Then she’s gone, and I’m lingering with the warmth of unexpected kindness.
I check the time. James is probably waiting. I hurry back to the kitchen and grab the sourdough loaf I made yesterday evening while waiting for Wells to get home. I tuck it into a cloth bag.
The archives are waiting. And so am I.
Chapter Eighteen
CALDWELL
Patience has never been difficult for me. It was ingrained into me even at a young age with the knowledge that I would one day rule.
When you’re stuck or unsure, stepping back can help you find answers or return with a fresh perspective.
Clearly, my patience is now zero. I keep checking my email, wondering when Zorn is going to get back to me. I found the ring I want to give to Mable. I’ve been working on it for weeks. Initially, I knew I needed a ring, but when I searched online to get an idea—since I didn’t know much about rings—all I found were plain ones. None of them reminded me of Mable.
With a little help from an old friend, we’d found four possibilities. Each of the rings has a rich history, but still, they weren’t right. That’s when it hit my dumb ass. I needed a family ring. That meant going to the vault and looking over the collection. Once I picked the perfect one, Zorn took over to get it sized. I want the damn ring already, but I have to wait. It’s killing me. It’s already been long enough. My patience is wearing thin. I need Mable to officially be mine. For her to be wearing my ring so that all others know she’s mine forever.
Once I get it, I only have to wait for the right time. I want it to be perfect for her. She deserves that.
“Caldwell.”
I blink.
Cordelia stands across from me, her finger still on the map, waiting. How long has she been waiting?
“Sorry. What?” I don’t have a clue what we’d been talking about. This might be why I’m not finding a solution to the problem. It doesn’t help that I used to be able to watch Mable on the security cameras at home. With her out and at the library most days, I don’t get to have eyes on her. It helped keep me working. I suppose I could have cameras installed late tonight. After she heads home, which should be about now.
“I asked if you’d reviewed the eastern survey.” Her tone is patient. “The one from 1847. It contradicts the treaty language.”
“Right.” I pull the document toward me, but my eyes drift to my phone. If everyone eats her sourdough before I get home to have a slice, I’ll ban everyone from eating bread. Mable would overrule me. The thought makes me smile; I enjoy when she gets a little pushy and worked up. She’s adorable, and I can’t tell her no. If we have little girls, one day I’ll be a goner. They’ll run circles around me. Have me wrapped around their little fingers just like Mable currently does.
“Caldwell.”
“Yes. I’m here.” I force myself to focus. The survey. The boundary. The endless negotiations.
I can feel Cordelia watching. Has her stare always been so assessing? She’s been very calculating lately, always three steps ahead. That’s what it’s felt like over the last few weeks, or maybe all this shit is getting to my head.
“How is Mable settling in?” she asks casually. “I worry she’s bored. All that time in the archives.”
I look up. “She’s not bored.” In fact, I’m starting to get jealous of dusty boxes; Jenson, who gets to drive her around; the chef, who gets to try all her food; and Mrs. P, who makes her giggle.
“Of course.” Cordelia moves to the window, adjusting the curtain that didn’t need it. “I don’t want you to worry, but she mentioned feeling isolated. The staff can be distant. And the protocols overwhelm her. She told me she feels like she’s performing, never quite getting it right.”
“When did she tell you this?” I watch her.
“Oh, when we’ve had lunch a few times. She’s sweet, Caldwell. Really tries.” A pause. “She worries she’s not enough for you. For all of this.” Cordelia waves her hand around. “And she’s missing her friend.”
I know the last one to be true, but as for the others, this is news to me. I drop my pen, letting it roll across the map.
“Mable doesn’t worry about being enough,” I say defensively.
“Doesn’t she?” Cordelia steps closer, her hand brushing my arm as she reaches for a file. “She’s young, Caldwell. Overwhelmed. I think she’s trying so hard to fit in that she’s losing herself.” She pauses, her eyes holding mine. “I worry that she’s going to leave and then, well—” If she’s implying that I would be broken if she left, she’d be correct.
But Mable wouldn’t be gone for long. I would drag her little ass right back or, if I had to, follow her and stay wherever.
“She’s not going to leave,” I get out through gritted teeth. The thought alone is pissing me the fuck off.
“I just want you to know that I’ll be here if anything happens. And when we’re done with this project, I hope we can still work together. I’ve valued this time with you.” Her hand comes down on my arm now, not brushing it. I already told her to stop with that touching shit.
