how I’d describe it. That makes me worry for him even more, like maybe he’s going through shock. A million dollars is a huge amount of money. Is it gone? Bile rises in my throat. It can’t be gone.
“I’ll buy the library from you,” I say, impulsive.
Before I can realize that Christopher would never accept that, any more than he would dip into my trust fund all these years. That would be unethical. For a man I don’t trust, he’s remarkably trustworthy.
“No,” he says, his voice hard. “Thank you, but no.”
Then he turns and walks away, leaving the two of us in the rubble.
There’s a sense of loss so wide and so deep, my legs feel weak. My eyes close. Sutton is there to catch me this time, his embrace warm and understanding. I’m not the only one who lost someone. “You were friends,” I say, looking back at him. Sutton’s eyes are shadowed to a dark sapphire, his brow furrowed.
“We were.” There’s finality there. “He’s the past. You’re the future.”
And I know he isn’t only talking about his friendship with Christopher. He’s talking about my relationship with Christopher, which has always been too complicated to define. Maybe it doesn’t need to bother me anymore, the amorphous shape of us. It’s over now.
I turn around in Sutton’s strong arms, tilting my head up. “You’re my future.”
He pulls me flush against him, and I feel him harden. His lids lower. Electricity runs from the center of his body to mine, making me ache and flush everywhere. “Christ, I want to take you back to that counter and finish what we started.”
My cheeks turn warm. “There are still people outside. And no doors.”
A low growl vibrates over my skin as he nuzzles my neck. “And strictly speaking I don’t own the library anymore, the company does, and I don’t work for it. We’re trespassing right now.”
Something spears my stomach. We don’t have a right to know what happens to this old library anymore. We gave that up, along with Christopher. Ironic, because he’s the one who wanted to destroy it. There’s nothing here but history and potential.
There’s nothing here for us right now.
In the days that follow I’m alternately called a vandal and a grass roots activist by the local media. The Tanglewood Historical Society invites me to speak at their meeting, which I find ironic enough that I decide to go. Besides, Sutton lives here. We’ve gone out every night the past week—to Thai restaurants and burlesque clubs. There’s no part of the city we don’t want to explore, so I might as well put down some roots.
My speech is short and sweet and encourages change through art. There’s a small reception afterward with tea and bourbon croissants, which makes me think I might come back to another meeting. If nothing else I’d like to show them we aren’t all fist-fights at theatres.
Mrs. Rosemont doesn’t seem to hold it against me. She greets me warmly and thanks me for my work in helping save the library. “We thought it was hopeless, near the end.”
“I’m glad you had the idea for the injunction,” I tell her, sipping the English breakfast tea. It soothes my throat, which feels a little worse for the wear after my speech.
She pauses, looking uncertain. “It wasn’t my idea, dear.”
“Oh.” Sutton must have been modest when he said she filed the paperwork. “Someone suggested that you file the injunction?”
That makes her laugh. “Suggested? No, he wrote it himself. Had the society’s name on the paperwork. All we had to do was bring it to the courthouse.”
“Sutton can be efficient when he wants to be.”
There’s a long pause, where Mrs. Rosemont studies her cup of tea as if it holds the secrets of the universe. “I’m not sure I should tell you this.”
Unease moves through me. “Tell me what?”
Her gray eyes are soft. “It wasn’t Sutton who wrote that injunction and gave it to me.”
“Then who?” Except I already know. There’s only one person who would figure out the exact method of stopping construction. Only one person who didn’t seem at all surprised that it happened. “Christopher.”
She nods. “Mr. Bardot called me that night. We had to wake up a judge, which was something I helped with. There were other things we needed—the testimony of the partner, for one thing. Sutton Mayfair was called in for that.”
My hands feel cold. And then numb. “I don’t understand.”
“I asked him why,” she says, her voice thoughtful. “He didn’t explain himself. I