Theo.
It sounded so familiar.
To my surprise, I felt him part the hair down the middle, then he took one section and started to pull the hair together. I realized quickly that he was braiding it into two pleats.
“Where did you learn to pleat hair?”
Cavendish—Theosighed. “Years ago, when I was an entirely different person, I had a girlfriend who liked when I played with her hair.”
It was universally known that Theodore Cavendish was a bachelor, a playboy, and a commitment-phobe. The revelation that he’d once had an actual girlfriend whom he’d indulged in such a way was … well, astonishing.
There was something in his tone, a slight bite, that warned me not to press him for more information. Instead, I enjoyed his gentle ministrations, my eyelids fluttering with drowsiness.
“For someone so shy, you’re rather comfortable with silence.”
“Doesn’t that make sense?” I murmured sleepily.
“I’ve learned that shy people are insecure people, and insecure people tend to need to fill silence.”
I huffed. “That’s not my experience at all. Moreover, silence is undervalued and underestimated.”
He stilled behind me. “How so?”
“Silence is a safe space. Not only does it give you time to think through what you’d like to say, it offers peace from all the things others say, all the everyday noise and clutter that mucks up everything inside our busy brains. Silence is where my imagination has space to flourish into novels.”
“I’m glad that’s what silence is for you. But it’s not like that for everyone, little mouse. Silence is a thing some people escape because thinkingisn’ta safe space for them. People have obsessive and intrusive thoughts. Silence is the last thing they want.”
I’d never thought about that, but I realized he was most likely correct. I’d had a friend at school who was diagnosed with obsessive-compulsive thoughts, and she never seemed to sit still. She was always on the go. Now I wondered if maybe she was just running away from her own mind. “Are you one of those people?”
“Thankfully not. Like you, I need silence to write.”
I wondered, then, how he understood silence could be so different for other people. Had he known someone with obsessive and intrusive thoughts? The girlfriend, perhaps? “I’m sad for people who are afraid of silence.”
“Yes, it must be rather tedious.” His tone suggested boredom. It was that tone that I’d come to recognize as quintessentially Theo. I’d overheard him talking with North Hunter and been disappointed by him. His treatment of me that night in his room had confirmed my dislike for the man, if not the storyteller.
But now, after observing his care for me, I wondered if the perpetually bored aristocrat was a mask. And if so, why did he feel he needed to hide his true self?
“All done.” He patted the top of my head like I was five years old, and I felt his weight lift from the mattress.
Turning, I fingered the long, damp braids, feeling so much better than I had this morning. Clean and fresh, if still devoid of energy and stuffed up. “Thank you.”
Theo met my gaze and shrugged. “’Twas nothing.” He gestured to a fresh glass of water and paracetamol. “Take those and get some rest.” Then suddenly, he leaned over and took my phone off the bedstand and handed it to me. “Passcode.” At my questioning look, he huffed a little impatiently. “I’m going to put my number in your phone because I intend to go out for a bit. I need some fresh air, and we need groceries.”
“Oh.” He was staying, then?
I opened my phone, and he took it and quickly added his number. “Call if you need me and I’ll come back.”
“Okay.”
“Is there anything you require from the grocery store?”
I shook my head, the thought of food turning my stomach.
“You’re sure? You’re not due your period and need tampons or anything?”
I blushed at the blasé way he asked. Growing up with a grandfather who was loving but old-fashioned and didn’t talk about those things, I wasn’t used to a man being so open about the subject.
“Good God, woman,” he murmured, studying me. “Is there anything body-related that doesn’t make you blush like a schoolgirl?”
