Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Fuck. I guess I’m entirely transparent.
“I wouldn’t have gone to get her if I thought things would go badly. I just thought she’s a new thing you haven’t tried yet. Someone who you might be okay talking to because she seems like a good listener, even if she’s a shit swimmer. Also, she’s shown a genuine interest in wanting to help.”
“With the car and everything,” I choke out. Hans doesn’t know anything about the night in the kitchen. That’s not the kind of help he was trying to get going by sending Everleigh to my bedroom. It just happened that that’s where I was because I sleep there, and nightmares happen when I’m sleeping.
“With the car…” Hans frowns. “So, what are you thinking? That you’d like to read some books or watch some videos?”
“Do we have books?” The library is huge. Of course we have books, but maybe not those kinds of books. The dreaded kind. The self-help kind. Half of the books I haven’t ordered. They actually came with the purchase of the house, like a lot of the furniture. Hans orders lots of books, which I allow whenever he feels like it because he’s an avid reader, and there’s not much else for him to do during the day except that. Plus, it’s quiet. If he were a gamer or liked to hit the gym for eight hours a day, that would be less doable while sitting in my office. Not that he needs to sit there. He just does and always has.
“Yes, we have books.”
“Should I check the pathetic guy who doesn’t want to see another therapist because they’re bullshit, and the last one treated him like an object to be picked apart and examined rather than a person section?”
Hans’ lips twitch. “No, D. I didn’t create that kind of section.”
“You organized the entire library?”
He nods and says, “Yeah, I’ve been here for years. Also, I’m a physicist by trade and overly organized by nature. The place was a mess. You couldn’t find anything when I first got here.”
“But usually they’re by section, then by name and stuff.”
“Right. They’re that way too here. History, science, medical stuff, psychology—”
“Smut romance. That’s probably the biggest section by far, from what I’ve seen you reading lately. God, my grandma would have loved you.”
“And I would have loved your grandma. You should give her props. She’s the reason Everleigh is here.”
“Yeah, about that—”
“She’s in the library, and she seems sad. You should go talk to her. Say you’re in there to look at the psychology section. I’ve already taken the liberty of ordering books on PTSD, trauma, nightmares, grief, death, panic, and anxiety… Just in case you were ever interested. I thought it would save time.”
“Liar. You thought it would be a rare opportunity indeed, and if I wanted one, you better have them at hand. Otherwise, I’d lose interest, and the moment would be over, and that would be that.”
Hans grins. He makes having this conversation so much easier. It’s not really about pride, but damn it, it is rather hard for me all the same. “Exactly right.” He picks up his book, arranges one leg over the other, and resumes reading.
I’ve clearly been dismissed. I’m also not going to be able to concentrate on work any longer, so I get up and find myself heading to the library. Yeah, as if I was going to go anywhere else. Everleigh is practically drawing me to her through some kind of shimmery, otherworldly, more than friendly force I don’t really understand.
I wish we weren’t operating on borrowed time and a contract. I wish this were more our reality. That she just lived here, and we were more than friends. The twinge in my chest and the growing tent in my slacks say that I really wish we were more than friends.
The library is one of the larger rooms in the house, with towering bookcases built into the wall on one side, free-standing cases on the other, and a bank of tall windows on the far wall to let in light. The furniture in here came, like most of the things, with the house. The previous owner had a penchant for a dark, gothic kind of feeling, hence the heavy red drapes hanging from the windows in most of the rooms, including here.
Everleigh is curled up on one of the big red vintage chairs. The velvet upholstery sets off her pale skin. Her hair is a tangle of messy blonde tresses on top of her head—a little staticky from leaning against the chair—her slim legs are tucked up under her, and her head is bent over a book that’s open on her lap. Her little yellow sundress is a cheerful splash of color in the room, but when the door opens and creaks shut, she looks up at me, and her expression doesn’t match.