Page 32 of Touch

Andrew, on the other hand, frowns between the matriarch and Love as if expecting them to discern one another. His vigilance doesn’t go unnoticed. The woman’s forehead crinkles like an accordion as she lifts her gaze, then bolts from her chair upon seeing his injured face. “My God. What happened?”

“It’s nothing,” Andrew reassures, waving her off when she approaches. “Griffin and I had a disagreement.”

“Shit-faced, was he? I vaguely heard something about that while passing through town earlier but didn’t stick around to pay attention.”

“Not much else to tell,” he evades, then points toward one of the rooms. “Are the bookshelves still that way?”

The woman expels a relieved laugh. “Unless the gods moved them around overnight.”

Love snorts. She might do something like that, but deities generally have better things to do than… oh. That was a joke.

Andrew spends the next hour fixing and reinstalling old shelves as a favor to the matriarch. Love shadows him, content to watch his knuckles and forearms bend, in addition to his toned ass.

Very well. Mostly his ass.

For a while, they don’t speak. The intermission allows him to get settled, though every so often he glances her way as though she might vanish.

Whenever he does, Love cannot help smiling.Yes, I’m still here.

The corner of his mouth quirks, the angles reminding her of a letter written in cursive. He selects books about taboo subjects and shows them to her. As time passes, he also finds thoughtful passages to share, including confessions, revelations, grand settings, and unwelcome memories.

Passion. Death.

Fellowship. Bloodshed.

Aside from the few shoppers who brave the weather, it’s a slow day for the matriarch. Snatching random books, Love relocates them to other shelves, purely to get Andrew’s attention whenever he pretends to ignore her. Yet again, it’s another contest between them, in which he returns the titles to their original locations.

Next, Love uses her arrow to poke an anthology until it’s wobbling close to the shelf’s edge. From the opposite side, Andrew nudges the book back with his finger. Narrowing his eyes between the crevices, he mutters, “I’m warning you, Little Myth. Tampering with reading material is tantamount to blasphemy in my world.”

“That will only provoke me to commit more devious acts,” she replies while they stroll along the cases and speak through the recesses.

“So I asked this already, but I need more confirmation. Are you fucking with me exclusively? Or am I one of many?”

“Which answer do you prefer?”

A beat of silence. “I’m still deciding.”

Love runs her digits across book spines as she walks. “I’ve never been impartial before.”

“And now?”

“I’m still deciding as well.”

“Hmm.” Amber sconces emboss the steep angles of Andrew’s profile. “Meaning, you have a short attention span or a lot of time on your hands.”

Love spins on her heel and addresses him through the shelf. “You’re a presumptuous creature.”

He stops and faces her through the gap. “Does that mean I’m getting warmer?”

Apart from the routine heat in his gaze, Love would not recognize warmth if it blistered her flesh. She’s about to say as much—the latter, not the former—when the matriarch bustles in and crosses her arms. “Hey now. I thought talking to myself was my thing.”

Nonchalantly, Andrew stalks around the shelf and leans his shoulder against the frame. “Author habit. Private joke with my muse.”

“You’ve been holding out on me if your muse has a personality,” the woman plays along. “Don’t just stand there. Be a good host and introduce us.”

Andrew’s eyes flit toward Love. On instinct, she scuttles to the side, hiding herself behind his shoulder, which is an absurd move considering the woman is merely teasing.

Besides, the chance at more interactions with humans is exhilarating. Plus, it will afford her additional insight into Andrew’s life.

---