Neri waves us off with a, “Happy reading!”
Bo is quiet for the rest of our errands, letting me take the lead, which is honestly how I prefer things. I’m not a browser. I have a list with checkboxes I want to tick off because each task completed is a burst of satisfaction.
When the backseat of my truck is full of Bo’s necessities, we head back to the library, and I’m glad to see the RV—Jack and Ame went to pick it up—parked off to the side as we pull up the drive, especially with how tense Bo gets at the sight of the house.
I reach across the console, placing my hand on his shoulder. He jerks his chin to the side to stare at me as I stop a distance from the library.
“I know this is just words, and only time will help you feel more comfortable, but I don’t think the house is a danger to you anymore. And if it is—if it tries to trap you—I’m here. I’m looking out for you.” I squeeze his shoulder, holding his wary eyes. “Promise me, right now, that you won’t leave Folk Haven without telling me first.”
He swallows hard. “Why?”
“Promise me, Bo.”
“Yes, ma’am. I promise.”
I give him a playful glare for thema’am, and then I pat his shoulder. “There you have it. You won’t disappear. Because if you’re missing, I’ll look for you.”
As I retract my hand, I find it suddenly caught in a warm, rough hold.
“I …” he starts, then blinks and looks at where we’re touching. “Thank you,” he eventually rumbles.
And I get the sense Bo has never had anyone watch his back before. No one to care about what happens to him.
Well, now he does.
18
Mor
I wasn’tsure how much of a help Bo would be. Not because of his reading ability. I was being honest about the plethora of tasks that didn’t require literacy.
I think I just couldn’t wrap my mind around someone else doing something for this library better than I could. At best, I figured Bo would watch the front desk, dust some things, and maybe run the occasional errand, like grabbing me coffee. Helpful, but not particularly life-changing.
But, oh, was I wrong. And I’m not one to easily admit that. When you have three younger siblings, admitting fault is like bleeding in a pool of sharks.
Consider me chum because Bo, on day one, officially became invaluable.
How so?
He decided the only way he could work in this house was to get to know every inch of it. Bo started at the top, working down, exploring all nooks and crannies. That included the bathrooms.And under my vanity, he identified a pipe with a crack that was already leaking water. On the verge of bursting.
Bo shut off the water to the house, replaced the pipe, and preemptively saved my entire life’s work.
If that pipe had burst, water would have rained down on a room full of books. True, I’ve started spelling the texts against damage. But I doubt the enchantments are strong enough to ward off full submersion in water.
When Bo told me why he needed to temporarily shut off the water, the monster apologized. To me. For doing something that would protect my books.
Meanwhile, I was on the verge of hugging him.
But that’s not what employers do, so I simply thanked him for his initiative.
And this week, he’s stepped up in so many ways I never thought to. Fixing a whole range of small things around the house. Mowing the lawn. Washing the windows.
He even changed the oil in my truck when he saw the Check Engine light was on during his coffee run into town.
“Ma’am.” His deep voice tugs me out of my contemplation. “I’m sorry?—”
“Bo,” I cut him off. “Stop calling me ma’am. And stop apologizing.”
