chapterNINE It was early. It was way too fucking early for me.I’d left the house at three thirty to get here by five, and I felt dead on my feet. After spending most of the weekend taking care of my mom, who’d caught the flu, reading up on carpentry, and finishing Brisingr, I’d already gotten to bed late on both Saturday and Sunday nights, but waking up at three in the fucking morning was what was going to lay me flat.When I reached the gate at the end of the drive, I almost wept, ready to curl up on the ground and sleep for a couple decades. Except I’d told Isobel I’d run with her this morning.Run.Right.I could barely make my feet keep walking.Since about my third trip to Porter Hall, I’d stopped ringing the intercom at the gate to ask for permission to enter. There wasn’t a fence around the property; it seemed bothersome and time-consuming to call someone to open the gate when I could just walk around it. And since I was beginning to
chapterTEN “It’s not even six yet,” Isobel said, jarring me from my thoughts of how best to hide my erection.I glanced her way and lifted my eyebrows. “What?”She flushed and waved a hand. “It’s still over three hours until you’re supposed to start work, but it’d be counterproductive for you to walk all the way home. You’d just have to turn around and start right back once you reached your door.”“Oh…. Yeah. I hadn’t thought of that.” Actually, I had. I’d been hoping to sneak inside her house and find some place to nap until nine. But now that she’d realized the time discrepancy, I wasn’t so sure I could sneak a nap anywhere.I couldn’t be too upset about my ruined plans, though. I was a little too pleased she’d considered my situation enough to realize my dilemma. How very thoughtful of her.I liked being on her mind.“I bet my dad would be fine with you leaving at two today if you want to start work at six.”“You think?” I liked how she w
chapterELEVEN By the time Isobel returned to the kitchen, freshly washed with her hair down, half-covering her face, everyone had finished breakfast, and even Constance and Lewis had arrived, eaten, and left again. Kit was off in Mrs. Pan’s office—as she called it, though it looked more like a kid’s playroom to me—while Mrs. Pan herself stood at the sink with a handful of tools, ready to hand them to me when I asked for them. And me…well, I was stretched under the sink, trying to figure out what was wrong with the garbage disposal.I had just forked up my last bite of pancake when Mrs. Pan had tried to dispose of…well, garbage, I guess, and it had made the most god-awful grinding sound before the smell of burning electrical wires and smoke filled the kitchen.Good thing the new handyman was on hand. Swallowing the last of my breakfast, I’d gotten to work. I had a little experience with garbage disposal repair. The one at the bakery had gotten jam
chapterTWELVE When I drove home that night, I expected red and blue lights to start flashing behind me any second with some cop threatening to arrest me for theft. I drove with my eyes more on the rearview mirror than on the road ahead of me.By the time I made it into town, handcuff-free, my worry only gained volume. People didn’t own rides as nice or new as this in my neighborhood. If I parked this thing on my street, I might as well paint a huge target on it. It wouldn’t survive the night.Swearing under my breath, I found a better neighborhood about a fifteen-minute walk from my own, where the cars and trucks started to look nicer and were safer to park on the street. I still felt wrong about leaving it there, so far from my apartment, but hell, it had a better chance here.“You’ll be okay,” I said, stroking the paint job and reassuring myself more than I was the truck. Then I stepped back, took a deep breath, and hurried home. Once I reache
chapterTHIRTEEN Planning bookshelf projects and reading about bookshelf projects were entirely different beasts than actually building fucking bookshelves.“Dammit,” I muttered, tossing down another board I’d cut a fourth of an inch too short. “I suck at this. I so totally suck at this.”You’d think routing fancy edges or aligning and screwing boards together would be the real challenge for me. But nope, I just couldn’t measure and cut worth crap.“Too short again?” Isobel asked from across the room, where she sat at the opened window and brushed wood stain across a freshly sanded shelf. Between us, the floor was covered in plastic drop cloths while sawdust fluttered in the air and the crisp scent of lacquer floated to me from the breeze the window let in.“Yes,” I mumbled, tearing off my hat to run a hand through my hair and trying not to lose my shit. But seriously, you’d think I’d learn not to fuck up the length so badly after the first five
chapterFOURTEEN Weeks passed, the library transformed, and a routine sprouted between Isobel and me. We’d run, I’d take my dream shower—I was becoming increasingly spoiled by those showers—then we’d eat breakfast together after everyone else had eaten and cleared out of the kitchen, and after that, it was off to the library for renovation time. In between the woodworking part, we painted the walls a glossy eggshell color and installed more lights.I asked Isobel if she wanted me to find some professional painters and electricians to take care of that part, but she’d admitted she liked this do-it-ourselves thing we had going on. It made it more meaningful to her. That had me grinning until she added, “Besides, you’re such an anal-retentive perfectionist, I’m sure you’ll do fine.”So I read more books and learned about wiring, and it ended up I only electrocuted myself twice before all the new lights were installed.We were finishing the last book
chapterFIFTEEN I’d only suggested one, so the fact that Isobel was willing to give up a couple of her roses made my eyebrows lift, impressed.But she must’ve mistaken my expression as me thinking I considered her offer meager. So she sighed. “Fine. I can put together a full dozen.”Holy shit. I hadn’t thought she’d go that far. But I smiled. “Mrs. Pan is going to love this.”Still appearing put out, she huffed, “Which color?”“I don’t know.” Again, this was out of my territory. “What do the different colors symbolize?”I thought she’d give me another look that told me she had no idea about that either, but nope. When it came to roses, Isobel knew her shit. “Well, red is obviously for love, passion, beauty, courage, or respect. White roses are for purity, innocence, silence, or secrecy.”I shook my head. “Nah, we don’t want it to be a secret admirer thing. She needs to know they’re from him.”Nodding in agreement, Isobel ticked off another fi
chapterSIXTEEN A day after our matchmaking endeavors, Isobel and I officially claimed the library shelving project complete. I had wanted to call everyone into the room immediately and show it off, even though most of the staff had stopped by periodically to follow our progress, anyway. But Isobel wanted everything cleaned and all the books shelved before our “grand opening.”So while I removed the drop cloths and ladders and tools, Isobel dusted and began to vacuum. When it came time to shelve the books, our great debate about how to organize them started.“This is where I had the mysteries before,” Isobel started, narrowing her eyes as if daring me to disagree.I just grinned, ready to play. “But this is a darker corner. Don’t you think mysteries should be in the darkest, most mysterious part of the room? And romances belong by the light, since they’re, you know, light and full of love with happy endings and stuff.”She blinked at me as if I’