Page 15 of Touch My Shelves

He pauses in thought before explaining, “You must realize that Freeya is… different from most children her age.”

My gaze narrows in question. “Different. You mean like she turns into a fairy at midnight?”

He shakes his head with a chuckle. “Well, no. I mean she’s very creative and has an imagination that sometimes gets confused with reality.”

When does she have time to put that imagination to work? “That sounds pretty impressive to me. To believe anything is possible sounds like a wonderful way to live.”

His whole demeanor relaxes. “You know what, Poppy? You’re right.”

I meet his grin with one of my own before I rattle the paper in my hand. “This schedule…”

He sighs and nods like he gets that it’s overwhelming. “Keeping her busy and focused on school keeps her from getting into other things. Things that might get her hurt or worse. She has a habit of giving her nannies the slip and going off on her own to who knows where.”

That explains a lot. I glance at the itemized lists. She’s probably running from her schedule. “I can see why you’re concerned about her safety, but what if we ease up just a bit and try some other things to take advantage of her creativity instead of stifling those urges with a ton of busy work?”

He looks at me with interest. “Do you have something in mind?”

I shrug and toss the paper to the table. “Well, no. but I’ll come up with something.”

* * *

“Look, Poppy, it’s another Scotch Bonnet!” