Be What Love Is

by Malouff, Ellie

  Two hours into dismantling the library and I’ve made little progress. Books surround me, sorted into categories. Thank God Reid isn’t here to witness the mess. He wouldn’t understand the way my brain is sorting this all out.

  I’d be further along if I could actually stay focused. Last night plays through my head over and over again. Every time I remember what he felt like beneath me I go short of breath. It’s terribly distracting, and it makes me question my willpower to keep it professional. I try my best to do my job, but I have to read the title pages over and over again.

  The next book on the shelf is The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins. I carefully lift the cover and examine a couple of dusty pages to learn more about it. It’s a reprint from 1928. While valuable, it isn’t precious by any means. I start to flip through it and on one particularly sharp edge, slice two of my fingers. Blood drips onto the pages, and I yelp loudly from the sharp sting.

  A commotion from the next room startles me, causing me to drop the book. Seconds later, Reid is beside me. His hand is around my waist before I can even bend over to pick up the book.

  “Are you all right?” he asks. His grip is very tight.

  I hold my fingers up, and the sight of the blood makes him wince.

  “Just a paper cut,” I answer.

  “That’s quite a cut,” he whispers and takes my injured hand in his own.

  “I’m afraid I ruined the book,” I confess, figuring I better get the bad news out of the way.

  “It doesn’t matter. Let’s clean this up.” His reaction surprises me. I mean, it’s a decently valuable book. He walks me out of the library, his hand still cupping mine, his other hand on the small of my back. I’m not sure if it's an attempt to be tender or if he’s trying to prevent me from staining the rug.

  We go to the nearest bathroom, and he turns on the cold water tap.

  “Here.” He gently puts my fingers under the cold water. Instant relief pulses through my fingers. Blood swirls around the slow draining sink while he opens cabinets searching for bandages. My fingers are already starting to heal when he finally finds a box and sets it on the counter. He turns off the water and towel dries my fingers. He carefully puts a bandage on each finger and after he finishes he holds my hand in his palm and strokes my knuckles with his thumb.

  “All better?” he whispers.

  “All better.”

  He lingers for a moment and my chest floods with a warm rush of goodness. I look up into his eyes and swallow hard. His breath catches in his throat, and he blinks twice, snapping out of his trance. He releases my hand and sticks his hands into his pockets, takes two steps back and leans against the doorframe.

  “Thanks,” I say to fill the empty space between us.

  He shrugs as if it was nothing. His eyes are stuck on the floor. I start to approach the door, but he stops me. “I noticed it stopped raining. Want to go for a walk?”

  A walk? With Reid? Well, that would be interesting. “Sure,” I answer.

  “I mean, of course, if you’d rather get back to work, I totally understand,” he says and backs out of the bathroom into the hall.

  “No, a walk would be nice. I think the dust is starting to take a toll on me. I swear, I’m going to be coughing like Zoolander before the day is over.”

  “Zoolander?”

  “You know.” I do the little Zoolander cough.

  He chuckles and raises one of his thick eyebrows. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Of course you don’t.”

  “I’ll just let that one go,” he says, with a bright, big smile.

  I smile back. “It’s for the best.”

  Once outside, we stroll around Canterwood Manor and down the long driveway to the main road. We talk about all the things we discovered so far.

  “Did you find anything related to me or my mom in the files?”

  “No, nothing,” he says, and I’m disappointed. It sure would be nice and easy if my grandfather had a file folder labeled, Cara’s Father.

  “But the desk was full of bits and bobs. I’ve put them in a box for you to go through.”

  “Oh fun, I can’t wait,” I tell him and it’s true. That will be awesome.

  There’s a puddle in front of us, so I gleefully hop over it.

  I turn back toward Reid to find him smirking at me with a crooked smile. It’s impossible to imagine him hopping over a puddle. As expected, he walks around it like a gentleman.

  I roll my eyes and sigh dramatically.

  “We’re not all eight years old,” he quips.

