Chapter Sixteen
The next few days passed quickly as Owen and I fell into a comfortable routine.
He accompanied me around campus, and we met Shae for lunch.
We worked out at the gym and he taught me self-defence, showing me how to spar and break out of holds.
I loved our training sessions, and not just because I was learning to protect myself.
Whenever he wrapped his arms around me from behind, he would kiss my cheek or nuzzle my neck, holding me tight against his body.
In the evenings, we cooked together in his kitchen, drank wine, and turned up the music.
I would tease him by pretending to add spices to his recipes without measuring, and he would wrestle the jar from me while I shouted with laughter.
And every night he would kiss me before I went to sleep in his bed and he took the couch, respecting my request to take things slow.
It was perfect. Maybe too perfect. How could I trust that Owen wasn’t another Todd?
Sure, Owen didn’t lavish me with expensive dinners and gifts, but he was still sweeping me off my feet.
If Owen was the current in a fast-flowing river, I was the branch that had fallen in and was being tossed and turned and pulled along, my destination already decided.
Was my desire for love and family so great that I was repeating past mistakes? I needed to keep my head above water.
And then there was Charles. Was it selfish to have fun when my friend was missing? Possibly even suffering? But Charles had wanted me to be happy. He’d set me up with Owen. If I took a break from magic and worrying, maybe I would have more success the next time I tried to veil-walk.
Shae’s research yielded several references to Druids in Marion’s donated field journals.
We made a formal request through the university archives and were informed that the records would be available for viewing the following week.
I swallowed my disappointment that we would need to wait for possible clues even as I racked my brain for other places we could search.
On Thursday afternoon, Owen leaned back in his chair while we ate lunch and surprised me with a well-thought-out question about the lecture I had just given my undergrad class. We were studying the novel Alias Grace by Margaret Atwood.
“I like what you said earlier about Grace refusing to fit neatly into any one category. That she is both victim and villain, and it’s society’s inability to fully define her identity that empowers her.”
I almost dropped my fork. “T-thank you.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Could you explain again how being the narrator also gives her power?”
“Umm…she controls the information. And Atwood makes readers question whether storytelling itself can become a survival strategy…I thought you were busy bodyguarding. I didn’t think you were listening.”
“I’m always listening,” he replied. “And you’re a good teacher. Hard not to pay attention.” He winked at me, and I couldn’t help but smile back.
This Owen was such a contrast to the stern, suspicious man I had met last Friday.
Was he like this with all his friends or only with me?
That was a pleasing thought. I loved his flirting, but how much was too much?
Todd had flirted with me in the beginning, too, although it had never felt like this.
Safe.
Right.
Perfect.
“So?” Owen asked.
“So, what?” I should have been ashamed of my lack of focus in his presence, but damn, the man was fine.
Today he was dressed casually in jeans and a collared white shirt with the cuffs rolled up, and I couldn’t stop my gaze from travelling over his muscular forearms, across his chest, and finally to eyes regarding me with amusement and undisguised desire.
His lips curled into a slow, languid smile that said: Like what you see? You can have it all. Anytime you want.
I coughed and took a long drink of water.
“Everything okay?”
“Peachy,” I spluttered, gathering my books. “We should go.”
“What about my question? I didn’t get a full answer.”
“Email me.”
“Do you have office hours?” he asked, collecting both trays. “Maybe I could make a private appointment. I’d want your full attention on my…question.” His grin was wicked and my face flamed, but I couldn’t help laughing as we left the cafeteria.
Who was this man? It was impossible to keep my guard up.
“You’re terrible.”
“Terribly good. I’m a very attentive student, and you’re an incredible teacher. And do you know what’s even better?”
“Do I want to know?”
“When the student becomes the teacher. I’m sure I could teach you a few things, Kira.” He eyed me up and down while holding the door.
“Stop!” I was laughing but also turned on by the idea of Owen in my office. Alone. Teaching me things. My legs went weak just thinking about it.
As I passed through the door, he pulled me to him, kissing me with tenderness and longing and a promise of so much more. Then he straightened and continued down the hall like nothing had happened, and I was left with goosebumps covering my arms.
He turned and gave me a million-dollar smile. “Coming?”
Owen was right.
I didn’t stand a chance.
