Maybe Fate: A Novel (New Adult Paranormal Romance) by Cynthia Brint Page A

any time
there. Maybe
he just orders in a really good cleaning lady.
    Mr.
Birch led us up a set of stairs, looking out of place in his own
home. “This way, in the study.”
    The
study, I
thought in dulled shock. Who
has a study these days?
    Glancing
around at the dark walls, the lack of pictures or decoration, I felt
a pit grow in my belly. It was weird to be in a place that felt so
empty.
    No
photos of anyone at all?
    Rounding
the corner from the hall, the burgundy carpet eating up the sound of
my boots, I found myself staring into a curved study with books
rising along the walls.
    Standing
in the doorway, I looked upwards as I whispered. “This is all
yours?”
    “ Correct,”
he said, moving to a wall and thumbing over the bindings of some
thick tomes. “Here, this should do.”
    With
my excitement making my skin tingle, I approached him carefully.
“You're really okay with letting me borrow these?”
    “ This ,”
he clarified, offering me a book so large I needed both hands to
hold it. “Just this.”
    “ Just this?” Laughing, I arched an eyebrow at him. “Mr. Birch,
this is gigantic.” Peeking at the shelves, I wondered where he
had taken it from. It didn't seem to fit among the other literature
I could see.
    Folding
his arms, he looked at me over his spectacles. “Do you want it
or not?”
    My
shoulders stiffened as I hugged the book close, the scent of old
leather and dust threatening to make me sneeze. “Sorry, yes.
I'd love to borrow it, if you're really alright with that.”
    Grinning,
he brushed a hand over his strands of dark hair. “I'm always
happy to encourage young minds to pursue the world of research. Just
be careful with it, it's rather old.”
    “ I
can see that,” I murmured, peering at the yellowed pages.
“Seriously, Mr. Birch, thank you so much.”
    His
smile was gentle, smoothing his normally hard face. “We're not
in class. Call me Wallace.”
    “ Thanks,
um, Wallace.” The name felt awkward on my tongue. He's
seriously being way friendlier than I've ever seen him before. Maybe
I just needed to spend time with him out of class to see it?
    “ Anyway,
I shouldn't take up anymore of your day. Can you give me a lift back
to the campus?”
    Gesturing
to the door, he bowed his head. “Of course, after you.”
    Heading
down the hall again, I once more noted the empty walls. Slowing, I
stared closely at the square pattern near the staircase entrance, a
section that seemed cleaner than the rest. “Mr. Birch,”
I said, pointing. “What used to hang there?”
    Behind
me, he stood like a silent sentinel. The prickle that crawled up my
neck came so fast, I found it hard to make myself look over my
shoulder at my teacher.
    Expecting
to find him angry, for the vibe in the air had suddenly begun to
feel like something preparing to strike, I saw his expression was
neutral.
    What
was that about? Why does my stomach hurt?
    “ Forgive
me, Gale,” he said gently, “but I would prefer to not
talk about that. It's... a private matter, to put it mildly.”
    The
wave of guilt was heavy, I hated the thought I'd made some sort of
faux pas. “Oh, no! Sorry, I shouldn't have been so nosy. Let's
just... yeah, sorry.”
    “ No,”
he assured me, smiling sweet as cake. “It's nothing. Come
along, let's get you back to the campus.”
    Too
busy gnawing my bottom lip and beating myself up mentally, thinking
I'd perhaps stumbled across the painful memory of someone Mr. Birch
had been close to, I hurried to follow him from that quiet house.

    ****

    The
drive had not helped clear my head. It'd sent me down a road of my
own painful memories.
    I
tried quite hard not to
think about that man, and how my mother had spoke with both disgust
and sadness all through my childhood about him.
    How
she, too, had empty spots on our walls where photos must have been.
    Forcefully,
I pushed aside the wandering string that was taking me down a morose
path.
    After
all, I had never even known him.
    Climbing
from the car, I