Instead of stepping closer, she cleared her throat and jerked back. “I guess you’ll need book four, then?”
I deflated a little with disappointment but managed to nod and even send her a smile. “Sure. That’d be great. Thank you.”
With a nod, she turned away and hurried off. I nearly had to jog to keep up. She didn’t speak again for the rest of the trip to the kitchen, and I didn’t trust myself to say anything either.
When we came to an opening in the hedge path, we ended up on the patio where I’d first met Kit. Isobel approached the back door and went inside, leaving it open for me to follow.
When I did, I was surprised to see Mr. Nash in the kitchen, sitting at the table and eating his breakfast. I hadn’t seen him eat in the kitchen since I’d come to work here. Granted, most days, except Saturdays, he was gone by the time I arrived. But the last two Saturdays, he’d just had a tray brought to his office for meals.
He looked up and smiled. “Morning, sweetheart. Did you have a good…?”
His voice died off as I entered and quietly closed the door behind me.
Mrs. Pan turned from the stove where she was flipping pancakes, and Kit, who’d been sitting across from Mr. Nash, dove under the table at the sight of Isobel.
“Shaw!” Mrs. Pan exclaimed. “What’re you doing here so early?”
She stood frozen, spatula in hand, waiting for an answer, while Mr. Nash seemed similarly struck.
I swallowed, not realizing until that moment how it might look to spend time with Isobel outside work hours. But there was no way to hide it now. Besides, there was nothing seedy to hide.
Still, I couldn’t help but send her a seeking glance to make sure she was okay with me outing our jogging sessions before I said, “I decided to go running with…” It was on the tip of my tongue to be formal and call her Miss Nash, but then I thought, why bother? I wasn’t hiding anything, so I finished with, “…Isobel.”
Both the cook and Isobel’s father seemed startled. I wasn’t sure if it was from the informal address or the fact that I’d run with her.
Isobel cleared her throat. “Since he came in so early, I told him he could work from six to two today, instead of his usual nine to five. That’s okay with you, isn’t it, Dad?”
“Uh…” It took her dad a few more seconds to close his mouth before he slowly gave his head a dazed bob up and down. “Sure,” he managed to answer. “Sure. Whatever you think is best, sweetheart.”
Isobel nodded too. “Good. I’m going to go take a shower.” She paused by her father to kiss him on the top of his balding head. “Have a good day,” she said before sailing from the kitchen.
Mrs. Pan and her dad both blinked before they swung their attention back to me. “I…was that okay?” I asked, now that Isobel was gone. “Running with her, I mean.”
Jarred from his shock, Mr. Nash jumped and immediately began to nod. “Yes, yes. Perfectly fine. I just…I didn’t realize you two had…”
I drew in a breath. “We, uh, well, we talked quite a bit on Saturday while we were discussing bookshelves.”
“Well…” Mr. Nash murmured. “That’s…that’s lovely.”
His eyes glittered with an eagerness that made me uneasy. I suddenly wished he’d never found out about our run. I didn’t want him thinking I’d done it because of our agreement. I hadn’t even been thinking about that when I’d asked Isobel if I could run with her.
But the look on this face told me that was exactly what was on his mind.
I opened my mouth to—I don’t know—correct him, maybe. But Mrs. Pan interrupted.
“Can I interest you in some pancakes, Shaw?”
As I turned to her to politely accept, Kit chose that moment to crawl back up from under the table. Without saying a word, Mr. Nash patted him on the top of the head as if to soothe the kid, and I totally lost my train of thought, wondering why everyone allowed the boy to treat Isobel that way.
If it was the last thing I did, I was going to show Kit Pan there was no reason to fear Isobel.
chapter
ELEVEN
By the time Isobel returned to the kitchen, freshly washed with her hair down, half-covering her face, everyone had finished breakfast, and even Constance and Lewis had arrived, eaten, and left again. Kit was off in Mrs. Pan’s office—as she called it, though it looked more like a kid’s playroom to me—while Mrs. Pan herself stood at the sink with a handful of tools, ready to hand them to me when I asked for them. And me…well, I was stretched under the sink, trying to figure out what was wrong with the garbage disposal.
