Chapter Eight
Dainley
Dainley lay with his head nestled into Lucy's neck, one arm around her and resting just under her breasts.
Lucy lay on her back, as there wasn't really a way to lay on her side in Dainley's bed and accommodate her horns.
Dainley knew he'd have to do something to make that better for her if she came over again.
He planned later to ask how her bed was shaped.
Her chest rose and fell with deep, slow breaths, and she had the sweetest smile he'd ever seen on anyone.
She wasn't quite asleep, but not clear headed enough to carry on a conversation.
Dainley took that as a job well done. He was certainly worn out.
Soon, sleep took them both, legs tangled and bodies wrapped in silk sheets.
Early in the morning, Dainley let Lucy freshen up while he cooked breakfast. His shop opened earlier than hers, or he would have let them take their time—maybe get another few rounds with different sleeves.
It would have to wait. From the looks Lucy was giving him, like she could barely contain her grin, it seemed like she wanted it too.
From the loose set of her shoulders and slow swish of her tail, this was the most relaxed he'd ever seen Lucy.
He felt it too, the relief from weeks of winding each other up.
But even before, when he'd first met her in her shop, she'd had a nervous energy that was gone now.
It made him wonder, as hard as she'd been working the last three weeks, how much was she working before?
After they polished off the eggs and sausage, Dainley sent her home with a kiss on her cheek. "I'll see you tonight, Lucy."
With a spring in his step and eager to see Lucy as soon as possible, Dainley headed to her bookshop early to walk to the theater. There really wasn't much left to do on the stage. It was time for the actors to get a few rehearsals on the actual boards before the show opened.
And more than anything, Dainley was looking forward to their evenings being free. If she liked the Carsh cook-off, there were a lot of pubs he wanted to bring her to, including maybe some actual people watching at Hurricane.
He pushed the door open, the corner of his mouth quirking at the tiny cowbell clanging to announce his entrance.
"Dainley!" Lucy popped up from behind one of her spinning columns.
A chorus of tiny bells jangled as she crossed the shop to meet him with a tight embrace.
She squished Dainley's face into her breasts and he did not mind one bit.
She had changed to a fresh dress, blue and white, and she still smelled like his soap.
"How was your day?" She released him to return to the books she was shelving.
Dainley shrugged. "I fixed a lot of shoes and came here. That's pretty much it." He followed and found several empty crates. Lucy was elbows deep in another crate, grabbing stacks of books to stock. "Hey, are things picking up for you?" Dainley leaned on one elbow on the top of one of the columns.
Her eyes were bright, and her beaming smile contagious. "I finally have room for the supply that came in weeks ago! And look!" She pointed to the corner of her shop where she put the books she repaired, "The Take-A-Book-Leave-A-Book corner has books I didn't put there!"
"Oh?" Dainley crossed to the little cluster of shabby but comfortable furniture. Between volumes she had lovingly recovered in scrap leather or canvas were books with paper covers, worn and torn at the corners.
She moved the crate she was working on back behind the table where she handled orders.
"Come see. I have something you might like.
" Lucy waved him over to one of the longer row shelves, where she turned the crank to bring one shelf from the bottom of the loop to the top.
She pulled one book, a thick volume, and opened it to reveal not lines of text, but images.
The pages she thumbed through showed a group of heroes, charging through a forest on horseback.
"Have you seen one of these?" Lucy asked. "Some of them still have text, but I know some that are meant to be understood across many languages, so they don't use much written dialogue." She held it out to him.
He took it and thumbed through a few pages. This particular book had some written text, but not much. The images were printed in a limited set of colors, but were vibrant on the page. "Thanks, Lucy…you're sweet, but you didn't have to worry about this."
"You enjoy Windemere's plays so much, you should have a way to get more stories." She sank one hand into her apron pocket.
Dainley closed the book and returned it to the shelf. "I know you mean well, but I don't think I'll sit down with a book."
"Well, all right, but I'm sure there's something that'll work for you." Though she was smiling, her jaw had tightened. "I'll keep looking and—"
"Lucy, I'm not into books." It came out more curt than he meant, but he gestured to her cloven hooves and kept on, "And you're not into shoes. It's fine, we don't have to be into the same things."
That must have caught her off guard, because she hesitated before answering. She pulled one foot behind the other, almost like she tried to hide her feet. "But-but this is different! You like stories. Everyone needs stories."
Dainley shrugged. "Yeah, and I get them from Windemere. And other plays. And sometimes musicians."
"But there's so many more you could have." She took a step toward him. "And I want to help you."
