I’d like to say Sylvie and Aidan weren’t on my mind for the rest of the week but they were. It had been a long time since anyone had judged me. That I knew of. Not since Indiana.
Jim’s family and friends had accepted me, and even when they were frustrated with my choices, I never felt like they were appraising me. They were simply concerned.
I felt under a microscope with Aidan.
And it pissed me off!
It lit a fire in me that I wasn’t expecting. I couldn’t get his cocky, knowing, judgy little smirk out of my mind.
But with it came more guilt because, as angry as Aidan made me feel, as little as his larger-than-life presence made me feel, there was also attraction there. There had been from the moment I’d met him. Before Jim was gone. The kind of attraction I’d never felt for my own husband.
I hated myself for that.
Sylvie wasn’t a part of those feelings, however. She was something else. For Sylvie I still worried, and even though it would bring Aidan inevitably back into my life, I didn’t want to say goodbye to the kid. I wanted to see her safe and happy and back at school with friends. I wanted to know that she was going to be all right.
That was why then when I walked into the hospital the following week, I was relieved to see Sylvie—but anxious as well because she was accompanied by Aidan. They were standing at the nurses’ station, Sylvie with a book in one hand while gripping Aidan’s hand with the other. Jan was nowhere in sight, which would account for the young nurse who was leaning across the desk, smiling dreamily up at Aidan while he talked.
I guessed it was hard for her not to.
He wore black jeans, black boots, and a plain black crew-neck T-shirt that was loose at his waist but tight on the biceps. Because they were impressive biceps. I swallowed hard as my steps slowed. How could he make something as simple as jeans and a T-shirt seem expensive?
He looked like a bodyguard on casual Friday.
A bodyguard protectively holding the hand of his little girl.
Heterosexual women who met him were screwed.
Or wishing they would be soon.
I rolled my eyes at the thought, shaking myself out of the Aidan-induced stupor.
It had taken me twenty-two years, but I finally had my first real crush. Oh God. Worst someone ever!
Sylvie glanced up from her book and did a double take. “Nora!” she cried happily and let go of Aidan’s hand, hurrying toward me. She grinned, holding up the book. It was Coraline by Neil Gaiman. I’d told her a few weeks ago that I’d read it around her age and loved it.
“Are you enjoying it?”
“Yeah,” she said, like it was obvious. “Will you read it to the kids?”
I loved how she continued to not include herself in the category of “the kids.”
“I thought today we’d actually start with Harry Potter, if that’s cool with you?”
“Ooh, I love Harry Potter.”
“Is there a muggle alive who doesn’t?” My focus was drawn from her face upwards as I felt Aidan approach.
He gave me a nod. “Nora.”
Goosebumps prickled along the back of my neck at the sound of my name on his lips. Feeling ridiculous about the reaction, I tried to prove to myself I could handle this guy. “Aren’t you a little old for storytelling?”
Sylvie giggled while Aidan gave me a droll look. “Attacking my age. How unoriginal of you, Peter Pan.”
“Oh, I wasn’t attacking your age,” I said, walking around him, “I was attacking your maturity level. But hey, who am I to judge? You want to listen to a little Harry Potter, that’s okay with me.”
“I’ll have you know, Harry Potter appeals to a very broad age range.”
Somehow, I doubted he was among them. “That’s true.” I pressed a hand to the common room door, stopping before I entered to look over my shoulder at Aidan. “But I’d be surprised if it appealed to a man like you.”
He stunned me by leaning into me to put his hand above mine on the door. I sucked in a breath at his nearness, his chest so close to my face, I’d only have to move an inch and my lips would meet his T-shirt. His heat and scent overwhelmed me, and my gaze stuttered on its way up to his face.
Smirking smugly down at me, as if he knew how he affected me, he murmured just loud enough for me to hear, “You don’t know what appeals to a man like me, Pixie.” He pushed the door open before I could respond; I stumbled into the common room like a klutz.
I knew my cheeks were an embarrassing shade of pink.
Thankfully, the kids’ warm welcome meant I didn’t have to look at Aidan again. As we settled in, and I opened Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, I was more than aware of Aidan standing at the wall by the door, his arms crossed over his broad chest making his muscular arms bulge. I was betting that was deliberate.
Exasperating, distracting man.