  “We’re not all eighty years old, either,” I reply and stick my tongue out at him.

  “Charming,” he says and shakes his head.

  We encounter an even bigger puddle and this time I get a running start to leap over it. I almost make it, but land a bit short and splash water all around me. My canvas sneakers get totally soaked.

  “Well that should make the rest of this walk enjoyable,” he jokes.

  “It’s better than wet sand,” I reply. “Actually, I’d give anything for some wet sand in my shoes right now. I miss the beach.”

  “England has beaches. It is an island, after all.”

  “It’s not the same. I miss the Pacific. I miss the sunsets and the smell of oranges. And God, I miss the food, so badly. I’d give just about anything for some fajitas and a margarita. Or better yet, some fish tacos. No, a smothered crispy chile relleno.”

  “A crispy what?” he asks as if I’m speaking a different language. Well, I suppose I am.

  “It’s this big chili pepper that’s filled with cheese, then deep fried and smothered in this spicy chili. So delicious.”

  His nose scrunches up as if I said it was deep fried skunk filled with tar. “That sounds truly awful.”

  “You don’t know what you’re missing,” I tell him and pat him on the back. He smiles at me and is lost for words.

  We walk in silence for a while. I listen to the birds and our feet shuffling along the gravel path. It’s nice. Peaceful even. But the rain starts up again, and it is something fierce. We make a mad dash back to the house, screaming and laughing most of the way, and blow through the door like a hurricane. We stand in the foyer, totally winded, staring at one another while we shake off the wet.

  My sneakers aren’t the only things drenched. Reid’s shirt is clinging to his body, giving me a view of his well-defined torso beneath. I can’t take my eyes off him.

  His light brown hair is darker from the wet, and the rain drips off his square chin, his ears, and his long eyelashes. Victoria is a lucky woman.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t bring an umbrella,” he says as he starts to strip off his dress shirt, revealing a tight damp undershirt that’s nearly transparent.

  “Don’t be,” I say, enjoying the view. Right now I couldn’t be happier that we didn’t have an umbrella.

  “No, truly. I should know better.”

  “Reid, you can’t always think of everything. It’s okay to be unprepared sometimes. I thought it was fun.”

  “Someone’s got to be prepared,” he teases, and I smack him in the arm. We laugh for a bit, and he says, “Well, I’m going to go change into dry clothes.”

  “Hey, speaking of that,” I say, remembering my lack of wardrobe. “I was wondering if I could borrow your car and go shopping for the gala and some essentials.”

  He considers it and then shakes his head no.

  Really?

  Am I really going to have to call a cab to go shopping? Who knows if they have Uber around these parts. Honestly, this is his fault anyway. If he hadn’t let Mr. and Mrs. McHenry go, this wouldn’t be a problem. Discouraged and quite frankly pissed, I try to step around him to walk away, but he puts his arm out to hold me back.

  “What?” I bark.

  “I’d be happy to take you shopping. I could use a few things myself.”

  Ohhh. “Okay,” I reply.

  “I thought we could have dinner too since
I’m not sure what we can make tonight. I’ll have to get some groceries delivered soon.”

  “Okay,” I say again, unsure of how to process this.

  “In fact, let’s go to Bath. The shopping is better there. Plan on leaving at three,” he says before taking off toward the bedrooms.

  “Three,” I repeat and defeatedly wander back to the library because I don’t have fresh clothes to change into. I suppose I’ll have to put the fireplace to good use.

  I’m just about to strike the match when Reid comes in and surveys the room.

  He’s changed into a dashing black dress shirt and really nice jeans. As usual, his sleeves are perfectly folded up to his elbows. His wet hair is combed nicely, and I smell a faint trace of cologne. I take a deep breath because that man is fine with a capital F.

  He continues to look around the room, taking in the mess. Uh oh. I guess he didn’t notice it when he came to my rescue earlier.

  “It’s not what it looks like,” I explain. “I promise I have a system going here.”