I had just forked up my last bite of pancake when Mrs. Pan had tried to dispose of…well, garbage, I guess, and it had made the most god-awful grinding sound before the smell of burning electrical wires and smoke filled the kitchen.
Good thing the new handyman was on hand. Swallowing the last of my breakfast, I’d gotten to work. I had a little experience with garbage disposal repair. The one at the bakery had gotten jammed plenty of times. But this seemed worse than a stuck flywheel. The reset button hadn’t done shit. Nothing seemed to be leaking and Mrs. Pan had said nothing had been draining slow. So I guessed it must be an electrical problem.
“Wha...?” I heard Isobel’s voice when she finally entered the kitchen.
I slid out from under the sink cabinet, explaining, “Garbage disposal.”
Her immediate response was, “Don’t put your hand down the drain.”
I blinked, waiting for her to tell me she was joking. When she genuinely seemed worried I might actually try such a stunt, I sighed.
Really? She thought I was that slow, huh?
“Gee, and that was the next troubleshooting step I was going to try, too.”
She had the grace to flush. “Sorry, I just—”
“No worries,” I told her. “But it might be a bit before we can get back to bookshelf planning.”
With a nod, she began to back away. “Yes, of course. I understand. Completely.”
It didn’t look as if she understood, though. I squinted at her as she retreated until she reached the opening of the kitchen.
“But what about your…” I tried to ask, except she was already gone. “Breakfast?”
“She doesn’t typically eat breakfast,” Mrs. Pan answered me.
I looked up at her, wondering if Isobel would have this morning if I hadn’t just chased her off with my garbage disposal project. She’d yet to eat lunch with the staff since I’d been here. Sure, she’d been avoiding me for the past two weeks, but still…from Kit’s reactions to her, I had a feeling she stayed away until everyone was gone before she scavenged for food.
Maybe her dad had been on to something. Aside from him and her brother, Isobel really did try to avoid people, even the rest of the staff. I don’t think I realized how much progress I’d made with her until that very moment. I suddenly wanted to climb to my feet and race after her, force her back to the kitchen to eat with other people. But Mrs. Pan needed her sink back.
“Can you trade me for a flat-head?” I asked, holding out the Phillips screwdriver I’d been using to unscrew the main component.
We made the switch and I gritted my teeth as I wedged the screwdriver crowbar-like in between the gasket ring and main part of the machine to pry it loose. All the while, I kept thinking about Isobel, and the lost, abandoned look she’d had as she’d drifted from the kitchen. I hadn’t abandoned her, though, and I couldn’t wait to get back to the library to show her that.
Problem was, fixing the stupid garbage disposal ended up taking me the rest of the day. It took me a good two hours to decide the motor was shot beyond repair and there was no fixing it. Then I had to wait to get a ride from Lewis into town and buy a new one at the supply store. Installing it took the rest of the afternoon.
By the time I blew into the library, wiping grease stains off my hands and onto my jeans, Isobel was relaxing on her sofa, reading.
“Sorry it took so long,” I gushed, feeling like an
ass for leaving her hanging. “Are you ready to get back to work on those plans?”
But Isobel merely lowered her book to her stomach and said, “It’s one forty-five.”
I frowned. “Okay?” What did that mean?
She sent me a sad smile. “You leave in fifteen minutes. There’s not really enough time to do anything today.”
Oh, shit. I’d completely forgotten I was leaving at two since I’d gotten here so early.
“We might as well wait until tomorrow to return to the plans.”
This time, I was the dejected one as I nodded and left the library.
But I was back at seven the next morning, eager to go. We ran the path around the lake in the opposite direction than we had the morning before. And then I took another shower in the amazing rock cave pool house. After that, we ate breakfast in the kitchen, and yeah, Isobel ate with me, if you call granola and yogurt a meal. By that time, Mr. Nash had already left for work and Kit and Mrs. Pan were off elsewhere. So were Lewis and Constance. It was just the two of us.
