Red brick. There was a concrete plaque over the door that stated it was built in 1902. Six steps leading up to the double front doors. Four, large, paned windows on either side. The shrubs and grass in front of it now covered in snow and large tufts of snow covered the four, large urns, two at the top of the steps, two at the bottom that he had vaguely noticed were filled with healthy flowers in the summer months.
Eyes on the urns, he wondered if, in the previous summers, Faye planted them.
As he was wondering, her pretty, cute, bossy voice filled his head.
Don’t start, I know I shouldn’t have added the chocolate but he’s a kid. He should have a treat.
Chace grinned to himself.
She’d kitted out that kid with the amount of food and clothes a lot of underprivileged kids would kill for, runaways definitely would. And books. She hadn’t bought him a coat, some bologna, bread and pop and was done with it. She’d gone all out. She then staked out the return bin, still looking out for him.
Chace’s grin got bigger.
He was being fucking stupid, he knew it. He should steer well clear. He knew that too.
But he didn’t give a fuck.
The minute he saw the anguish in her eyes under the streetlamps and knew she’d been crying, he stopped fighting it. He’d chewed on it over the weekend. He was distracted during his dinner with his Mom in a way she noticed and asked about it, but he carefully skirted the issue and didn’t tell her.
But he knew, even before he drove by the library that morning and saw her in her Cherokee, something that provided him a golden opportunity to get in there, that he was no longer going to try to fight her pull.
So he stopped trying.
He should take better care of her. He should leave her to find a good man who could focus on her, their lives, the family they’d build. A man who didn’t have so much baggage sometimes it was hard to haul his ass out of bed in the morning, it was so fucking heavy. Who wasn’t caked in the filth he swam in for a decade. Who didn’t come from a dysfunctional home that added more baggage to an already crippling load. Who didn’t detest his father. Who didn’t have to put energy into protecting his delicate, oversensitive mother. Who didn’t have a dead wife who he didn’t love but he also didn’t protect and therefore her last experience on this earth was having her mouth raped.
But he wasn’t going to do that.
Right now, Faye was worried about this kid. Right now, she had shit on her mind that sent her into the dark night. Shit he now knew meant she might lose her job which meant, for a librarian in a small town, she was fucked. To get a job in her profession, she’d have to move. A move that would take her away from her family and hometown. Or she’d have to find a different occupation. Right now, she had no man to take her back. She had a few friends and a good family but that wasn’t the same as having a man take your back.
This meant, Chace decided, he was going to be the man who took her back.
It was a weak decision and it was wrong. It was an excuse and a lame one. And it was highly likely once she found out everything about him it wouldn’t end well.
But in his mind’s eye he saw her face get adorably angry and heard her musical but irate voice ask, Do you have multiple personalities?
Seeing it, hearing her voice, he also decided he didn’t give a fuck that he was weak and what he was doing was wrong.
He was still going to do it.
And in doing it, he was heading back to the library and not his truck so he could tell her what had happened with the boy, instead of doing what he should do and go to work.
But as he was jogging across the street to the opposite corner where the library was, his head turned so he could look to her old, beat up Cherokee in the side parking lot and his peripheral vision caught on something. So his head turned further and he saw his burgundy GMC Yukon still where he parked it on the street. He also saw a
Eyes on the urns, he wondered if, in the previous summers, Faye planted them.
As he was wondering, her pretty, cute, bossy voice filled his head.
Don’t start, I know I shouldn’t have added the chocolate but he’s a kid. He should have a treat.
Chace grinned to himself.
She’d kitted out that kid with the amount of food and clothes a lot of underprivileged kids would kill for, runaways definitely would. And books. She hadn’t bought him a coat, some bologna, bread and pop and was done with it. She’d gone all out. She then staked out the return bin, still looking out for him.
Chace’s grin got bigger.
He was being fucking stupid, he knew it. He should steer well clear. He knew that too.
But he didn’t give a fuck.
The minute he saw the anguish in her eyes under the streetlamps and knew she’d been crying, he stopped fighting it. He’d chewed on it over the weekend. He was distracted during his dinner with his Mom in a way she noticed and asked about it, but he carefully skirted the issue and didn’t tell her.
But he knew, even before he drove by the library that morning and saw her in her Cherokee, something that provided him a golden opportunity to get in there, that he was no longer going to try to fight her pull.
So he stopped trying.
He should take better care of her. He should leave her to find a good man who could focus on her, their lives, the family they’d build. A man who didn’t have so much baggage sometimes it was hard to haul his ass out of bed in the morning, it was so fucking heavy. Who wasn’t caked in the filth he swam in for a decade. Who didn’t come from a dysfunctional home that added more baggage to an already crippling load. Who didn’t detest his father. Who didn’t have to put energy into protecting his delicate, oversensitive mother. Who didn’t have a dead wife who he didn’t love but he also didn’t protect and therefore her last experience on this earth was having her mouth raped.
But he wasn’t going to do that.
Right now, Faye was worried about this kid. Right now, she had shit on her mind that sent her into the dark night. Shit he now knew meant she might lose her job which meant, for a librarian in a small town, she was fucked. To get a job in her profession, she’d have to move. A move that would take her away from her family and hometown. Or she’d have to find a different occupation. Right now, she had no man to take her back. She had a few friends and a good family but that wasn’t the same as having a man take your back.
This meant, Chace decided, he was going to be the man who took her back.
It was a weak decision and it was wrong. It was an excuse and a lame one. And it was highly likely once she found out everything about him it wouldn’t end well.
But in his mind’s eye he saw her face get adorably angry and heard her musical but irate voice ask, Do you have multiple personalities?
Seeing it, hearing her voice, he also decided he didn’t give a fuck that he was weak and what he was doing was wrong.
He was still going to do it.
And in doing it, he was heading back to the library and not his truck so he could tell her what had happened with the boy, instead of doing what he should do and go to work.
But as he was jogging across the street to the opposite corner where the library was, his head turned so he could look to her old, beat up Cherokee in the side parking lot and his peripheral vision caught on something. So his head turned further and he saw his burgundy GMC Yukon still where he parked it on the street. He also saw a
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