Gwen beamed. “Rosemary did most of this. She’s got a farm just past the ridge. Works miracles with anything that has roots.” Gwen said that as if it was more than just a green thumb, with reverence. Now I was curious about this Rosemary; anyone who had a gift with plants was a miracle worker in my book. I couldn’t keep a cactus alive, let alone nurture a rose bush the size of a car to bloom with this kind of abundance. It was impressive, and, again, grounding. Soothing. No bats, no voices, and no sharp eyes of the brightest blue.
“She might be interested in the library yard,” I mused, rediscovering some of my earlier enthusiasm to see the library restored to its former glory. “It could use… well… resurrection.” I remembered the overgrown, tall hedges, the abundance of weeds, and Luther herding me until I was trapped between him and the library. Not with fear, but with a sharp burst of arousal. Like I wanted him to hunt me, stalk me. But that was just as crazy as talking bats.
Gwen laughed, her head tossed back, her messy bun bouncing cheerfully. “She’d love a project like that. She gets restless if she doesn’t have something to prune.” I imagined this Rosemary was not the only one who disliked being idle. Gwen’s tool belt indicated she wasn’t done fiddling with things for the day, either, and that sparked an idea.
I hesitated, but in the end, I knew I had nothing to lose by asking. “Gwen, would you mind coming with me to thelibrary this afternoon? I could use your eye on the repair work that needs doing. You know construction and old buildings.” I gestured toward the beautifully restored B&B, a building that looked to be about the same age as the library.
She didn’t even blink at the question. “Of course. I’ll grab my measuring tape after we eat.” Warmth spread through my chest at the easy agreement, because it felt very much like she was just happy to keep me company, no matter the reason. Gwen didn’t pry, either; she didn’t question my motives. She just offered her help freely, gently. It was exactly what I needed. She appeared absolutely oblivious to the fact that I was using her presence as a shield against my own delusions.
When we stepped out into the sunlight later, the town felt friendlier; less shadowed. The library didn’t seem quite as ominous when Gwen walked beside me, humming under her breath, her tool belt bouncing lightly against her hip.
She watched as I unlocked the door with a cheerful, “Let’s see what we’re working with.” To her, this was the fun project it had seemed to me yesterday, and even early this morning. That excitement began to rub off on me just a little, spreading warmly in my chest—a reminder of all the good I was here to do, for this building and especially for these books.
I stepped in after her, dread fading with each step I took into the shadow-filled interior. There were no whispering voices, and I felt no strange prickles on my skin. More importantly, there was no red-vested bat glaring at me from the chandelier. I checked, but it was just dust, silence, and the musty weight of time.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. It was loud in the silence, and Gwen proved how astute she was when she asked, “Better?” So she’d known I was uneasy alone inside this building after all. There was no judgment in her tone, though, and for that, I was grateful.
“Much better,” I lied smoothly, and for now it almost felt true. No bats, I chanted inside my head, and no broody shop owner from next door, either. I couldn’t believe it, but I was almost disappointed that he wasn’t waiting in the shadows somewhere; that did seem to be his habit.
The library swallowed us in its familiar gloom as Gwen stepped inside first, her boots crunching lightly over fallen plaster and other debris that had been swept in. She glanced around with a knowing hum, hands resting on her hips, and the floorboards creaked beneath her feet, as if in agreement with whatever she was thinking.
“Oh, this place has personality,” she said with a grin. “I’ve wrangled buildings like this before. They fight you every step of the way, until one day, they decide you’ve earned their cooperation.” Her eyes flicked to the doorway I was still standing in, and I knew she was thinking of the B&B. “And I’ve been itching to get a look inside this place, just so you know.” That seemed so like her that I was relieved. Clearly, asking for her company was no imposition on her time.
She threw me a mysterious smile over her shoulder, half mischief, half promise. “You’re not alone in this, Jade. Grandma Liz said you’d have access to whatever you need—helping hands, budget, company. Everything. She meant it.” Then, with exquisite casualness, she added, “Has Luther been useful yet?”
I nearly dropped my notebook and then scrambled to clutch it tightly to my chest, as if it were a shield. “Luther? Useful? Absolutely not.” My voice cracked, embarrassingly. “I mean...he’s...he...no!” How could I express that a man who was possibly a friend to her had been an utter thorn in my side so far? Not to mention fatally handsome and sinfully tempting while he was at it.
Gwen’s grin grew sharp and delighted. “Oh?” I could see the gears spinning behind her eyes, as if she knew exactly what I’d been thinking. What I’d been trying to cover. I should tell her the things he’d said to me yesterday, but somehow those already did not feel true anymore. Besides, it wasn’t my nature to rat on people and their flaws; I was no gossip.
