a book? I wanted a new bike or a skateboard or even a fucking shirt without a hole in it. I never read the books then…nope. Too busy playing rugby and chasing birds.” He looked disgusted with his admission, as if he’d eaten something spoiled.
“Birds? You’re a bird chaser?”
“Birds…girls.”
“Oh, I see.”
“Anyway.” He tapped on the notepad. But I didn’t want him to steer us again, so I took the reins from him.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“What doesn’t matter?”
“That you may not have shown gratitude at the time. We’re not always ready to appreciate every present in the…present.”
“Very true.”
“Obviously, you knew deep down how great they were because you saved them.”
“They were all destroyed except for Nicolas Nickleby .” His eyes darkened, the green overtaking the brown, a quiet hurricane of anger. I winced when he cracked the pencil in two. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
I was torn, searching for the right response to the swirling fog of emotion. He was inside some toxic mixture of anguish and anger. My heart broke, realizing he offered to lend me the only book he had left.
“Sir.”
He lifted his face to meet my gaze.
“You still have the words, right?” I pointed to my heart. “You have them here, don’t you? It doesn’t matter if they’re not on the same paper in her writing. Words never die.”
He blinked several times, focusing on me. His jaw tightened. “Are you a maid or a philosopher?”
“I am a maid.”
His hand reached for mine, but I pulled away before contact.
“I’m sorry. I am.” He shook his head. “God, I can’t believe I said that.”
“Why? It’s the truth.”
“It’s me being a complete dick is what it is.”
I understood why he’d snapped. It wasn’t to lash out at me, but to protect himself. I employed the same exact methods. I shouldn’t have pressed. Each of his movements had been a clear warning, a plea even, to step lightly.
He offered me an apologetic smile. “It’s the funny thing about childhood. You think it’s the worst of times when you’re living it.”
“And the best of times when it’s over.” I finished his thought. “Very Dickensian, sir.”
“Please don’t call me ‘sir,’ especially when I’m referring to you by your first name.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Will you tell me something she wrote?”
“I’m supposed to ask you questions, remember?”
“Questions about the hotel, but we’re not doing that, are we?”
“No, I suppose we’re not.”
“Motherly advice is something I’ve never had.” Unless it involved whitening creams or the proper way to apply kohl. “If you share the words with me, I’ll pass them on. They’ll go into the universe and then maybe, one day, you’ll hear them again. You’ll see what I mean about words not dying.”
“Your persistence surprises me, Miss Costa.”
It surprised me, too…my persistence and my lack of resistance. “Sorry, sir. We can move on.” I folded my hands in my lap and waited for him to ask me something.
“Here’s one I rather like. It’s the story of two roads. There are only two roads in life. The high road and the easy road. The high road is difficult, full of jagged rocks and pits and steep curves, but the journey is worth it. The easy road is smooth and straight, but it’s also paved with regret. Always travel the high road, Liam. Always the high road. That’s what she wrote.”
“Good advice. Do you follow it?”
“I wish I could tell you I did, but I don’t always.”
“Maybe there’s a place where both roads intersect.”
I hoped a place like that existed because being with Liam Montgomery was both easy and difficult. Which path did I want more? Or was there even an open path for me to choose? The way he looked at me said yes. But all the ways of the world said no.
I jumped as Liam’s phone buzzed, the harsh sound sawing through the thick tension in the room.
He glared at
“Birds? You’re a bird chaser?”
“Birds…girls.”
“Oh, I see.”
“Anyway.” He tapped on the notepad. But I didn’t want him to steer us again, so I took the reins from him.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“What doesn’t matter?”
“That you may not have shown gratitude at the time. We’re not always ready to appreciate every present in the…present.”
“Very true.”
“Obviously, you knew deep down how great they were because you saved them.”
“They were all destroyed except for Nicolas Nickleby .” His eyes darkened, the green overtaking the brown, a quiet hurricane of anger. I winced when he cracked the pencil in two. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
I was torn, searching for the right response to the swirling fog of emotion. He was inside some toxic mixture of anguish and anger. My heart broke, realizing he offered to lend me the only book he had left.
“Sir.”
He lifted his face to meet my gaze.
“You still have the words, right?” I pointed to my heart. “You have them here, don’t you? It doesn’t matter if they’re not on the same paper in her writing. Words never die.”
He blinked several times, focusing on me. His jaw tightened. “Are you a maid or a philosopher?”
“I am a maid.”
His hand reached for mine, but I pulled away before contact.
“I’m sorry. I am.” He shook his head. “God, I can’t believe I said that.”
“Why? It’s the truth.”
“It’s me being a complete dick is what it is.”
I understood why he’d snapped. It wasn’t to lash out at me, but to protect himself. I employed the same exact methods. I shouldn’t have pressed. Each of his movements had been a clear warning, a plea even, to step lightly.
He offered me an apologetic smile. “It’s the funny thing about childhood. You think it’s the worst of times when you’re living it.”
“And the best of times when it’s over.” I finished his thought. “Very Dickensian, sir.”
“Please don’t call me ‘sir,’ especially when I’m referring to you by your first name.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Will you tell me something she wrote?”
“I’m supposed to ask you questions, remember?”
“Questions about the hotel, but we’re not doing that, are we?”
“No, I suppose we’re not.”
“Motherly advice is something I’ve never had.” Unless it involved whitening creams or the proper way to apply kohl. “If you share the words with me, I’ll pass them on. They’ll go into the universe and then maybe, one day, you’ll hear them again. You’ll see what I mean about words not dying.”
“Your persistence surprises me, Miss Costa.”
It surprised me, too…my persistence and my lack of resistance. “Sorry, sir. We can move on.” I folded my hands in my lap and waited for him to ask me something.
“Here’s one I rather like. It’s the story of two roads. There are only two roads in life. The high road and the easy road. The high road is difficult, full of jagged rocks and pits and steep curves, but the journey is worth it. The easy road is smooth and straight, but it’s also paved with regret. Always travel the high road, Liam. Always the high road. That’s what she wrote.”
“Good advice. Do you follow it?”
“I wish I could tell you I did, but I don’t always.”
“Maybe there’s a place where both roads intersect.”
I hoped a place like that existed because being with Liam Montgomery was both easy and difficult. Which path did I want more? Or was there even an open path for me to choose? The way he looked at me said yes. But all the ways of the world said no.
I jumped as Liam’s phone buzzed, the harsh sound sawing through the thick tension in the room.
He glared at
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