“I know,” I whispered. I set my hand over his, stopping him. “But not at the expense of your life. Promise me.”
He was all I had left. I refused to lose him. I’d rather marry Dermot a hundred times than not have a father. My mom died when I was three. Memories of her were hazy, at best, and scarce. Not to mention I had no brothers or sisters, we had no extended family, and that meant I’d be without any family if I lost him.
I didn’t mind being alone, existing inside of my head with a bunch of characters, but it still seemed…scary. I knew I had my dad whenever I needed him.
He nodded and mumbled something, but I wasn’t sure if it was a promise to stay safe or something else. He left me in the bathroom before I could call him out on it.
Rinsing out the sink, I watched as the blood swirled down it, wondering if I should go after my dad or not. I decided not. We’d had this conversation before, and talking about it only pushed him closer to the edge.
I put the kit back in the cabinet, then fixed my messy bun, letting a few more chestnut strands fall around my face before I went to my bedroom and changed clothes. I threw on a thick white sweater, black jeans, and an army-green coat. I slipped my feet into a pair of boots hearty enough to keep my feet warm in the snow, then grabbed my messenger bag. My perfume of the day would be wood shavings.
Instead of bothering my dad, I left him a note on the counter reminding him I had to work and there was food in the fridge. I also set the Rooster timer he’d rigged from the inside of our cabinet. It would pop out at the time I scheduled it to. Another one of his gadgets. He’d forget to eat if I didn’t.
I grabbed my bike helmet off the peg and rolled my bike downstairs. We lived in Beacon Hill, in a historic apartment complex, only about a ten-minute commute to The Belle on bike.
Boston was frozen over from a hard winter, but the sun was high, and the cold, fresh air felt good in my lungs. Delaney Emerson, the owner of The Bell, usually gave me a ride during the winter months. But like my father, she was eccentric, and she drove a car that had a bumper sticker that said:So many book boyfriends, so little time.I loved her to death. And her taste in books was superb. But her driving? Not so much. Her feet felt like they weighed a ton when she hit the gas and the brake constantly.
My dad had bought me a car, but there was something about riding a bike that I loved. Maybe it was the fresh air. Or just seeing the world without a windshield.
Maybe that was basically the same thing?
Either way, I enjoyed it.
I hummed my favorite song as the bike bumped along the cobblestone road. The Belle was also in one of the oldest areas of Boston. A lot of the businesses in this area hadbellin the name. Even the tavern across the street.
I’d thought it was kismet when I’d seen the little help-wanted sign in the window of the store. My last name was Bell.
I slowed down some as I got closer to The Belle. I kept my boots planted on each side of the bike while snow collected on my helmet and fell in flurries in front of the shining window display of the bookstore.
A warm rush surged through my veins at seeing it. Especially in winter, when it reminded me of a scene out of a Charles Dickens’ novel—the cobblestone street glazed over like a frozen donut; the softly glowing lights in the iron fixtures; the scent of woodburning fireplaces slow dancing with the perfume of packed snow.
Butterflies with paper wings bearing my favorite quotes started to flutter when the warm rush of blood reached them. They were stretching their wings and getting ready to fly.
It always gave me a thrill to know I was about to cross a magical threshold into a space filled with endless words that would transport me to endless worlds.
It also gave me a sense of being trapped in a book-shaped prison.
Don’t get me wrong, I lived for the second it took me to trip and fall down the magical rabbit hole only books could transport me to. I mean, my last read was alien romance! I slipped into the skin of an extraterrestrial being who had no idea what it meant to love at first. I traveled miles,nolightyears, inside of my head without leaving my bed.
The other side of that, though…I wasn’t leaving my room. When reality returned, I was exactly where I’d always been. Boston. If my favorite rom-com was set in Chicago, I would never step foot there. The deal with the Craigs stopped me and…it didn’t look like I was leaving on a jet plane anytime soon.
No foreshadowing in the book of Maeve Bell’s life would lead me to believe great adventures were waiting for me a couple chapters in.
My escape was also my prison.
Sometimes I yearned to set my boots on this side of reality, to feel these places that books brought me to with words. Smell the coffee at the quaint little place on the corner. Taste the caramel in the latte. Hear tiny droplets of rain as they start to fall from the sky and hit the old cobblestone pavement. Feel the rush of endorphins when the handsome man, who arrived at the perfect time through a series of unfortunate events, came to my rescue by picking up my fallen book before the rain could drown the worn-out pages.
Shouting in the distance seemed to come at me through a tunnel, and once it was close enough, it popped my dream bubble.
Devin and Shay Craig stood outside of the tavern across the street doing what they seemed to do best. Yell at each other.
Devin was Oran’s other son. He seemed to spend a lot of time chasing after Shay. I always tried to avoid them when I saw them, which was too much in my opinion. They were always in this area.
Shay screamed something at Devin’s back as he walked away in an angry huff. Shay’s back was to me, and I decided to wait her out. The Belle was across the street from The Bell Tavern (which Delaney’s partner, Robert Kennedy, owned), and there was no way to bypass her unless she went after him.
She didn’t. She turned and our eyes met.
She looked me up and down. “You’re beautiful, but so fucking odd. Almost too quiet. You’re never going to survive this family. You’ll be emotional minced pie in no time. Devin is a puppy compared to Dermot. There’s no book deep enough for you to get lost in. I’d run if I were you.”