“We need to go to the public library,” I declared as we strolled through campus.
“Be honest now,” Owen teased. “Do we need to go to the library, or do you want to go?”
“Both.” I grinned. “I was thinking it might be useful to see what they have on Celtic symbols and Irish mythology.”
“You know we could use Google.”
“Where’s the fun in that? I want to feel the texture of the pages, breathe in the scents of paper and ink, be surrounded by rows and rows of books, all filled with history and knowledge…”
I glanced up to find Owen watching me, a tender smile on his face.
He laced my hand in his. “To the library we go.”
We chose the main branch of the Toronto Public Library, hoping it would have more reference material, and then settled at a study table with several stacks of books. Owen put on reading glasses and somehow became even more sexy. I could hardly concentrate.
After two hours, however, we hadn’t found any information on portals or wraiths or veil walking. I rubbed my eyes and groaned into my hands.
“We need to do more to find Charles! I hate sitting around and waiting or relying on Syliva.”
“Hey, look at me,” Owen said softly, reaching across the table to take one of my hands.
“I’m worried about Granddad, too. At night, I lie awake while my mind conjures up worst-case scenarios.
But we’re doing our best with things we have no experience in and have never prepared for.
Do you know what keeps me going through all the fear and doubt? ”
“What?”
“You. Honestly, Kira, I don’t know what I would have done this past week without you keeping me sane. We are going to find Granddad. I know it. You’ll veil-walk tomorrow at the Peninsula and we’ll figure out how to reopen the portal and rescue him. Okay?”
I nodded, my eyes misty.
“Let’s read for fun for a bit,” Owen suggested with a final squeeze of my hand. “Granddad loved his stories. I bet if he was here with us, he’d be pulling books off the shelves and recommending authors—”
“And trying to reshelve the books and giving the librarians heart attacks,” I finished and we both laughed. “Okay,” I agreed. “And thanks.”
We selected our books and found two wingback chairs by a fireplace. We set our feet on the ottoman before us, and after a few minutes, Owen’s foot fell sideways to rest gently against my own. I bit my lip to hide my smile, not looking up from my book.
“Sorry,” he said, sounding anything but sorry. He had chosen a book titled Digital Security in the Modern Age. No wonder he couldn’t concentrate.
I had chosen a historical romance by one of my favourite authors. I had read it numerous times, but it was nice to revisit old friends. I couldn’t concentrate on something new with Owen so close.
“What’s your book about?” Owen asked in a hushed whisper.
As if he didn’t know. The cover showed a Highland warrior necking a woman wearing a barely-there bodice.
I blushed and smiled but kept my eyes mostly on the page. “Things,” I answered in a whisper of my own.
“Things?” He arched an eyebrow.
“Love. And mighty heroes.”
“And a damsel in distress, I would assume.”
A damsel who saves the day. It’s the twenty-first century after all.”
“Of course.”
We fell silent, staring intently at our books. Neither of us had flipped a page in a long time.
“Does she save the hero? Or just the day?” Owen finally turned a page, looking at it studiously, but we both knew he wasn’t reading a word.
“Doesn’t every damsel save the hero in some way?” I asked, still not looking up.
“Not every damsel. Only a special one.”
“How is she special?”
Owen flipped another page. “She’s kind. Likes helping elderly people pack their belongings and spending time with shelter dogs.
When she talks about something she loves, like libraries and books, her cheeks turn the prettiest shade of pink.
She’s smart. Doing a PhD. And very, very brave.
About to learn how to veil-walk so she can save a friend.
Oh, and she’s gorgeous. Every man stares at her, but I doubt she notices. ”
I kept my face down trying to hide my blush. That’s how Owen saw me? I wanted to kiss him senseless.
When I finally looked up, the raw intensity of his gaze made my pulse jump.
“She’s some damsel,” I whispered.
“That she is.”
That night, after another homemade dinner of beef stroganoff paired with a Niagara Pinot Noir, I realized two things.
One: I could get used to living like this. With Owen.
Whoa. Where had that thought come from? What happened to ‘slow’?
Two: I felt completely free and unburdened. Like I could let loose and be myself. Like I was finally safe.
And I knew it had little to do with the wine we’d been drinking. I lifted my glass again and took several more sips.