Page 183 of That Rush

“I told Josie where I was.”

“You told the six-year-old who is now giving me a full lecture on horse-girl chapter books.”

“She’s thorough.”

Paige walks farther inside with her paperback tucked beneath one arm. Her gaze moves over the mounted shelves, the lumber stacked along the opposite wall, then the measurements and notes scrawled across the open page of my planner.

She picks it up as I reach to close it.

Her eyes pause on the riding lessons, the holiday reminders, and the list headed PAIGE’S THINGS.

When she looks around again, her shoulders are tighter. The easy set of her mouth is gone.

“Why does this room suddenly look like a permanent library?”

“Because you said the room deserved books.”

Paige lowers my planner. “I said it deserved books. I didn’t realize that was a formal request for construction.”

“The building needed repairs anyway.”

“And the shelves?”

“You have books.”

“At my cabin.”

“You bring one every time you come here.”

Her gaze returns to the list. “Along with all of my other things, apparently.”

I glance at the heading she found. “That’s a bad label.”

“It’s an accurate label.”

“I meant you could leave things here instead of carrying them back and forth. Your other boots. That blue sweater. A toothbrush. Your books.”

“Enough books for a library.”

“I estimated conservatively.”

Her mouth almost curves, but she closes the planner and sets it on the table. “Did you schedule me riding lessons?”

“I asked her to keep a horse available.”

“That isn’t quite the same thing.”

“No.”

“Did it occur to you to ask me first?”

“It occurred to me that you enjoyed riding.”

“I did.”

“And you like this room.”

“I do.”