However, I understood he was here for a reason. Sylvie wanted to see me and hear me tell stories, and he wanted to make her happy. But he didn’t trust me. I guess he had no reason to—he didn’t know me. Could I fault him for that? Not at all. And if he was going to continue to be around, I was going to continue to crush the insecurities that arose around him and pretend I didn’t feel like an unsophisticated country bumpkin.
When the reading was over for the day and I’d chatted a little with the kids, Aidan approached me while Sylvie talked with Poppy. I braced myself for whatever would come out of his mouth next.
And I hated the way I had to crane my neck to look up at him. Jim had been tall but this guy was like a goddamn rugby player.
“Are you an actress or a film student?” he asked as I shrugged on my backpack.
Flattered that he would think I was either, I shook my head. “Neither. Just a shop girl.”
“No,” he said, his expression thoughtful and intense, “definitely not just a shop girl. You’re talented.”
Amazed, I didn’t know how to respond.
Aidan continued before I could. “You draw people in, make the story come alive. That’s hard to do merely standing there, reading a book aloud. I’m begrudgingly impressed.”
Begrudgingly?
I scowled up at him but before I could respond, Sylvie interrupted. “Lunch again. Please?”
And as always, it was difficult to say no to her.
Honestly, I didn’t want to. I, of course, wanted to spend time with Sylvie. But as much as Aidan flummoxed me, I also unwillingly gravitated toward him. Which made me want to run in the opposite direction. Confusing, I know!
“Sure, sweetheart. Nora and I are going to step outside for a minute to have a private conversation. You stay here.”
While my heart raced at whatever was about to be said in this “private conversation,” Sylvie frowned up at him. “Why?”
He gave her a stern look. “Well, it wouldn’t be private if I told you, now would it?”
“I like her.” Her words held a surprisingly hard edge. She appeared to sense the undercurrent between me and her uncle in that way that adults liked to pretend kids couldn’t.
“I know.” He cupped her face, giving her a reassuring smile. “We’ll only be a second.”
I tried to give her a reassuring smile of my own as I followed her uncle into the corridor, but that was hard to do when I suspected I was about to be confronted. Adrenaline shot through me, making my hands shake.
Out in the corridor, I followed Aidan to a quiet corner and looked up at him expectantly.
Expression grim, he folded his arms over his chest and announced, “Sylvie is growing too attached to you.”
Confused, I mirrored his body language. “Too attached?”
“It isn’t wise.”
“I’m not sure I understand.” Surely if this was about trust, that would take time. You couldn’t automatically trust someone. You had to give them time to earn it. I knew I needed time to earn his trust regarding Sylvie. How could he not see that?
Aidan looked quickly peeved. “Because she’s already lost too much. I don’t want her attaching herself to something temporary.”
“But I’m not going anywhere,” I argued.
“Right now, you’re not. But you’re only twenty-two. How long is this little volunteer phase of yours going to last?” His green eyes were hard. “I don’t want Sylvie at this hospital. She should never have been dumped here in the first place.”
I realized then that part of his anger was really toward Sylvie’s dad, but that didn’t mean his words didn’t sting.
“Some of these children are seriously ill and she’s befriended them,” he continued, exasperated. “I don’t want her to lose any more than she already has. And, as noble as it is to give your time to these kids, I’d like to know what it is exactly you get out of these visits?”
I wanted to tell him that he didn’t need to know why. But he was the parent of a kid I spent time with, so of course he needed to know why.
“It’s not about me,” I answered, my tone brittle with tension. “If being with me— listening to me telling them a story—gives a child some happiness in a time when they are pretty sorely lacking that emotion, then it’s worth any sadness I might feel when I have to say goodbye to them.” I gestured to my ridiculous costume. “I don’t do this for me. I do it for them.” I turned abruptly and strode back toward the common room before my explanation transformed into anger.
If I wouldn’t allow Seonaid, my goddamn best friend, to question my motives, I certainly wouldn’t stand for being questioned by Mr. Big Shot.
I collected Sylvie, not wanting her to be punished for my argument with her uncle, even if I wanted to run as far away from him as possible. Instead, I sat in the cafeteria with them both, refusing to look at him, and engaging Sylvie in constant conversation.
The whole time, I felt his eyes on me. I hated it.
Because once again, he made me feel small.
And this time it was his fault.