Chapter 10 #2
The words spilled out—the immediate attraction, the ultrasound appointment, the way he seemed to be fighting himself every time they were in the same room. The kiss in the snow that had felt like something breaking open and the apology afterward that had felt like doors slamming shut.
“He’s terrified,” she finished. “I can see it. But I don’t know if he’s afraid of hurting me or if he’s just using that as an excuse to avoid… whatever this is.”
Ginger was quiet for a long moment, her expression thoughtful. “Have you met his Hyde?”
“Not really. I’ve seen his eyes flash green and when we kissed, his hands were different—bigger and stronger. But he was so gentle with me. He didn’t scare me. Neither of them scare me.”
“Then you’ve seen more than most people have.” Ginger refilled their tea. “He keeps that part of himself locked down tight. There are rumors about his father, about something that went wrong, but nobody really knows the details. The doctor has been alone for a long time.”
The other woman’s words only confirmed what she already knew, but it didn’t help. “That’s so sad.”
“It is. And it’s also a choice he’s making.” Ginger’s tone was kind but honest. “You can’t fix that for him, Chloe. He has to decide he’s worth the risk.”
“I know.” She pressed a hand to her stomach, feeling the baby shift. “But I keep thinking—what if I could show him he doesn’t have to be afraid? What if there’s something I could do or say that would help him see himself differently?”
“Did you have something in mind?”
“I found a journal by one of his ancestors, his great-grandfather I think, and it talks about finding balance.”
Ginger stood, collecting the empty cups. “Listen, I’m not going to tell you what to do. But if it were me, and I’d found something that might help someone I cared about understand themselves better, I’d probably share it.”
“He might not want to see it.”
“He might not.” Ginger shrugged. “Or he might be grateful that someone cares enough to try. Either way, you’ll know where you stand.”
That was the heart of it, wasn’t it? Right now she existed in this awful limbo of not-knowing. Not knowing if Victor’s apology meant I don’t want you or I want you too much. Not knowing if his distance was protection or rejection. She was tired of not knowing.
“Thank you,” she said. “For the tea and the talk and the advice.”
“Anytime.” Ginger headed for the door, then paused. “Fair warning—if this works out, Flora will take complete credit and probably expect you to name your firstborn after her.”
“Noted.”
After Ginger left, she tried to focus on work.
She really did. But her eyes kept drifting to the desk drawer where Thaddeus Jackson’s journal waited.
She’d told herself she was keeping it to better understand the historical context of the town, but it was a lie.
She’d kept it because it felt important, and because reading Thaddeus’s words had made her understand Victor better.
A sharp knock interrupted her thoughts and made her jump.
“I know you’re brooding in there!” Flora’s voice carried through the door. “I can feel the emotional turmoil from the hallway!”
She couldn’t help but smile as she called, “Come in, Flora.”
The tiny orc female bustled through the door wearing a bright yellow tracksuit with “Cougar” written across the chest in glittery letters. Her white curls bounced as she moved, and her black eyes sparkled with mischief.
“Ginger says you’re being sensible and cautious.” Flora plopped into the chair Ginger had vacated. “Dreadful qualities in a romance.”
“I’m not—this isn’t a romance.”
“Yet.” Flora’s grin showed her sharp teeth. “But it will be. The cards have spoken.”
“You read tarot cards?”
“Among other things.” Flora waved a dismissive hand. “The point is, you’re overthinking this. That boy needs someone to shake him out of his self-imposed martyrdom, and you’re just the woman to do it.”
“That boy is a respected physician who’s made it clear he’s not interested.”
“Bah! He kissed you in the snow like his life depended on it. That’s not disinterest, that’s terror.” Flora leaned forward. “Tell me, child. When a man is afraid of something, what’s the worst thing you can do?”
“I don’t know. Respect his boundaries?”
“Exactly!” Flora smacked the arm of the chair for emphasis. “You need to prove to him that his fear is unfounded. You show him he’s been worrying over shadows and mist.”
“What if his fear isn’t unfounded? What if he really is dangerous?”
Flora’s expression softened. “You’ve seen his other side. Did it frighten you?”
She thought about the green eyes glowing in the darkness and the huge hands that could crush rock but had cradled her face with infinite tenderness.
“No,” she admitted. “It felt… protective. Safe.”
“Then the danger he fears isn’t real. At least not for you.” Flora stood, smoothing down her tracksuit. “Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to take that journal you’ve been hiding in your desk—yes, I know about it, I know about everything—and you’re going to take it to him.”
“I can’t just show up at his house—”
“Why not? You have something that belongs to his family. You’re being a responsible archivist by returning it.” Flora’s smile turned sly. “What happens after that is up to fate. And perhaps a little bit of magic.”
She bit her lip. “What if he turns me away?”
“Then at least you’ll know. But I don’t think he will.” Flora patted Chloe’s hand with surprising gentleness. “That man has been alone too long, carrying burdens that aren’t his to carry. Sometimes people need permission to want what they want. Be his permission, child.”
After Flora left in a whirl of yellow and cryptic wisdom, she sat at her desk and stared at the drawer.
Be his permission.