  “Right.” He holds up a t-shirt.

  “What’s that?”

  “You mentioned needing some new clothes, so I figured you might need something dry to change into. You must be cold.”

  Okay, maybe his observant superpowers aren’t all that bad. “I’m freezing. I was going to start a fire.”

  He walks over to me and hands me the shirt.

  “Go ahead and get changed. I’ll start the fire.”

  Heaven help me, but I’m pretty sure I’m beaming at him when I say, “Thank you.”

  I go to the same bathroom where he tended to my paper cuts and lock myself inside.

  The t-shirt is a black V-neck. The label reads Burberry. Jesus. I’m only a little ashamed when I bring the shirt up to my nose and sniff it. Sure enough, it’s pure Reid.

  “Okay, gonna need to stop that,” I whisper to myself in the mirror before I take off my wet dress and slip on the shirt. It’s baggy and really long on me but cute over my grey leggings.

  The V dips far enough down to show off a decent amount of cleavage. I’m going to have to roll with that. I take off my dress’s belt and wrap it around my waist to turn it into a legitimate outfit. I twirl in front of the mirror a few times to check it out. Perfect. Not that it really matters, right? It’s not like I have to impress Reid. He has a girlfriend.

  The library is ten degrees warmer when I enter. Reid peeks over his shoulder from the fireplace, his eyes traveling up and down me, and stopping a moment too long on my chest.

  “Thank you so much,” I say, bringing him back to the here and now.

  He nods and goes back to stoking the fire. I take a seat in one of the reading chairs and watch the flames dance.

  Without saying another word, Reid stands up and leaves the library. Maybe he’s upset about the belt? If I owned t-shirts that cost at least fifty bucks, I’d probably want them to stay in good condition too.

  I’m about to get back to the books when he comes back in with a small open box and hands it to me. “Here are the things I was telling you about.”

  “Oh, thanks.”

  Reid sits down in the chair opposite mine, and I grow a little nervous. I didn’t count on having an audience.

  I pull out each item as the fire crackles in the background. There’s an old engraved cigar lighter my mom gave him for a birthday. It appears to have been heavily used, so I set it aside as something to keep. There are some old photographs that are weathered from age. A couple are of my mom holding me as a baby. We looked so alike at eighteen. There are a few of my grandfather, and one, in particular, gets my attention. It’s a picture of my grandfather as a young man, standing beside a young woman in front of a polo field. He’s dressed in actual polo attire, holding his helmet off to the side, and she’s wearing a beautiful dress with a big floppy hat.

  “Do you know who that is?” I ask Reid and point to the woman.

  “That’s Aunt Anna,” he replies.

  Whoa! “I didn’t know that they knew each other that far back.”

  “You didn’t?” he asks and tilts his head. “They knew each other most of their lives.”

  I’m not sure why knowing that makes me feel a little funny, but it does. I always assumed he met Anna later in life. What else don’t I know about them?

  After examining some other trinkets like pins and pens, I find the last item, an envelope addressed to My Little Ballerina.

  “You mentioned that your grandfather had a nickname for you the other night, but you didn’t tell me what it was. I thought that might be it,” Reid explains.

  I trace the words with my fingertips and nod my head.

  “Would you like some privacy?” he asks, his accent so noticeable in that moment.

  “No, it’s fine,” I reply. “I’m just sort of savoring it. A letter from my grandfather is like going back in time and getting a second chance at a conversation. Even if it’s one-sided.”

  “Oh,” he responds as he tries to understand.

  “Where did you find this?”

  “It was in his desk.”

  “It doesn’t look very old.”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  I open the letter so carefully it’s like I’m defusing a bomb. “Well, here goes nothing.”

  Dear Cara,

  I’m not sure if this letter will ever find you. Believe it or not, I write you letters all the time. I used to send them to you when you moved to California, but they were returned to me, and so I accepted that I might never be able to reach you.

