“Good Lord. Are you in love?” He pointed toThe Indispensable Collection of Love Poems, which Asher held in his hands.
“I think of little else,” he realized. “And I fear I’ve lost her affection even as others compete for her favor.”
“Good Lord,” Simeon breathed again, holding tight to his desk as he watched Asher with bulging eyes.
Ignoring Woodfork’s display, Asher concentrated instead on the literature in his hands. Humans had loved for thousands of years. Surely one of them had written down the methods and techniques required to win a woman’s affection.
After several seconds of shocked silence, Simeon cleared his throat. “Tell me, Asher, why is it you believe you’ve lost the girl’s affection—I assume you mean Miss Hartley?”
Asher looked up from his book. “She pulled her hand from mine in anger and walked away,” he recalled. “She told me she would never love me.”
“Oh, dear,” said Simeon. “Surely something preceded this sudden departure…?”
“I offered to lock her away…to keep her safe,” he reasoned, and Simeon raised his eyebrows.
“Forgive me, Asher, but are you so willing to lock her away because you wish to protect her from harm? Or is it because you wish to hide her from another suitor?”
For a moment, Asher considered this, but then he returned his attention to the book.
“I see no difference,” he said.
Woodfork drew a breath to speak but seemed to rethink his words and pressed his lips together. Asher scowled at the book.
“There are no instructions in here,” he said with a level voice, even as he furiously flipped and scanned the pages of poetry. Stopping at one, his finger traced a passage.
If love were what the rose is
And I were like the leaf
Our lives would grow together—
“These are nothing more than riddles,” he concluded and slammed the book shut.
“I’m afraid there are no great answers in any of these,” Simeon said, waving at the shelves. “Just a collection of hopes and laments…and some joys.”
With that, the professor turned away and pulled from the shelf a well-worn copy ofThe Hunchback of Notre-Dame. Placing it in Asher’s hands, he said, “Read this one, my friend. In it, you may find some enlightenment.”
Asher studied the professor. “You once loved a woman who adored you; I remember her well. How did you win her heart?” he asked, squinting slightly as he searched Simeon’s mind.
“That was long ago,” the professor sighed, turning to the candle he kept lit on his desk. “I’m afraid there’s nothing I can tell you. Besides, we both know how that ended.” Pinching the wick between his finger and thumb, he snuffed out the flame, wiping his eyes before turning again.
“If I may be so bold,” Simeon said politely. “Perhaps you should ask Miss Hartley out. On a date.”
Chapter twenty-four
Locked Out
“God is the supreme humorist, and it is his divine sense of humor that we men call fate.” – Evan Esar
As Hailey grabbed her tiny towel, soap, and shampoo (she didn’t have any fresh clothes to change into), Giselle brushed past her and glided out the door without uttering a word or even glancing in her direction.
At least she’s a quiet snob, Hailey thought, as she stepped across the hall and claimed the corner shower.
The stall was divided into two parts with a partition separating the actual shower from the changing section. Hailey undressed and hung her towel on the hook nearest the shower. Grabbing her soap, she turned on the water and let a high-pressure blast of warmth envelope her.
She showered fast, but when she opened the shower door and reached for her tiny towel all she felt was an empty hook.
Her clothes were missing, too.