Heat rushed up my neck. “No. Just...no.” The thought of gossip made me remember my strange bat delusion for some reason, and I very roughly shoved that memory away. That was an even harder no than thinking about Luther’s lean body, silk shirt, and glacial eyes.
“He does have that broody thing going for him,” she said lightly, wandering toward a warped bookshelf as if merely chatting about the weather. Her hand brushed lovingly over the twisted wood, as if promising that she’d smooth it out, fix it. If only I could fix my life the way Gwen fixed cabinets—that would be helpful.
“He is not broody,” I said, far too quickly. “He’s arrogant and extremely unhelpful. And…” I trailed off as I caught the look on her face. That had been extremely rude, and word traveled in a town this size. I was pretty sure I trusted Gwen, but what if she told her boyfriend what I’d said, and he told Luther...
“And handsome?” Gwen supplied innocently, probably entirely oblivious to my sudden worries. My face caught fire, heating in a way it hadn’t since high school. Handsome? His face flashed before my mind’s eye, confirming instantly that he was breathtakingly handsome. He had the face and body of a cover model. If he’d opened that silk shirt, would there be delicious muscles beneath?
Oh God, now what was I thinking? This was getting worse and worse, and Gwen was witness to my unraveling. “I didn’t say that,” I rushed out. When I brought her with me, I thought I was doing it to stop the delusions, the weird, talking-bat imaginings. I didn’t think she’d so keenly pick at this weird thing between me and the far-too-sexy, mysterious general store owner next door to the library.
Her brow arched slowly, a question mark and accusation in one. “You didn’t need to.” I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it again. Because what was I supposed to say? That the man looked like he’d been carved by some old-world sculptor who had a fondness for devastating cheekbones and cold blue eyes? That my stomach did weird, swoopy things whenever he stepped too close? I wasn’t about to admit any of that out loud.
With a quiet sigh, Gwen touched my elbow, her teasing softening. “He’s a good man. Odd, but good. And don’t worry, I won’t tell a soul you think he’s pretty.” The last, she quipped with a smile so mischievous that I couldn’t help but snort a laugh in response. Pretty? That was far too feminine and soft a word, but I supposed some people would call him pretty, too.
“I don’t think,” I objected, purely on principle at this point. If she knew about his bullying tactics yesterday, would she still saythat? “He’s not... Ugh.” I scrubbed a hand over my face. “Maybe I do—a little—but it’s not going anywhere.”
“Why not?” she immediately shot back, but she was letting up, because she’d stepped farther into the library and had begun assessing the woodwork with keen eyes.
Well, for starters, my life was a tangle of old wounds and self-preservation instincts. I didn’t trust myself to pick good men anymore, not after David the dickhead with the one-track mind. Besides, I had one job here, one goal, one purpose, and none of them involved icy eyes, tailored suits, or the way my pulse misbehaved around him. I swallowed. “Trust me. It’s not.”
Gwen only smiled in that gentle, knowing way women used when they’d already drawn their own conclusions. Surprisingly, I didn’t mind; I hadn’t talked like this with another woman since college. I made a private note to call my old roommate tonight. I missed that easy connection, and perhaps, instead of a shrink, she could be the one to screw my head on straight.
We swept the library systematically, moving through shelf after shelf. The musty air, the dim light, the relics peeking out between stacks of books, it all felt strangely intimate, like discovering someone’s neglected treasure trove. By the time the afternoon sun dipped lower, I had completed my first full inventory of the downstairs shelves. “It’s a lot,” I said, rubbing my wrist, “but not impossible.”
“It’s a wonderland,” Gwen replied, gesturing at a shelf of old atlases. “This place just needs love.” She tucked her own list into her back pocket. “We’ll compare notes tonight over dinner. I’ll bring the tape measure; you bring the wine.”
Her warmth seeped into me like sunlight. “Deal.” When was the last time I’d shared a bottle with a friend—hung out, chatted, and, heck, even discussed boys and failed dates? If I’d had Maggie with me when I started dating my jerk of a boss, I probably never would have tanked my career with that one knee-jerk reaction. Hanging out with Gwen would hopefully keep me from making a mistake while in town, a mistake called Luther.
We stepped outside together, the heavy door thudding shut behind us. I locked it carefully, sliding the key back into my bag with a small sense of triumph. One full floor done, and I’d gone a whole afternoon without hallucinogenic mold or talking bats—progress.
