Monster Among the Roses

Weeks passed, the library transformed, and a routine sprouted between Isobel and me. We’d run, I’d take my dream shower—I was becoming increasingly spoiled by those showers—then we’d eat breakfast together after everyone else had eaten and cleared out of the kitchen, and after that, it was off to the library for renovation time. In between the woodworking part, we painted the walls a glossy eggshell color and installed more lights.

I asked Isobel if she wanted me to find some professional painters and electricians to take care of that part, but she’d admitted she liked this do-it-ourselves thing we had going on. It made it more meaningful to her. That had me grinning until she added, “Besides, you’re such an anal-retentive perfectionist, I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

So I read more books and learned about wiring, and it ended up I only electrocuted myself twice before all the new lights were installed.

We were finishing the last bookshelf one Tuesday when Kit skipped merrily into the library, calling my name, except it sounded a lot more like he said Saw because of his missing front teeth. “Mom said to tell you—”

But then he caught sight of Isobel on the other side of the room, adjusting the space between shelves, and he ran out again.

I huffed out a breath and set my hands on my hips. “That kid pisses me off. I hate the way he acts around you.”

“Oh, give him a break,” Isobel chided, not even looking my way as she lowered the shelf another inch. “I’d be afraid of me too if I were him.”

Shaking my head, I stared at her as she worked, amazed she could defend someone who never treated her right. “Has anyone actually ever forced him to get to know you so he can realize you’re perfectly normal?”

She finally glanced my way and lifted a mockingly insulted eyebrow. “Only perfectly normal, huh? How depressing.”

I sighed and then grumbled, “You know what I mean. He shouldn’t be allowed to treat you like that.”

“It’s fine, Shaw. Leave it be.”

“No. Not unless you can look me in the eye and one hundred percent tell me his behavior doesn’t bother you.”

She turned to look me straight in the eye, only to frown. After a sniff, she muttered, “I said it was fine.”

“He’s creepy, if you ask me.”

With a laugh, she shook her head. “Creepy? Because he’s scared of a scary-looking woman?”

“You’re not scary-looking, and yes, creepy. The first day I met him he was drawing a dead animal with blood pouring out of it with sidewalk chalk on the patio outside the kitchen.”

She shrugged. “Sounds like a typical little boy to me.”

I sent her a get-real scowl. “I never drew pictures of bloody things.”

“I have a feeling you weren’t a typical little boy, either.” That was true, but it disgruntled me to think of how accurate it was. “I think I remember a couple gruesome drawings by Ezra a time or two.”

I opened my mouth to keep arguing, because typical or creepy, the fact of the matter was he kept hurting her with his behavior, and I wanted it to stop. But Kit’s mother strolled into the room, all grins, followed by a scowling Lewis. Each carried a tray laden with food.

“Woohoo,” Mrs. Pan called cheerfully. “I sent Kit to tell you lunch was ready, but he said you were both hard at work, so I decided to bring you trays so you both will remember to eat sometime today.”

“And she forced me to be her servant boy,” Lewis muttered, following her to the table where they each set down their trays.

“Thanks, Mrs. Pan.” I abandoned the bookshelf I’d been anchoring to the wall, because the mention of food made my stomach growl. A quick check at the time revealed it was after two in the afternoon.

Damn, Isobel and I really had gotten lost in the project, hadn’t we?

“It was our pleasure.” The cook beamed at me, clasping her hands to her middle before she elbowed Lewis in the side, making him mumble something not so pleasant under his breath. Then she turned to take in the room. “I wanted to get a peek at your progress, anyway, and I must say, wow. You two are doing an amazing job.”

“Thank you.” Isobel neared the food as well, looking about as hungry as I felt. “I think it’s coming along nicely.”

“It doesn’t look like the same room at all. You can’t tell which ones are the old shelves and which are the new.”

Isobel and I shared a glance, pride glazing our eyes. We really had kicked ass on the room. I could point out a dozen mistakes I’d made, but overall, yeah, it looked fairly awesome.

“Didn’t there used to be a door over there?” Lewis asked, pointing toward a wall full of nothing but shelves.

Before we could answer, Mrs. Pan whirled toward him, scowling. “Shh!” she hissed. “It’s rude to ask a question like that.”

The old man only blinked at her before scratching his head. “It is?”

I chuckled. “It’s all right. And yeah, the door’s still there. Check this out.” I hurried toward the bookshelf so I could pull open the hidden doorway and reveal the other room to the cook and groundskeeper.

They were suitably impressed. Lewis even gave a whistle of awe. Then Mrs. Pan praised the rolling shelf ladder we’d installed the day before, right before she smacked Lewis’s hand when he reached for a grape sitting on one of the lunch trays.

“Don’t you dare steal their food, you old fart. You already had your lunch.”

“But you didn’t give me grapes,” Lewis whined.

Huffing, she grabbed hold of his ear and twisted, making him howl as she marched him from the library. “You want grapes, I’ll give you grapes. But you won’t be stealing them from either Miss Nash or Shaw. Do you hear me…”

Their voices became indistinguishable as they moved further down the hall. I stared after them, shaking my head and grinning. “They’re kind of like oil and water, aren’t they?”

