“Yeah, I’m just uncomfortable having someone in here,” he admitted.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. I just wanna get to know more about you, but if you want we can go back—” I took a step toward the door, but he motioned for me to come next to him.
“No, stay here.”
The intensity of his stare prevented me from leaving. I turned around and sat next to him.
“I’ve never had a girl in here,” he added soberly. I kept my distance. Not even our knees touched. I felt like I’d invaded his space enough.
“I’m sorry,” I stuttered, hoping he’d forgive my intrusion.
But the way he laced his fingers was definitely not a sign of feeling at ease.
“I get the sense that you don’t trust me, June.” William moved one of his legs nervously.
“Well, it’s sorta true,” I muttered under my breath.
“June, can you come closer?”
I moved over, approaching him awkwardly, and our sides touched. William tensed.
“Did you want to tell me something, Will?”
“Yeah, but I’m afraid I’ll scare you away.”
With a jolt of courage, I put my cheek on his shoulder. His sweater tickled my skin. I felt him put his head on mine.
“I’m afraid I’ll scare you away, June.”
“Why can’t you just tell me?”
William lifted his head, forcing me to do the same. He stared at me.
“Do you want to be with me, or do you want the truth?”
I was stunned. “I want to know the truth and be with you.”
Maybe I wasn’t that convincing, because he shook his head.
“Come here. I’ll show you what my dad has up here.”
Or more likely, he still didn’t feel ready to tell me. And all I could do was respect his choice.
William grazed his hand against mine and absentmindedly motioned for me to follow him. We walked along the hallway until we got to a wooden staircase against a wall. There was a trap door above that led to an attic. I climbed up behind William.
When we got to the last step, he gave me his hand and helped me up.
“I can’t believe it.” I sighed when I looked around. If his room was an empty void, this was a whole world.
“It was an old attic. My dad turned it into a library.” It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
My eyes, followed by my fingers, lightly touched all the books. They covered every wall. Some seemed ancient. They didn’t seem to be organized by genre, but I noticed about ten little Agatha Christie novels and beautiful limited editions of Sherlock Holmes.
“I knew you’d like it,” whispered Will, hugging me from behind.
“I love thrillers,” I said.
I’d read so many that I knew exactly how to commit the perfect crime and hide a dead body too. But obviously Will didn’t need to know that.
