Page 19 of Fence

“They’re not antiquated. I think it’s nice. I just think you overreacted, is all.”

“Point taken. I’ll refrain from overreacting from now on.”

I couldn’t help the little thrill that ran through me when he said that. From now on. Like there was a future for us. There wasn’t, obviously, but it felt nice to hear it. I wondered if I wasn’t too severely hard-up. That had to be the problem. Too busy with school to think about men.

You need to make room in your life for the laddies, my grandmother used to say as she brushed my hair. Not that I needed her to do it, but it was one of our little rituals. When I was too old to get tucked in with a bedtime story, I’d sit in front of the fire with her and watch as she knitted everything from the thickest sweaters to the most delicate lace. And when it was time for bed, she would brush out my curls. Make room in your life for the laddies, because all the fancy pieces of paper from all the universities in the world won’t make up for the lack of happiness in your heart.

And I’d spun around, shocked and almost angry. I thought you were proud of me for going to Columbia!

She had only smiled her gentle, knowing smile and patted my hand. I am, my dearest, but I would leave this world a lot easier if I knew you would be happy when I was gone.

I hadn’t known that she wasn’t only speaking hyperbolically. That she had already received her diagnosis.

Fence was polite enough to take the suitcase from me and carry it up the wide, marble stairs leading to the library’s main floor.

I felt like he was carrying my baby in his hands. Years of work. Sleepless nights. Feeling like I was about to go cross-eyed if I read one more like of eight-point font. I took it back from him the second we were at the top of the stairs—I tried to give him a grateful smile, so he wouldn’t think I was being rude.

“Where should we do this?” I asked.

He’d made a point of impressing the need for privacy.

“You’re more familiar with this place than I am.” He looked around us with an appraising eye, and I wondered if the architecture impressed him as much as it did me. We both looked up at the line of iron chandeliers stretching out for what seemed like miles, hanging above a long row of tables over which huddled dozens of young and old academics.

“Follow me.” I led the way to my favorite nook.

I was fairly sure nobody ever used it—smack dab in the middle of some of the dustiest books imaginable, which was a good sign of how rarely visitors did more than pass by. I settled into a leather chair and lowered the suitcase to the floor before unzipping it.

“You come here often?” Fence sat beside me and watched as I spread folios and thick, heavy books out onto the table.

“All the time,” I admitted. “My kitchen table isn’t big enough to fit all of this, and I hate working all spread out on the floor—besides, there’s hardly room there, anyway.”

“Small apartment?”

“More like a closet,” I clarified with a wry smile. “But I like the coziness. It reminds me of home. I don’t know if I’d feel comfortable anywhere larger.”

“Where did you find all this information?” He leaned over, brushing against me slightly as he did, and I caught the hint of a nameless scent coming off his skin.

I could only think of it as “masculine,” just like everything else about him. He was the sort of man who collected attention when he walked into a room, without so much as saying a word or lifting a finger. He was just… a man. Overwhelmingly so.

To the point where I almost forgot he’d asked a question. “Oh. Uh. All around. Everywhere. It’s taken me a very long time to compile this.”

I felt my brain cells dying with every word I spoke. I’d start drooling soon. I might even forget my name. Why did he have to be so darned… himself?

“I give you credit for your dedication,” he muttered. He glanced at me, an eyebrow cocked, his hands hovering over one of the books. Asking permission.

I warmed all over and nodded. It happened to be the same book I’d been carrying in my backpack when we met.

“You never told me what your connection is to all of this,” I ventured, watching his reaction to what he was reading.

“Hmm? Oh, yes. It’s a long story.” He never took his eyes from the page, and his voice sounded far away.

When would I get the answers I was looking for? Not that I was interrogating him. I wouldn’t have even cared that much if he would’ve only been forthcoming. The way he kept dodging my questions made it worse. There was a growing sense of uncertainty in the pit of my stomach. Who was he? Should I even be spending time with him?

When we were as close as we were now, there was no question. I needed to be with him for as long as I could, even though I had no idea why. He fascinated me, like he had dropped out of the clear, blue sky. Old-fashioned enough to take offense when another man winked at me.

“Sgiathail,” he murmured. “That’s the name of the clan? The original one, I mean?”

I looked over his shoulder, where his finger lingered under the Scots Gaelic word for “winged.”

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