Isobel shrugged as she popped her own grape into her mouth and took a seat at the table. “Love is a strange and curious thing.”

She lifted the lid off the tray that sat next to her bowl of grapes. The steaming mashed potatoes and sliced pot roast slathered in brown gravy made my mouth water, so I instantly sat across from her, even though her comment had me blinking out my confusion.

“Love?” I said.

She picked up her fork, only to pause and glance at me as if I was being the confusing one. “What? Isn’t it obvious? They’re totally crazy about each other.”

I pointed toward the opening of the library where Mrs. Pan had just dragged Lewis from the room by the ear. “We’re talking about the same two people, right? The cook and the groundskeeper.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, I know exactly who we’re talking about.” Then she plunked a forkful of mashed potatoes into her mouth.

I was too busy gaping at her to dig into my own food. “But they hate each other. They’re always at each other’s throats.”

Isobel finished chewing, swallowed, then took a long drink of iced tea. As she sat the cup down, she answered, “I don’t know what to tell you; I guess that’s just how their relationship works. But Lewis has had a crush on Mrs. Pan since he came to work here. And she’s been trying for the last five years or so to hide her own feelings in return for him.”

I glanced down at my food and blinked some more. “Really?” All the while, I wondered why I’d never gleaned such things from them myself.

“I wonder if she feels guilty about falling for the next man who filled her late husband’s position here,” Isobel mused, her voice full of sorrow and sympathy. “Mr. Pan was such a warm, wonderful man. It can’t be easy for her to move on and love again. And it must be equally hard for Lewis to stand back and wait until she’s ready. I feel bad for both of them.”

Lifting my face to watch her as she ate heartily, I stared at yet another version of Isobel I’d never seen before. This intuitive, empathetic side was a wonder. But the more she explained Lewis and Mrs. Pan’s plight, the more it really did make sense why they treated each other the way they did.

It made my chest ache for them. If the two were in love, it only seemed right that they should be together. Needing this to happen, and needing it with a fervency that was strong and totally foreign to me, I sat up straighter and announced, “We should set them up.”

Isobel finally stopped eating to blink at me. “What?”

“Let’s…I don’t know.” I sat forward, growing more eager the longer the idea brewed. “Let’s force some contact between them that creates an opportunity for them to, you know…develop into that stage where they can finally be together. Make one of them take the first step.”

I’d meant it to sound like we were only providing an opening for Lewis and Mrs. Pan to do what they already wanted to do, but my explanation kind of reminded me of some of the things Mr. Nash had said about Isobel and me when he’d hired me. I glanced at her, wondering—

But, no. He’d specifically said he didn’t want to buy her friends. So there was no way he’d been trying to buy her a boyfriend.

Was there?

A split second of fury hit me, wondering if that thought had ever even crossed his brain. His daughter was a beautiful, amazing woman. The idea that he might even consider forcing some man to pretend to have feelings for her was not cool.

But, no, that wasn’t what he’d been trying to do, so I calmed my heels and shook my head. When I focused on Isobel, she was gazing at me as if I’d gone insane.

“How do we create an opportunity?”

I shrugged. Romance was not my forte. “I don’t know. How do couples usually hook up?” It’d been too long for me to remember the dating world.

Her eyebrows arched in a silent, You’re asking ME this question? Really?

Which got me wondering how many romantic encounters she’d had. If she’d sequestered herself into this house since the accident, she would’ve only been seventeen when she’d basically abandoned the dating pool. It didn’t seem right. She should’ve gotten the privilege to have men fight for her, woo her, romance her, make her toes curl. She deserved that. She deserved the flattering attention from an interested pursuer, the heady rush of desire, the anticipation and thrill. It wasn’t right that she hadn’t gotten to experience any of that for the last eight years.

“What about leaving a poem for her and saying it’s from him?” she suggested.

I tipped my head, thinking that idea was similar to the books and seeds I’d left on her sofa. She’d never said anything about them, but warmth spread through me. What if that was why she thought “Lewis” leaving something for “Mrs. Pan” was romantic as well? I liked that thought. I liked it a lot. A big grin spread across my face.

“Great. Or he could leave her a flower or something,” I added, brainstorming from her idea.

Isobel nodded. “Yes! Lewis is an outdoorsy guy. That would make more sense.”

My eyes grew wide, and I snapped my fingers before pointing at her. “One of your roses. That would be perfect.”

She pressed a hand to her heart. “My roses?” From the look on her face, one would’ve thought I’d just suggested she rip a kidney from her back and donate that to the cause instead.

“Don’t you think it’d be worth it?” I pressed, curious just how attached to her flowers she really was. “Mrs. Pan would love it. And your roses…your roses are amazing, Isobel. That kind of beauty is meant to be shared.”

Her brow crinkled, telling me my argument had gone a little overdramatic, but then her shoulders fell. “Okay, fine. We can use a couple of my roses.”