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She’s a sweet, innocent little librarian who likes to bake cupcakes and me?
Well, I’m all wrong for her.
I’m broken.
I’m damaged.
I’m…
Well, I’m a villain, I guess.
But the least I can do is make sure she has a hot dinner to come home to, so I move into the kitchen and start cooking. She’s got a fully stocked pantry, which impresses me more than it should. I haven’t peeked around her stuff too much. In fact, I didn’t eat all day. Despite the fact that Echo has done nothing but eat, I somehow haven’t had much of an appetite.
I guess I’ve been too worked up trying to figure out how I’m going to save us from the past.
Sammy didn’t deserve to die.
He didn’t deserve to be slaughtered in cold blood, and I hate that I didn’t get there in time to rescue him.
We were supposed to meet, just the two of us. It wasn’t something strange or unusual. Sammy and I loved hanging out together and sharing our thoughts and feelings. We often got together just to rant or just to mull things over.
That was important when you lived in a small town. Growing up was hard enough. Being along made it a million times worse. Sammy and I were two very different people from two very different walks of life, but we managed to make things work. I was a freshman in college when it happened and he was a senior. He never even got to graduate.
We’d been friends all throughout highschool and when I started at the community college, that didn’t change. It couldn’t. We still needed each other. We still needed that camaraderie.
Besides, moving to a different school didn’t terminate a friendship.
At least, it didn’t have to.
Not in our minds.
Pushing the thoughts away, I turn on some music and start cooking. Before long, I hear Finley’s car in the driveway and then the front door opens. I hear her pause in the doorway before she closes the do
or and locks it behind her. Then she comes into the kitchen.
“Hey,” she says, leaning against the doorway.
“Hey,” I look over from my place by the stove. She’s looking cute as hell in her pencil skirt and white blouse. She really does look like a damn lovely librarian. “How was work?”
“Long,” she tells me, and slumps down into her kitchen chair. She starts taking off her shoes as she looks up at me. “And busy. How was your day? Any leads?”
“First things first,” I say. I set the spoon down that I’m using to stir the food with, and I come over to her. Dropping down in front of her, I help her take off her shoes. Then I set them to the side.
“What are you doing?” She whispers.
“Only what you deserve,” I answer, and I start rubbing her feet. “It was a long day, and I’m guessing that you were walking around for most of it.”
“You have no idea,” she groans. Then she closes her eyes. “And that feels so damn good.”
“Good,” I laugh. “You deserve it.”
She does, too. She deserve all of this and more. I wish I had more to give her, to shower her with. As it stands, I have nothing but my hope and my hands, and I’m willing to give her both.
“So tell me about your day.”
“You first,” she says, looking down at me. “What did you find out?”
“Nothing,” I shake my head. I’m a little embarrassed, honestly. I feel like I should have been wildly successful.
