Page 38

There was love, and as long as she held onto it like a rope against the tide, her palms might blister and burn, but she wouldn’t be swept away.

A light knock sounded on the open music room door, making her jump. “Iris?” Blair’s voice sounded hesitant.

Iris cleared her throat. “Just a second.”

She ran her fingers through her short dark curls, her normally plain close clipped nails painted a shimmery green for the occasion. One of them was badly smeared from when she’d brushed it against her mug of hot chocolate without waiting for it to dry, and her right thumbnail bore a tiny tooth mark, but hopefully no one would notice. She slid on a sparkly black headband and tried to fan out her hair around it.

Once she’d applied mascara (a rare occurrence since she hated having to wash it off), a light dusting of purple eyeshadow that matched her dress, and red lipstick a shade darker than she normally wore, Iris spared one last look in the mirror before turning off the light and opening the door.

Blair was seated in one of the white pouf chairs, his journal resting open on one knee. The late afternoon sun beamed through the low windowpanes, glinting off the yellow rose in the dainty vase on the coffee table and casting its tilted light across the length of the room. Blair closed the book and set it on the table. He stood as Iris walked over, self-consciously toying with the rose gold bracelet on her wrist. It had been a gift from Gabriel last Christmas, custom engraved with the words “In Omnia Paratas,” in reference to Iris’ favorite episode of Gilmore Girls. It meant “Ready for Anything,” and it gave her a boost whenever she wore it.

Somehow, in the deep green suit he’d picked up at the same thrift shop where Iris had purchased her dress, Blair looked taller than usual. His wavy honey-brown hair was swept back into a low ponytail at the nape of his neck, and his tie, which was the color of the hot chocolate the three had shared the previous evening, sat neatly at the center of his collared white shirt. Her eyes moved from his tie up to his face.

“You look nice, Blair,” she said, feeling a flutter in her stomach as his gaze lingered over her dress, the beaded collar, the deep red of her lipstick.

His eyes slipped to his shoes as a faint blush darkened the scars on his cheeks. “Thank you. You look very nice, too.”

Iris watched as he shifted in his glossy shoes. She wondered if Gabriel had been thoughtful enough to shine Blair’s secondhand shoes for him. Somehow, she doubted it, but the idea that Blair would have thought to do it himself was equally improbable. He twisted his ring around his finger, his focus darting restlessly around the room. It had been quite a while since Iris had seen him so twitchy.

“Hey.” She took a step closer, reaching out a hand before dropping it back to her side. “If you don’t want to go tonight, that’s okay.”

She knew Blair wasn’t at ease in most social situations. Whenever she accompanied him into town, he always curled in on himself like a reluctant turtle that was facing the world against its better judgement. She didn’t want to force him into a situation he wasn’t comfortable with and scare him away in the process.

“No, I want to go. I don’t want you to have to face it alone.” He reached for his journal, accidentally knocking it against the vase, which teetered for a prolonged moment before shattering against the wood floor.

“Iris, I’m sorry.” He bent down at once to pick up the glass.

“Careful.” Iris knelt beside him and tugged his hands away from the shards. “You’ll cut yourself. I’ll get the dustpan later. Hey, look.” She reached for the glass yellow rose, which had landed on the rug. “Not a scratch.”

Blair gave her a tremulous smile. “You must think I’m such a mess.”

“Stop that.” Iris stood up, reaching for Blair’s hands and pulling him to his feet. “We’re all messes. That’s why we’re here to help each other clean things up a bit. Anyway, I got you something. Wait here a sec.” She scurried downstairs and returned a moment later carrying a wrapped parcel.

“Villette,” Blair said, his expression brightening as he unwrapped the book. “Charlotte Brontë.”

“Yeah.” Iris scratched the back of her neck. “I haven’t read that one yet. It’s supposed to have a lot of French in it. I don’t know if you can read French.”

“Oui,” Blair said, smiling.

“Oh, cool. I just thought, since you enjoyed Jane Eyre… I mean, of course you did,” she rambled. “It’s probably the best book ever written. Charlotte Brontë’s a genius. But, anyway, I hope you like this one, too.”

Truthfully, she didn’t think she could stand another moment watching Blair read One Hundred Years of Solitude, which he’d been wading through every evening for the past couple of weeks. When she’d first noticed him lugging around the depressing Gabriel García Márquez classic, Iris had tried to convince Gabriel to lend Blair the novel he had just finished, an old golden-embossed book called The Dove’s Ascent. Gabriel had protested, claiming that Blair wouldn’t like it.

“I’m sure he would,” Iris had said, flipping through the first few pages. “I noticed him looking at it earlier.

“Really?” Gabriel had raised a brow. “I assumed he’d find it too intellectual.”

Why Gabriel had the impression that Blair wouldn’t like intellectual books, Iris had no idea, since he’d done nothing but read classics since moving in with them. She imagined it was just Gabriel’s pretentiousness showing through.

“Thank you, Iris.” Blair seemed genuinely grateful.

“Well, Merry Christmas. Even though it isn’t until tomorrow.”

Gabriel called up the stairs that it was time to leave, and Blair reached for the violin case resting against the bookshelf, slinging it over one shoulder.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Iris asked.

Blair nodded resolutely. “I’ll be fine. Shouldn’t I clean this up first?”