"Shattered hammers, why can't you let this go?" Dainley snapped.
Lucy froze. Stepped back and huffed. She sputtered and twisted the edge of her apron pocket before she finally said, "I was supposed to be a librarian. But…I failed at it."
"What?"
She backed up against one of her spinning columns.
"I studied and trained, of course, I was as good as the rest of my cohort.
But my old job…the library in the middle of the city…
the stacks were so close." She reached and touched the tip of one of her horns, still clad with the pink leather caps Dainley had made for her.
"I couldn't go in the stacks unless I turned my head sideways.
And if I needed to look at the other side of that aisle, I had to walk back out, turn my head the other way, and walk back in.
" She sighed, brows pinching in a deep frown.
"And there are things librarians are supposed to be able to do for patrons that I couldn't."
Her old job. Dainley remembered she had a previous job where the boss had it out for her, but she'd never said what it was. She was fired from the Port Florian Library?
Lucy continued, "And you know, I've seen people with wheelchairs or crutches, or were blind or deaf.
It was easy to accommodate them, and worth doing.
Me though, they couldn't move the stacks farther apart.
" She scoffed. Dainley eyed her horns again.
They had an impressive spread, and he had seen how careful she was around anything that might catch on them.
He hadn't forgotten the panic when she'd snagged on that banner, or the fruit market story.
"And that's why you built these?" He gestured over the spinning columns and crank banks.
"There's no stacks for me to get stuck in.
" She shrugged. "People who are short or in wheelchairs can see and reach every book in my shop just by turning a few cranks.
And tall people like me or who can't bend over can use the lever to raise a column.
" She laid a hand on one of her columns, her expression softening.
"I took on Windemere's stage job because I needed to buy time for people to realize I'm here.
If I hadn't, I would've had to pack all this up by now.
Head back to the plains and probably be a carpenter the rest of my life.
" There was something bitter in her voice about that. She sniffled, eyes downcast.
Dainley started to say something, but Lucy pressed on, blinking rapidly to clear her eyes.
"I'm sorry for pestering you. It just…it matters," her voice was nearly a whisper.
"It matters to remove every barrier I can to reading.
It can bring such joy to someone's life, such change, even community.
If you…truly aren't enjoying—I mean…'more effort than the payoff', I remember you said.
If anything with books is always like that for you, I'll leave you be.
But I didn't want you to give up because of something I could fix.
" Her shoulders raised and lowered several times, like she wanted to retreat into herself but was trying not to.
Fix? Dainley looked around, taking in her shop in a very different light.
Of course she was trying to fix something for Dainley—that was her job.
This was a woman dedicated to accommodating people, and yet had to build her own ways to accommodate herself.
And she did it well. "You care. I see that.
" His facial hair bunched while his mouth worked out what to say next.
"When I was young, people would…pester me, as you put it.
Why was I so bad at reading, why didn't I try harder, that kind of thing.
It wasn't…kind. Like you." He slowly spun a column, and left it to draw closer to Lucy.
"I think that's part of why Win lets me come to read throughs.
And why he lets me come to as many shows as I want.
You're right. I enjoy stories, and Win is the main way I get to hear them. I've accepted that."
He held out his hand and Lucy gave him hers. Lucy bit her lip and nodded. "Then…I would like to come with you. To as many read throughs and shows as you let me," she added with a hasty half shrug, "and Win, of course, but…my point is I like being with you."
He brushed his lips over her knuckles. "I'd like that."
Lucy's thick lashes fluttered with her grin.
"I was thinking a lot about yesterday, and about how—well, I usually have a hard time fitting in.
Physically and otherwise. Back home, at the Library, in Potato Town.
" She let her arms find a home around Dainley's neck, and he laid his hands on her waist. "With you, though, it's…
easy." She leaned closer. "I didn't know I could feel like this, like I don't have to make myself smaller or keep to the edge. "
Dainley pulled her closer and batted one of her bells with a single finger.
"Sounds like you've done that enough. I won't have you do that for me.
" He took a deep breath. "I wanna see you, Lucy.
Not just tonight, not just helping Win. I wanna see what we can build, for us.
Starting with dinner while we finish that damn stage. " He punctuated with a resolute nod.
Lucy giggled, leaning closer. "I'd like that." She crushed her sweet lips to his, and Dainley wrapped his arms tight around her. Her hand dragged from his shoulder to his neck, just inside his shirt collar. His own hands crept down her back to start hiking up her skirt.
If they were a little late to the theater, Windemere would forgive them.