Chapter 12 A Gouda Story #2
Exandra shook her head. “You don’t understand. When you’ve hurt someone….”
“Why not try riding off into the sunset anyway?” Wren posited. “I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? You’ve got nothing to lose if you’re already unhappy. You don’t seem like a bad person to me. And you certainly don’t seem like a coward.”
Exandra frowned at her, and Wren hoped she wasn’t overstepping.
But one of the things she’d learned as a journalist was to ask the hard questions, and speak the truth, even when it scared you to do so.
Of all the regrets people shared with her in their interviews, letting fear dictate their actions was the biggest one.
Better to take the risk than to die with what ifs.
“Can I tell you something?” Wren said. “It’s not anything to do with the article. Just an observation... person to person?”
Exandra looked up, surprised by the younger woman’s boldness. “All right.”
“I’m twenty-six years old. I’ve been a travel writer for four years now.
And every single day, I’m terrified I’m not good enough.
That my writing isn’t special enough, my photographs aren’t artistic enough, that I’m just one mediocre person in a sea of mediocrity.
That I don’t deserve the opportunities I’ve been given. ”
“That’s not—”
“Let me finish.” Wren leaned forward. “And now, suddenly there’s this boy.
This kind, earnest, ridiculous boy who looks at me like I hung the moon.
Who I think might have bought me a perfect gift I’m not even supposed to know about yet.
He makes me laugh and sees me in ways no one else does.
And I’ve sort of been holding him at arm’s length because it’s the ‘professional’ thing to do.
But that’s not the real reason. The real reason is that I’m afraid.
Afraid I’ll disappoint him. Afraid I’m not who he thinks I am.
Afraid I don’t deserve that kind of love.
So it just feels safer to be a little cynical. ”
“That’s different—”
“Is it?” Wren challenged. “You made a mistake at some point. So have I! Plenty of them. The person you hurt… Do you think they’d want you to punish yourself forever?”
Exandra’s pale eyes were extra bright with unshed tears. She glanced up at the ceiling and blinked a few times before answering Wren’s question. “I really don’t know.”
“I think you do, though,” Wren said gently. “And I think that’s what scares you most.”
Fred quacked once more, nodding his head decisively, and nuzzled himself under Exandra’s chin.
In her hidden spot deeper in the library, Minerva sat very still and quiet, her book forgotten in her lap. Whether she’d wanted to eavesdrop or not was a moot point. She couldn’t help it. Her mouse-enhanced hearing had caught every word of the conversation between Exandra and Wren.
It was like a scene from one of her favorite books at the Mudpuddle Bookshop and Cafe.
“What are you thinking about, my dear?” Zephyr asked, settling back beside her with his tea.
“Just listening,” Minerva mused, “and thinking...”
Bayard had been searching for Fred for half an hour. After he came in from his chat with Zephyr, he’d seen the duck in the Atrium with Wren and Jasper. So he’d gone to grab a hot drink in one of the lounges and warm up. But by the time he’d returned, they were nowhere to be found.
He’d double-checked the market stalls. Fred was not hiding there.
The cookie decorating station was being broken down and there was no sign of him.
The staff passing out the drinks confirmed that they hadn’t seen him in at least half an hour.
They were pretty sure he’d left with Wren and that they’d overheard Wren saying she was headed to the library for the book exchange.
That was a problem.
Bayard had been avoiding the library because he’d caught a glimpse of purple hair headed that way earlier. His heart couldn’t handle another awkward encounter with Exandra. Not yet, anyway. Not until he’d had a bit more time to process what Zephyr had said.
But Fred did love libraries and Bayard needed to find his familiar. He had no choice now. It was the last place to check.
Bayard pushed open the door. He found Wren sitting in a window nook. She wasn’t writing in her notebook or interviewing anyone. She wasn’t even reading. She was just sitting there, alone, staring thoughtfully at nothing.
He was surprised to see her there without Fred. She’d been so conscientious about watching him on other occasions.
“Miss Blackwood? Are you here alone? Where’s Fred?”
She looked up, startled. “Oh! Yes, he’s...” She pointed deeper into the library. “With Agent Thorne. She went to go do some journaling in the back alcove. I’m sorry. He just seemed to prefer her company to mine. I thought it would be okay.”
Of course Fred was with Exandra.
“Of course it’s okay,” Bayard reassured the girl. It was not okay, however. That sneaky little duck was going to force them to interact, wasn’t he?
Bayard made his way past the rows of books, stepping lightly so as not to disturb any readers. His cane barely touched the floor. He’d almost reached the alcove when he heard Exandra’s voice, raw with emotion coming from the nook.
“Maybe I don’t deserve to be happy, Freddie, but gods, I’m so tired of being alone.”
He froze in place.
“Everyone else at the Society has moved on without me. They’ve all found their person, their purpose, their peace.
And I’m still there, still fighting stupid battles that aren’t mine to fight anymore, still pretending I’m fine when I’m—” Her voice broke.
“When I’m so desperately not fine. I hate it. “
Bayard’s heart cracked open. He wanted to rush in, wanted to gather her in his arms, wanted to tell her she was never alone because he’d always been right there, loving her, waiting for her.
But Fred quacked before he could move, and Exandra scrambled to her feet. She peeked around the corner.
Their eyes met.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. Exandra’s face was tear-stained, vulnerable in a way he’d never seen. His own expression was equally raw, all his carefully constructed defenses shattered.
“I was just...” Bayard started. “Looking for my duck?”
“Right. It’s fine. He’s fine. He’s right here,” Exandra said quickly, wiping her eyes. She held out the exasperated looking duck. “He’s been keeping me company.”
“I can see that.”
They stared at each other, and the air between them was electric. All the things they wanted to say, needed to say, crowded into the space but refused to emerge.
Fred quacked again, paddling his feet in the air and looking between them like he was losing patience with their ridiculousness.
“You should take him.” Exandra stood abruptly. She gathered Fred under her arm and walked toward Bayard. The distance between them was simultaneously infinite and impossibly small.
She placed Fred in his arms, and their hands touched. Just for a moment. Just long enough for Bayard to feel the tremor in her fingers, the warmth of her skin, the way she didn’t immediately pull away.
“Exandra,” he whispered.
“Don’t, Bay…” she said, but it sounded like a plea. “Please. I can’t—not right now.”
She stepped around him, moving quickly toward the exit. He watched her go, Fred quacking sadly in his arms.
“I know,” Bayard murmured to the duck. “I know.”
Across the library, Minerva and Zephyr didn’t even pretend that they weren’t watching the scene unfold. They knew each other too well to lie about their mutual proclivity for eavesdropping.
“They’re both so miserable.” Minerva sighed.
“Indeed they are.” Zephyr shook his head.
“And they’re both desperately in love,” Minerva whispered, looking to Zephyr for a reaction.
“Indeed on that point, too.” He pushed up his glasses and unfolded his newspaper, shaking it out to remove the wrinkles.
“Neither of them is going to do anything about it without help,” Minerva continued, pushing down the newspaper with one finger. It was both a bid for attention and so she could directly look into Zephyr’s eyes. Although she lacked the gift of compulsion, she wanted to be convincing.
Zephyr looked at his wife, and a slow smile spread across his face. “Uh oh. I know that look. What are you thinking, my dear?”
“I’m thinking,” Minerva said, “that perhaps it’s time we stopped being observers and started being a little more... proactive.”
“Matchmaking, Minnie?”
“Problem-solving, Zippy. There’s a difference.”
He kissed her temple. “All right. Whatever you want to call it, count me in.”
Minerva smiled to herself. Outside, the storm continued to rage. But inside The Celestine Queen, the weather was about to improve.