by Ashley Erin
“Hi.” Everett pouts.
“What’s wrong with you?” I shove the sleeves of my sweater up my arm.
Lola grins over at Everett. “We have some high school students coming in this morning at nine. Everett is pouting that he might actually have to work before the usual rush at eleven.”
She fills me in on the English class coming to find novels for a novel study. The library at the high school is decent, but they often collaborate with us when it comes to fiction.
I have yet to interact with any of the classes, though, so unlike Everett, I’m excited to chat with the students about books.
“Why don’t I pull some novels that would make great study material?” I love looking through books, finding themes and different genres to tempt even the most dubious reader.
“Great idea. Everett, since Evie obviously is more interested, she can deal with the students while you man the desk. I have to go do some paperwork.” Lola leaves us, Everett’s mood lifting at the prospect of staying away from the crowd.
I wander through the stacks, the hour passing quickly until I’ve filled a table with some of my favorites. I’m arranging the books when I hear the students chatting and Everett directing them over to me.
Turning with a smile on my face, I’m shocked when I see Charlie standing amidst a group of approximately thirty chatting students who range from looking eager to be here to bored out of their minds. My mouth dries at the sight of him. The skin on my back tingles where his hands have left their invisible imprint.
Seriously, what is wrong with me? I’ve never had this type of reaction to a man before, and his personality could not be any more opposite to mine.
The look on his face when he sees me isn’t friendly. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out he dislikes me, but the feeling is mutual. He’s so—beige. Boring, structured, and likes things to be his way all the time. Regardless, I nod at him and turn to the kids who are quickly losing focus.
“Listen up, guys.” Charlie’s eyes don’t leave mine as he calls attention to his students. They settle right away, and I grudgingly admit to myself that I’m impressed. Looking away from him, I try to ignore the heat I feel, knowing he is watching my every move.
“Okay, I’m Evie, and I got a bit of a head start selecting some novels I thought might appeal to a different variety of tastes. I have sci-fi, paranormal, romance, fantasy, historical, and horror.” I lift examples of each genre for the students to see. “I’m sure Mr. Greene has already explained what you want to look for, the books on this table all have the qualities he will expect for a novel study.”
I encourage them to search on their own and ask for help if they need. Charlie stands back and watches as his students look through the books I’ve selected, often asking me about ones that pique their interest. He seems impressed when I can talk about each book. I don’t work in a library because I’ve never picked up a novel. And I like a little bit of each genre, mixing it up so I don’t get bored.
“Evie?” The young man who stands at my side is on the scrawny side. He also looks like he’s about to jump out of his skin at any moment he’s so nervous. “Mr. Greene gave me permission to study an adult novel. I was hoping you could help me find something a little different.”
“Do you know what you want?”
He shakes his head. Chewing on my lip, I look at the ceiling as I scan through different options in my mind. Smiling at him, I gesture for him to follow me.
I wander through the stacks until I see the book I’m looking for. I notice that Charlie has followed us, but avoid looking directly at him.
“This is called The Book of Lost Things. It’s a fascinating read, and I think you will enjoy it.” Pulling the book off the shelf, I hand it to him. He flips it over to read the back, nodding to himself as his eyes move over the words.
With a muttered, “Thank you,” he scurries out of the stacks.
“Good choice.” Charlie stands in front of me, blocking my way. “While they’re busy, I want to discuss the newly painted door situation.”
“What about it?” Crossing my arms, I smirk.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen Charlie smile, not that I’ve spent any substantial amount of time with him, and today is no exception. His expression is serious, bordering on a scowl. “It’s purple. I’m pretty sure you didn’t need to paint the entire door to get the scratches out.”
I can’t help the gleeful grin that forms. “I read the rental agreement. It doesn’t state anything about the doors, so I took the opportunity to add a splash of color. It fixed the problem you saw, and I get a purple door. Win-win.”
He sighs in exasperation. “How is this win-win?”
“For the reasons I just said.” Brushing past him, I ignore the way my heart jolts at the contact.
His hand wraps around my forearm, sending tingles shooting up my arm. He holds me in place, his grip firm but not enough to bruise. “We’re not done discussing the door.”
“I think we are. You asked me to fix the scratches, they’re fixed.” Tugging my arm out of his grasp, I brace myself for the argument I can sense brewing.
“You painted the door purple!” Charlie’s voice rises. Catching himself, he lowers the timbre so his next words practically caress my skin. “Evie, why are you trying to be difficult?”
“Look, did I assume you wouldn’t be happy about the color of the door, yes. Did I think you would corner me at work, because apparently you can’t handle even the slightest bit of color in your life, no. So I will tell you what, when my two-year lease is up, everything will go back to the beige world you like to live in, you won’t even be able to tell I was there. Is that satisfactory?” I don’t give him a chance to respond, I push past him once again and walk back to where his students are milling around without looking at him.
“Tash, he cornered me at work today. I have never met anyone so rigid in my entire life.” Holding the phone between my shoulder and ear, I tug my jeans down my legs leaving them in a pile on the floor.
“What’s this guy’s name again?” Tash’s voice is filled with humor.
