When I decided to spearhead this rehabilitation, I didn’t consider how I would have to shepherd Bo through the advances the world had made in the past two decades. I’m not even a fan of the digital landscape, much preferring physical books and pen and paper.
Still, I can handle cell phones.
“Here, let me show you the basics.”
I shuffle in close to his side, suppressing a shiver that wants to claim my body when I breathe in his earthy scent. Though Ihave mental shields firmly in place, I catch a flash of pink from his aura. Curiosity.
He must be curious about the phone.
For the next few minutes, I demonstrate how to use the touch screen, explaining what apps are, and which ones I use the most—music listening mainly. When I hand my phone over so he can try, the device looks tiny in his massive hands. Everything about Bo is big.
Even my five-nine stature appears diminutive next to his hulking form.
If he were a creep, I’d probably hate it. But it’s almost as if Bo is constantly fighting to fit himself into a smaller area than he takes up. Shoulders hunched, chin dipped, eyes down.
He’s going to get a hell of a sore neck if he keeps that posture up. I would know, after spending so much time bent over books.
Now I get monthly massages at Haven’s Relaxation, and my body thanks me.
Maybe Bo would like to visit Levi’s spa. Perhaps Bo could get a job there if he doesn’t like library work. If the guy learned how to use his massive fingers to massage, there’s not a kink or knot that could withhold against his thick digits.
After a moment, I realize I’m staring at his hands, wondering what they would feel like on my shoulders, pressing into stressed muscles.
I shake my head and clear my throat.
Bo offers me back my phone. “Seems useful,” he murmurs. “But I’d worry all the time about breaking it.”
Because of your massive hands?I almost ask but keep my fixation to myself.
“They’re more durable now than they used to be. And you can get a case to protect it. I’ve dropped mine a bunch, and it’s still working.” I slip the phone into my back pocket and turn toward our next stop. “You’ll probably need to get one eventually. Getsharder to survive in the world without a smartphone each year. But let’s just focus on essentials for now.”
He glances over my shoulder. “That’s a bookstore.”
“Exactly. Essentials.”
There’s a charming tinkle of a bell as I push into Never Judge a Cover—my favorite place in Folk Haven, outside of my own library.
Neri, the shop owner, comes around a bookshelf with her arms full of paperbacks.
“Hey, Mor! You saw my email?”
“Yep. Figured I’d just come by and check it out.”
The siren took a trip to Atlanta and found what she suspects is a grimoire in a used bookstore.
The shop bell rings again, and I watch as Neri’s attention lifts a few inches over my head. Turning, I find Bo standing behind me, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his eyes flitting around the room, as if he’s nervous to be here.
“Neri, this is Bo.” Without thought, I press my hand into his lower back and guide him farther into the shop. “Bo, this is Neri Onassis. She’s the owner.”
His back is like iron under my hand, and I drop my touch away. His throat tenses with a swallow.
“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” he mutters so low that I barely hear him.
“Nice to meet you too.” The siren offers the monster a wide grin, and I’m grateful for her instinctual kindness. “First-time customers get fifty percent off of their first book.”
“Oh … I don’t read much.”
What he described earlier—about reading giving him headaches—I plan to dig into that more. But he’s been through a lot in the last few days, and now is not the time for a sneaking interrogation.