We discussed the Inheritance series over a cup of coffee before putting our dirty dishes in the dishwasher and retreating to the library. This time, we put in about half a day’s worth of planning before Constance showed up, needing help with a potted plant she’d accidentally knocked over. Turned out, it was more like a potted tree and the pot probably weighed three hundred pounds. I tipped it upright for her and she vacuumed away the spilled soil.
The rest of the week progressed in the same vein. We were interrupted constantly by either Lewis, Mrs. Pan or Constance, needing help. It was Saturday before we had a solid set of plans outlined with a calculation of how much wood and supplies we’d need. That was actually a nifty coincidence, though, since Saturday meant Mr. Nash was home.
Clutching my list of supplies in my hand, I made my way to his office and knocked, waiting until he called before I entered.
I didn’t even get to the third item of the list, however, before he nodded and waved a hand, cutting me off. “Good, good. It sounds fine. Go ahead and get whatever you need.”
“Wait, you want me to buy the supplies?” There was no freaking way. Even if he did plan to reimburse me, I couldn’t even afford a tenth of everything we needed.
Henry glanced up from whatever he was writing. “I’ll set up an account at the lumberyard and give them permission to give you unlimited access to whatever supplies you want.”
“Oh!” I said, surprised he would be so generous, but still… “Thank you, but, uh…” I winced, feeling like a failure.
Mr. Nash sighed. “What’s the problem, Mr. Hollander?”
“It’s just…” I flushed hard. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have a truck…you know, to transport the supplies from the store to here.”
“You don’t?”
Jesus, this was humiliating. “No, sir.”
“Oh. Well, right, of course. I guess I just assumed you for a truck man.” Then he chuckled. “I suppose it would be hard to haul a pallet of wood in the trunk of your car.”
“No, I don’t have a car, either,” I offered quietly.
Mr. Nash blinked at me. “You don’t…” This time, I stumped him. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t…I have no automobile at all.”
“At all?” he repeated, clearly not understanding.
“Well, I did. But I sold it to help my mom with…” It didn’t seem necessary to finish that statement. Understanding filled Mr. Nash’s gaze.
“Then how have you been getting to work each day?”
“I walk.”
“Oh,” he murmured, his mouth falling open before he snapped it shut. Then he cleared his throat and glanced away. “Well, then…” He flung out his hand. “I’ll have the supplies delivered. No problem. That’s the list of everything you need, I presume?”
“I…” I looked down at the list in my hand, only to rattle myself back to the topic at hand. “Yes. This is everything.” I handed it over. “Thank you, sir.”
He grunted out his response, briefly scanning over the items on the page before setting it on the desktop beside him. “I’ll take care of it.”
I nodded, thanking him again, and left his office.
On Monday, I arrived to work to find a shiny new black truck sitting in the driveway. I lifted my eyebrows, impressed, before walking past it to meet Isobel on the running trail. I wondered who was visiting that owned such a grand piece of machinery. But when I asked her, she only shrugged.
“No idea.”
I thought it was odd that she didn’t even seem to care whose truck sat in her driveway, but I shrugged it off, too, and stopped pestering her about it.
My question was finally answered when Constance found me an hour after our run, while I was rearranging things in the library, waiting for the lumberyard to deliver our supplies.
She handed me a lumpy envelope. “Before he left this morning, Mr. Nash asked me to give this to you.”
“Okay,” I said, frowning suspiciously as I took it. “Thank you.”
I opened the top flap as the housekeeper left the room, only to find a note and set of keys inside. I frowned at the keys and pulled out the note.
Mr. Hollander,
It turns out lumber ordering is not my forte, but truck buying is. I’d feel much more settled if you used the truck outside to go purchase the bookshelf supplies yourself. It’s a black Ford sitting in the circle drive in front of the house. I believe you won’t miss it. There is a gas card in the glove box so you won’t be responsible for paying for fuel, and I would appreciate it if you’d drive it to and from work from here on out, as well. It wouldn’t be seemly if anyone saw you walking every day and got the impression I didn’t pay my employees enough to even afford transportation. Thank you for your understanding.
