” I continue, now switching to a wildly elegant British accent, “‘Wilbur, please calm yourself immediately. You’re embarrassing the species.’”
Sophie bursts into full laughter this time, loud enough that Eli glances over automatically.
I grin. “See? If the voices are ridiculous enough, your brain gets distracted from being nervous.”
“That actually makes sense.”
“Also,” I add, handing the book back to her, “tiny goals.”
“What’s that mean?”
“You don’t sit down and try to read an entire chapter perfectly. You read one paragraph. Then another. Then maybe one page.”
“And if I mess up?”
“Then congratulations.” I spread my hands. “You’ve joined literally every reader in human history.”
Sophie bites her lip, still smiling a little.
I can practically see her thinking through it.
No pressure. No correction. No embarrassment.
Just possibility.
“I could maybe try that,” she says quietly.
“You absolutely could.”
Behind her, Eli’s expression shifts slightly.
He’s still guarded. Still watching carefully. But something softer flickers underneath it now, something uncertain and almost reluctant.
The look catches me off guard.
Because suddenly I understand exactly what he’s afraid of.
Not that Sophie will get hurt accidentally.
That she’ll hope intentionally.
And honestly?
That feels much more risky.
A few minutes later, Sophie gets pulled into helping Wren rescue napkins from Elvis the rooster, who has somehow stolen an entire basket and fled toward the porch like a tiny feathery outlaw.
The resulting chaos gives me exactly enough time to slip into the hallway for a moment of quiet.
I’m halfway through stacking abandoned paper cups onto a tray when a low voice behind me says:
“You’re good with her.”
I turn.
Eli stands near the archway with his arms folded across his chest, broad shoulders filling most of the narrow hall. Up close, he looks even more tired than he did this morning, although there’s something steadier in his expression now too.
Less defensive.
More serious.
“Thanks,” I say carefully.
For a second neither of us speaks.
Rain taps softly against the windows while distant laughter drifts in from the porch.
Then Eli steps closer, not threatening exactly, but direct enough that my heartbeat does something deeply unprofessional.
“She likes you already,” he says.
There’s no accusation in the words.
Which somehow makes them heavier.
“I like her too.”
His jaw tightens briefly before he nods once, almost to himself.
Then his eyes meet mine fully, blue-gray and unwavering.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” he says quietly. “She’s had enough of that.”