“You went into town?”
“Yeah. Ridge told me there’s a scanner and Wi-Fi at the library, and I needed to send a couple of emails and file for permits for the renovation.”
He went inside, and I followed him in.
“So you’re finished with the plans?”
“Yeah. We can do it. We don’t have to touch anything structural, and the blueprints for the new addition are complete. My part’s done.”
I smiled and held it until I thought it looked real. If he was done, that meant he’d be leaving. The idea nauseated me slightly.
“I finished your book, by the way. Thanks for lending it to me.”
“You read the whole thing?” I asked. “And you liked it?”
He was gathering his pens, ordering them in a box. With a slightly flustered expression, he began, “Yeah, it’s good. And I can see why it has to unfold the way it does, because of the historical context and all…”
“But…”
“But all those people are assholes! Right from the beginning, everyone treats Anne like dirt just because she’s an orphan and she’s different. I realize things get better and by the end it’s happily ever after, but she has to go through hell before they accept her! She had to change to fit in. And Gilbert, especially—what a dickhead.”
“He’s not a dickhead,” I protested, trying not to laugh.
“Maybe you look at him from a romantic point of view and the ending justifies everything, but trust me, he is.We were born to be good friends, Anne. You’ve thwarted destiny enough.” He imitated Gilbert’s shrill voice. “That loser was dying to get her out to the stables and lift up her petticoat.”
I covered my mouth to keep from laughing, but couldn’t stop myself. There was something adorable about Trey being mad at a book. His eyes had a killer look in them that I found alluring. He was fascinating and enigmatic at the same time, and his anger had something innocent to it. All of that drew me closer to him.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
“Nothing. I just didn’t expect the story to really affect you. Because of you saying you don’t normally read that type of book.” I sat on the couch and he flopped down next to me, close enough that our bare arms touched.
“I read it because of what you said. How you were like Anne in a lot of ways and how there were other ways you wished you could be like her. I wanted to know what that really meant.”
“So…?” I asked.
“Honestly, I think I understand what the book means to you.” He rested his hand on mine and stroked my fingers. It was more tender than anything he’d done so far, more tender than anything he’d done since that night years ago, and my body wasn’t ready for it. “Harper, you don’t need to be like anyone else, least of all a fictional character from another time. You’re amazing. Why should you be any different?”
“You think I’m amazing? You barely know me.”
“We’ve spent a couple of very intense days together. In other circumstances, I’d say they were the equivalent of months, no?” He leaned his head back and looked up at the ceiling. “Yeah, I think you’re amazing, intelligent, and lots of other things. The question is, why don’t you think the same?”
I didn’t know what to say. His hand was still holding mine, and in my mind, there was so much going round and round that I couldn’t find anything to hold on to.
“Did you know the author was from New London and lived in Cavendish later?”
“Yeah,” I replied, surprised. “How did you know, though?”
“I googled her.”
I smiled and he wove his fingers into mine. “So now that you’re done with the house, I guess you’ll be going?”
“I don’t have to be back in Montreal until after Labor Day. I was thinking I would stay here until then. But that was before I knew you’d be here. Maybe you’d rather I head out earlier…”
“No. You can stay. I was thinking that was when I’d go back, too.” Outside, I could hear the cawing of the seabirds.
“Harper?”
“Yeah?”