Henry
My mouth fell open before I took the keys and gaped at them in disbelief.
“What’re the keys for?” Isobel asked as she entered the library, munching on an apple.
I spun to her, the keys still weighing down my palm with disbelief. “Did you know about this?”
She glanced around, confused, before turning back to me. “Know about what?”
“I…I think your dad just bought me a truck?”
Slowing to a stop, she paused mid-chew to cock her head my way and give me a funny glance. I held up the note.
After reading it, she lifted her face, took in my poleaxed expression and grinned. “Well, why are you still standing there? Let’s go check it out.”
My eyes grew wide, yet I couldn’t move. “But…”
She laughed. It sounded amazing and multiplied my shock by ten, unable to believe I’d made her laugh.
“But nothing,” she encouraged, taking my arm. Yes, God, her fingers wrapped around the inside of my elbow caused sparks to shoot through my entire body. “Let’s go.”
I followed her helplessly. She seemed so happy for me, which made my own anticipation grow. Once we marched past the cupid statue and fish tank floor and indoor fountain in the foyer, she threw open the door and hurried out into the warm, sunny morning.
“Shit,” I breathed, taking in the truck I was meant to use from here on out. Pulling to a stop only a few feet from it, I began to shake my head. “No. I can’t.”
Isobel turned back to me, her eyebrows crinkling with worry. “You can’t what?”
“I…” Furiously waving my hand toward the truck, I stuttered, “This…I…it…I just can’t. I can’t drive this.”
She blinked. “Why not? Don’t you know how to drive?”
“Of course,” I muttered, sending her a short scowl. “I just… It’s so nice. It’s too nice. I don’t belong in a truck this nice.”
When I went to take a step back, Isobel caught my arm. “Shaw,” she warned, arching her eyebrows threateningly. “Don’t you dare wig out. It’s just a truck.”
“Ju…just a truck?” I exploded. Just a truck. Right. And Porter Hall Estate was just a house.
“It’s a brand spanking new Super Duty F-450 Platinum. That’s what it is! It’s like the boss of badass trucks. Do you know how much this thing had to cost? Holy fuck, Isobel. What if I wreck it, or dent it, or get a freaking scratch on it?” I was afraid to even touch it, much less drive it.
In fact, I took a safe step back, worried my breath might stain the paint job.
Isobel blinked at me as if I were completely overreacting. “I’m sure it’s insured.”
I let out an incredulous laugh. “This is insane. You realize how insane this is, right?”
A shrug this time. “It’s a work truck, Hollander. Not yours to keep forever.”
I nodded. Yes, I knew this, but still…I was going to be driving this beast, this beautiful, spectacular road beast. My hands began to shake with nerves, the keys in my palm jangling. Holy shit, I couldn’t believe I was holding the keys for it.
With a roll of her eyes, Isobel reached past me and opened the driver’s side door. I flinched, afraid some kind of alarm would sound, warning me away. When it didn’t, she lifted an eyebrow and shooed me forward. “Well, climb in. See how it fits.”
“Oh, God,” I whimpered, but slowly stepped forward before I gripped the door, planted my foot on the sidebar and hoisted myself inside. “Holy shit. It smells so new.”
“Not too bad,” Isobel agreed, hopping up onto the sidebar step so she could lean in and check things out. Her nearness distracted me. I breathed in roses over the new-truck smell and narrowed my attention on the ends of her hair that brushed my thigh when she leaned past me to examine the dash.
Forgetting all about my driving inhibitions, I found myself asking, “Want to go for a ride?”
Her face zipped up, surprised blue eyes meeting mine. “What?”
My grin widened. “Let’s take it for a spin. I need to go to the lumberyard and buy all the supplies for the bookshelves, anyway. Why don’t you come with me?”
She blinked and pulled back as if I’d just asked her to show me her tits. “Oh, no. No, I don’t think—”
“Come on,” I encouraged, taking her hand as the idea gained energy. Not only did I want her to come with me, but Mr. Nash would probably piss his pants if he found out I’d coaxed Isobel into leaving Porter Hall.