He led Olive through the Reference room to the paneled lobby, down the marble landing to the lower ground floor, and out the main entrance to Fourth Avenue. Once there, he released Olive’s arm and unfolded the scrap of paper. Olive hovered at his elbow.
“What does it say?”
He sighed in disgust. “I can’t make out more than a few words. That damned mouse chewed it to perdition.”
“Oh no.”
He cut her a glance. She didn’t seem particularly worried about their setback, but then, she was probably still consumed with her bitten finger.
“Come along,” he said with a sigh. “I promised you a doctor.”
“A pharmacist at the very least.”
“At the very least,” he agreed. “And then what?”
“Oh. Um.” She rifled through her pocket with her uninjured hand and withdrew her notes. “There’s a women’s convention this afternoon. We could attend the speeches and make a note of who appears the most likely to be in the know, if you know what I mean.”
He considered the offer. He wouldn’t mind hearing a few lectures. It might remind him of his days as a reporter, taking notes during political stump speeches. Even better, there would be fewer opportunities for Olive to drive him wild with those doe eyes.
“What are the topics?”
“Let’s see. The first talk is entitled The Vice of Gambling and the Moral Duty of Women to Act Against It.” She looked up. “Oh no. You’re a gambler, aren’t you?”
“I enjoy cards as much as anyone else,” he said dryly. “What else?”
“There’s one more. The Demonic Hold of Alcohol on Men’s Minds.”
Emil stared at her, waiting for her to laugh at what must be a joke, but she only gazed back innocently. “You’re not serious.”
“Why wouldn’t I be? Do you not wish to attend?”
“No sane man would.” He harrumphed. “But I know you put a lot of effort into this outing, so I won’t say no.”
A flicker of guilt crossed her face, and Emil briefly wondered if he was being hoodwinked. In the next breath, he dismissed the suspicion. Olive was too much of a lamb for that—except, of course, when she morphed into a changeling. He frowned. Wonderful, now he was doubting himself.
“Onward, ho.” He reached for her arm, but she danced backward.
“Five feet,” she reminded him.
“Ten,” he countered, his fingers curling into his palm.
And as they started toward the corner of Fourth and Madison, ten feet apart, he realized something momentous had happened.
He’d fallen, just the slightest, under Olive Becket’s strange spell.
Chapter 10
Olive had no intention of ever looking Emil in the face again.
Not after what she’d filed in her mind as The Great Library Debacle. Which had been followed by Disinfected by Disinterested Chemist. And topped with the oh-so-humiliating Thrown Over for Scary Man with a Cane.
To think of all the time she’d spent preparing for that first meeting. Hours mimicking Clem’s effortless elocution before the mirror. Hours scribbling a list of potential insults, as she’d seen Winnie doing. Hours praying for an ounce of Rhoda’s confidence. And it had worked. Emil had hung on to her every word. Gazed at her like she was more than a pathetic little lamb. Watched her with ill-contained excitement as she’d dug in the stacks for the clue she’d stashed there the day before.
And then a fluff of a rodent had almost caused her to lose her mind!
In public. In Emil’s arms.
Her entire body flushed at the memory of him bracing her from hitting the floor. How good his body had felt against hers. How his warm breath had fluttered her hair, how his strong thigh had wedged against hers. And when she’d let her fears spiral out of control—a terrible habit she would dearly love to break—he’d cupped her face in his hands and smiled until all she’d wanted to do was smile back, her fears dissipating like the final notes of a song.