  I stop there for a second and close my eyes. I can’t believe my mom sent his letters back. I can’t believe I had no choice in the matter. I push aside my rage and read on.

  I saved them all. They’re around here somewhere, probably the attic. Hopefully, you’ll read them someday. My sweet granddaughter, you have never been far from my heart or my mind.

  Sincerely,

  Your Loving Grandfather

  I hand the letter over to Reid for him to read.

  “Are you sure?” he asks before taking it from me.

  “Yes.”

  My fingers dig into the soft leather of the chair. My mom and I are seriously going to have words. This feels nothing less than a betrayal.

  He reads the letter and places it back in the envelope and hands it back to me. “Well, it sounds like you’ll probably find more letters.”

  “Sure does.” I place the letter with the photos and lighter.

  “Did you notice that it was dated from two months ago?”

  “No. I was too focused on the content. It was?”

  “Yes. It was.” He rubs his chin and puts his head into his hands.

  “What?” I ask.

  He turns his head to look at me from his bent over position, his forehead resting against his fists. “Don’t you think it’s a little odd that they wrote these letters for us in the event of their death?”

  “You tell me. You knew them better. From what I’ve seen here and from what you’ve said, they were very responsible people.”

  “Yes, to a certain extent,” Reid retorts.

  “What are you getting at?”

  “I’m not sure, really,” he says and stands up. “I’m going to go back in his office, so I can keep going through it. I’ll let you know if I find anything else that you might want to take a look at.”

  “Thanks, Reid. Truly.”

  He looks back at me before leaving. “Of course.”

  Chapter Nine

  Red

  Cara

  When I imagined going shopping, I didn’t imagine this. The building we’re walking toward has columns. Not just any old columns, built by Joe Schmoe Construction Company to glitz up a place. Roman columns. Built by actual Romans. It’s not your average JC Penney.

  “A little something of everything,” he says as he holds the door open for me.

  As I observe the other customers, my wallet clenches closed. I’m an absolute pauper in their m
idst. I follow him toward women’s apparel but halt right at the border.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks.

  “This is not what I had in mind,” I answer as I take it all in. It screams expensive.

  “What did you have in mind?”

  I grab the price tag on a blouse. It reads £160. “Somewhere less expensive,” I whisper. “Like an H&M or something.”

  He rolls his eyes.

  I pull him closer, so the nearby shop attendant doesn’t hear us. Reid has become the center of her attention. “Listen, I don’t have enough money for this.”

  He nudges me playfully. “I’m pretty sure you can afford it now.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t have that money right now. I’ve only got like three hundred and fifty bucks in my checking account, and I’ve got eighty in cash.”

  “I’ll cover you, don’t worry about it.”

  I turn my face away and stare down at the floor. “Reid, I don’t want to borrow money from you.”

  “Hey,” he whispers and lifts my chin, so I have to look him in the eye. My lower tummy tightens at his touch as the store around us, and all of the pressures that come with it, fade away. “Money is no object here. It will all come out in the wash.”

  I take a step back, along with a few cleansing breaths as I regain my composure. It takes me a few seconds, but I find my argument again. “But all I need is the basics. Some shirts and leggings, stuff like that.”

  “What about the gala? I thought you wanted to buy something new for that.”

  “Honestly, if it comes down to it I can wear the dress I wore to the funeral,” I say as I spy a small section of evening gowns toward the back. There’s no way I can afford what this store sells.

  “You can’t wear that again, Cara. It’s a black-tie event. They’ll crucify you.”

  “They?” I snap at him.

  “You know exactly who I’m talking about, don’t be coy,” he snaps back.

  Of course, all the rich snobs that were at the funeral. Why should I care what they think of me? It’s not like I’m ever going to see them again. Then again, I don’t want to stand out. I also don’t want to embarrass Evan or anyone else for that matter. I’m petrified of doing just that, so I suppose I don’t have a choice in the matter if I’m going to attend the gala.