“Charlie Greene.” I yank the black dress over my shoulders, fixing it in place and zipping it up, only pausing when Natasha starts laughing like a hyena over the phone. “What’s so funny?”
She snorts. Literally snorts.
“Oh, Evie. I’ve known Charlie my entire life. I don’t know how the two of you are going to survive you renting his house. You couldn’t be more opposite. No wonder he hates you, you don’t fit neatly inside his world.” Her laughter fades, but I can imagine the grin on her face.
“What happened to make him like that? There must be some reason for a person to be that—unyielding.” Fluffing my hair, I check myself in the mirror.
Mrs. Jesperson caught me as I arrived home this afternoon and invited me over for dinner. The woman is hilarious and almost as quirky as me, so I couldn’t say no.
“There is no reason. He’s just like that; always has been, always will be.”
Hmmm. I guess it does take all kinds to make the world go round, I just can’t imagine living my life that way. I love chaos and spontaneity. I love having a whim and running with it.
Moments later Tash and I hang up, it’s time to head over to Mrs. Jesperson’s. She told me to arrive at six, it’s now ten after. I gave up being on time for anything a decade ago.
Slipping my feet into a gorgeous pair of stilettos, I make my way across the street to her door. Knocking, I straighten the hem of my dress while I wait for her to answer the door.
The door opens—to a scowling Charlie.
“What are you doing here?” he asks gruffly, not moving to invite me in.
“I’m here for dinner.” Ducking under his arm, I ignore the conflicting emotions that arise being near him. The physical reaction of my body is instantaneous, while my brain automatically wants to push his buttons.
I don’t let him see that I’m surprised he was also invited to dinner, turn
ing my back on him and following the sounds of Mrs. Jesperson moving about her kitchen, I finally find the door and enter with a smile.
“Can I help you with anything?” Wrapping an arm over the woman’s shoulders, I worry about how frail she feels. The bones of her shoulders poking me in the arm.
Making a mental note to stop by more frequently, I sit down when she denies my request to help. Charlie is already seated at the table, so I sit opposite him. It means I need to look directly at him, but it saves me from feeling the heat that seems to form between us.
Obviously my body hasn’t gotten the memo, despite the fact it’s blatantly obvious.
Incompatible.
The word might as well be in bright lights blinking over our heads every time we’re in the same room.
“So, Evie, I’m guessing spring is much more to your liking than winter was.” Mrs. Jesperson sets a casserole in the center of the table, handing Charlie the serving spoon.
Smiling, I angle my body towards her as Charlie fills her plate. “Much. I like that it’s a dry warmth compared to the humid heat of Vancouver.”
Charlie holds his hand out for my plate. Surprised, I hand it to him with what I hope is a genuine smile. He may be uptight, but at least he has manners.
“Does your family miss having you close?”
“No. I grew up in the foster care system. I emancipated myself when I was sixteen.” I can feel Charlie’s gaze burning into me as I shrug, twirling my fork into the steaming casserole on my plate.
I’m not ashamed of growing up in the system. Despite being moved around a lot, I didn’t have horrific experiences with my foster parents. Some weren’t as good as others, but they all treated me well enough.
She looks at me with empathy, not pity, which I appreciate. “What about friends?”
Lifting my shoulder again, I swallow the bite of food I’ve been chewing and look down at my plate. “I haven’t really had anyone worth keeping in my life until now. I finished high school, got a bunch of scholarships and went straight to university. I didn’t want to stop with an undergrad degree, so I went right into my master’s and doctorate.”
Lifting my eyes, I meet the incredulous stare of Charlie. My lips lift in a smirk. It’s funny, he’s categorized me into whatever type of person he sees. My drive shocks many people, especially since I can’t be on time to save my life and I don’t care for order.
“Impressive. You’re what, twenty-seven years old?” Mrs. Jesperson draws my attention from Charlie. My grin widens when I see the wicked glint in her eye. Sneaky woman. This is a matchmaking attempt. I don’t know where her head is at, but I’m amused nonetheless.
“Yes, ma’am.”
I bite back a grin when she turns her attention to Charlie.
“How’s your father feeling?”
I watch him out of the corner of my eye, his discomfort palpable.
“He has good days and bad days. The stroke impacted his speech quite a bit, but he’s regained some ability as the weeks pass. We still haven’t seen much improvement in his mobility.” Charlie’s voice is wooden, the speech he’s reciting no doubt one that he’s probably said a thousand times.
Tilting my head, I watch him carefully. Behind the guise of nonchalance, I can see how much the changes in his father has impacted him. My heart aches for him. I can’t even imagine how difficult it is for him to deal with that. His need for order probably makes the chaos in the aftermath of a stroke impossible to deal with.
“Day by day, my boy. Day by day.” She reaches out and squeezes his hand.
I help Mrs. Jesperson with the dishes, despite her protests, and then excuse myself for the evening.
“I better head home. I am in charge of the weekly recommended readings and I have a stack of ten books I need to read this week in order to make my selection. Thank you for dinner.” Hugging Mrs. Jesperson, I slip into my shoes and rest my hand on the doorknob, turning towards Charlie to say goodnight.
