“As you wish. ‘Pedaling Us toward the Future’ was a sellout. You chose a germane topic.”
“I don’t know what the Germans have to do with it.”
He blinks, and in that fatal instant, I realize I’ve goosed up. Drat thoseG-words.
“Not Germans.” Half a grin tips his face to one side. “Germane. Relevant.”
“I know whatgermanemeans.” I grind my voice to give weight to my indignation. “It is rude to correct your elders.”
“I only meant to—”
“It is also rude to argue with them. I will have my letters now.”
“Er, certainly.” He hefts the sack, which is large enough to hold fifteen pounds of grain.
“Giddy goobers.”
“Giddy goobers?” He smiles. “I told you there were a lot. May I help you carry them?”
“No. That invites further inspection of my person, of which you have already done enough inspecting for one night. I am used to carrying my own bags. Just set them down and close the door.”
“I insist on passing them to you. They are much too heavy to lift.”
Before I can protest, Nathan has moved closer and is pushing his cargo toward me. With an exasperated gasp, I reach for the sack, but to my horror, he doesn’t let go. We hold the sack from both sides for an excruciating moment, like two farmhands relocating a hive that has started to buzz. He releases the sack at the same time I do, and then we both grab it again.
“I’ll take it,” I insist, pulling it toward me. But the uneven weight causes me to lose my grip, and I drop it. “Oh! Look what you’ve done.”
I crouch to collect the bundles of letters that have spilled out between us.
“Forgive me,” he says, seeming to force the words through his teeth.
The warmth of his energy tugs at mine, and I hastily draw away from him. Bear woofs, dancing around us. “I shall take one bundle. I cannot answer them all.” Even if I did manage to drag the sack back to the basement, I could not conceal all the letters from Old Gin.
“Of course not. I simply thought you would like to see how much you are”—something causes him to freeze in place—“admired.”
The cold night blows at my lips. My scarf has fallen away, giving Nathan a close look at the territory south of my nose. Iquickly curtain my mouth and stand, reining in the pounding hooves of my heartbeat. Still kneeling, he holds out a bundle. My heart catches at the earnestness of his expression, his own mouth half open in disbelief. I’m seized by yet another irresistible urge to fit my lips against his. Instead, I snatch the bundle, and Miss Sweetie makes an exit that is far from nimble, but certainly quick.
Seventeen
Dear Miss Sweetie,
I shunned my dearest friend “Mary” by accepting the invitation of a popular socialite, “Kate,” who despises Mary. I had hoped that befriending Kate would open doors for me and, eventually, for Mary. But now Mary will have nothing to do with me, and Kate no longer invites me to her parties. How do I get my real friend back?
Sincerely,
Friend in Mourning
Dear Friend,
As you have learned, better a diamond with a flaw than a pebble without one. Lost trust takes time to rebuild. But with consistency and humility, the diamond can be unearthed again.
Yours sincerely,
Miss Sweetie
—
Monday muscles in like the first rooster in the ring, talons out, ready to draw blood. With no maid on the weekends, my chores have doubled in size, while Caroline’s patience has been reduced by half.
