I clear my throat. “My Aunt Bea would have loved this. She’d probably have put it in one of her books.”
“She was a writer?”
“She wrote cozy mysteries. You know where the local innkeeper or baker becomes an unlikely detective. All her stories featured people others have underestimated. A lot of them were inspired by people she met or places she went.” I press my hand to my chest to quell grief’s sharp pang slicing into my heart.
“You think this would have inspired her?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you have a favorite of her books?”
I swallow the hard lump in my throat. “It’s totally vain, but she wrote a Young Adult series about a blind teenager who solves school-related mysteries. They even made a TV show out of it called– “
“The Unseeing Private Eye,” he interrupts.
“You know it?”
“Yeah.” His fingers absently trace along the hem of my tank top. “So, Nickel Fields was inspired by Pen Meadows.” The chuckle in his tone is distinct and rich.
“She wasalwaysterrible with character names.” I wipe my hand across my face, covering the laughter curving my mouth. “I’m surprised you know the books. You weren’t exactly the show’s target demographic.”
“What’s that mean?”
I make a nonsensical gesture with my hands. “I mean, you had to be an adult man when the show first aired. I was eighteen when the first season came out, so you were?—”
“How old do you think I am?” he scoffs.
“Seventy-two,” I say, fighting back a wry smile.
“Excuse me?”
“Okay, Seventy-nine.” I bat my eyes.
“Thirty-two, smartass.”
“I’m twenty-six.” I adjust the brim of Rowan’s hat on my head. “So, guess you’re notthatmuch older.”
“Not that much older,” he murmurs.
His hands move from my waist to my arms. My skin sings with the caress of his callused fingers.
“I was living in Calgary. Didn’t really have much of a life outside of…work. I’d watched the show but also read the books. With an English professor mam, I’m a read the book first kind of guy. I always liked how brave Nickel was.”
I hold my breath for a moment.
“The world saw her one way, but she never allowed their definitions of who they thought she was control her. So many of us aren’t that strong.”
I let that breath out. “I like that you saw that. Most people just focus on Nickel’s blindness.”
“It’s part of who she was, but not all she was.” His fingers tap against my upper arms. “Though, I assume that was the point of your aunt’s books and the show. Anyone who only saw that are more blind than Nickel or…” he trails off, a quick intake of breath punctuating the silence between us.
“Me.” I lean into him, his muscles contract with my touch. “You’re right. It was the point of those books. All of her books, really. Aunt Bea wanted the world to look past what they see on the surface, beyond preconceived notions of what we think people are, to who they really are.”
“When did she die?”
Sucking in a deep breath, I close my eyes. “How did you know?”
“You use the past tense when talking about her.”