“Charlie, please walk Evie home.” He’s pushed in my direction looking about as thrilled by the suggestion as I am.
Swallowing a groan, I open the door and leave with one last wave. Charlie’s body heat beats against my back, my skin thrumming from his close proximity.
Once the door is shut, I finally look at him. “You don’t need to walk me home. I’m positive I can make it across the street in one piece.”
It amuses me when he doesn’t even crack a hint of a smile.
He just points to the flutter of the curtains in the window, before resting his hand on the small of my back as we walk down the driveway.
The spot where his hand rests feels like it is on fire. Stepping away, I watch his hand fall to his side. He doesn’t say anything, but when I glance up at him, he is watching me with a mix of annoyance and disappointment.
I’m sure the disappointment is in the fact I’m nothing like he anticipated. I’m not someone who fits into the order of his world and I definitely push his boundaries in a way he’s not comfortable with.
We don’t say anything else as we reach my door. I have the urge to draw this out, but I dig my key out of my purse and unlock my door.
“Have a goodnight, Charlie.” Closing the door behind me. I lean back against it in bewilderment.
I don’t fit into his world, and he certainly doesn’t fit into mine, but I can’t deny that the few times we’ve been near each other there has been this draw.
So, I want to irritate him because I can’t stand how rigid he is, but I’m attracted to him? How does that even make any sense?
I guess he’s physically everything I would look for in a man, sans tattoos obviously. There is no denying that Charlie is gorgeous with those dark hazel eyes, that artfully messy hair—the only messy thing about him—and there is no denying that I find his largeness in comparison to me appealing. Everything about him is big. His height. His muscles. I’d be willing to bet he’s not lacking in size in other areas as well.
At the end of the day, the appeal of someone’s physical appearance fades if they’re not compatible personality wise. I learned that at a young age. People have been drawn to me because of my petite size. I overheard one of my foster parents tell one of their friends that they were drawn to me because of my physical appearance. They went on to say they had no idea the devil could be disguised as an angel.
I wanted to school them on the fact that the devil is an angel, but in a rare show of self-restraint, I held my tongue. A feat for me at fifteen. That woman just disliked me because I would call her out on her hypocrisy. I was there for thirty-four days.
I’ve always been outspoken, spontaneous, and a little wild.
The wildness has quieted over time, but the quick temper is still there when I’m pushed too far. I like to push boundaries, make people push their limits. I also like to be challenged, within reason.
Maybe that’s part of the draw I feel towards Charlie. He has so many limits, watching them break away would be immensely satisfying.
The bell rings, signifying the start of class. Most of my twelfth graders are already in their seats, with one exception, Stacy.
My classroom policy is “if you can’t make it on time, don’t come at all.” However, I’ve bent the rules for her because I think out of every teacher I’m the only one she has even an ounce of respect for. Apparently, my class is the only class she shows up for consistently at all.
Sure enough, ten minutes into my lecture on analyzing style and content in novels she is rushing into the room with an apologetic look before taking her seat next to Elliott.
I don’t miss a beat, handing her the worksheets and continuing on with my lecture.
“You will want to use these techniques as you finish the analysis on the novels you’ve selected for your novel study. I will be staying after school for the remainder of this week until five o’clock if anyone needs extra help.” Wrapping up the lecture, I walk over to Stacy.
I notice she has a new tattoo on the side of her nec
k. One remarkably similar to the tattoos on Evie’s arm.
“How’s your novel study coming along, Stacy?”
She’s fumbling through her binder, a mess of papers that makes me cringe. Every other student in my class has their binder organized in the way I outline at the start of class, everyone except Stacy.
Her chaos would normally give me hives, but she is smarter than most of the other teachers give her credit for, and her home life is less than perfect. She’s one of the rare students I have a soft spot for because I can see her potential. I can see the honest effort she puts in to the work and to being present in class.
“I’m almost done, Mr. Greene.” She finally looks up at me, fidgeting with the ring in her lip. Her eyes darting out to look at Elliott. Those two have been best friends since the eighth grade, they’re now a month away from graduating. Despite their differing personalities, they’ve maintained their close friendship which is rare for their age. Then again, Elliott is more mature than any other seventeen-year-old I know, even running his own business. And Stacy had to grow up quickly since her parents are both fairly useless.
Raising my brows, I have to focus on schooling my features to appear less surprised, when I glance at Elliott he’s also gaping at her in shock. “Yeah?”
“I liked the book that Evie helped me pick out.”
Recalling that day in the library, after my confrontation with Evie, I remember seeing Stacy sitting at a table alone until Evie went up to her and sat down.
“I’m glad. I didn’t notice which book you selected.” I didn’t give the students much to go off of, I wanted them to choose what they would find interesting.
She reaches into her bag and pulls out The Crystal Drop by Monica Hughes.
I’m unfamiliar with the book, so I hold out my hand to read the back.
“I know it’s directed towards younger audiences, but Evie was asking me questions and she said based off my answers this book would be a good fit. I don’t really understand why, but I definitely enjoyed it and feel the analysis on it is well done.” Stacy’s voice fills with excitement.