Chapter 31
Tabitha
My eyes locked with his, and my body went still.
Inside, I was melting. He was always glorious, of course—that chiseled face, that Greek god body—but nothing he’d done or said had ever made me want to close the distance between us, climb into his lap, wrap my arms around his neck, and kiss him senseless like his incredibly open, vulnerable words.
“I’m glad you’ve found a way to manage better.
” I shifted closer to him. “I really am, and I hope that doesn’t sound patronizing.
I can’t imagine how hard living with dyslexia is, how hard school was back then.
Reading and writing is just something I don’t even think about.
I love reading, and mostly, I love writing.
Did any of the teachers at our school help you? ”
He shrugged, indicating no. “As you know, I was a right little shit, upended desks and chairs when it came to reading time to divert everyone’s attention from the fact that I was struggling. I spent a lot of time in the headmistress’s office or in the hallway or being sent home.”
“Yes, I do remember that. But surely that should have alerted someone to your issues.”
“I learned to cover it up and compensate, but eventually, they diagnosed me, and I kept that under wraps as I didn’t want to be asked about it.”
She nodded. “I remember you being pulled out of class. I’m sorry you couldn’t talk to me about it, Tim. Sorry about everything.”
“Right now, I’m not.” He smiled down at my hand, which had somehow landed on his thigh. He put his hand on mine.
I was distracted by the feel of his hard thigh muscles under my hand and his callused hand on top of mine. My gaze traveled up his inked arm.
“What do your tattoos mean?” I asked, taking in his left forearm. When he’d rolled up his sleeves at the table, my attention had shot to his tattoos, like it often had when working together.
He held up his left hand. “I have them on this arm, because otherwise I can’t tell my left from my right.” I jolted back, shocked, and he nodded. “But yeah, just thought they were cool. Straight out of the artist’s folder—no more thought to them than that.”
I laughed, surprised, and almost disappointed too.
Somehow, that didn’t fit what I knew about him.
Everything else he did was so intentional.
“That’s honest.” I touched his forearm, felt his muscles clench, responding to my touch.
Smiling to myself at his reaction, I bent my head closer to read, “I saw her clear. Though on the earth a sprinkling of snowdrops shone.” “Oh. We learned that poem together, didn’t we?
In primary school? We recited it for days, walking up and down the river path. What’s that poem called?”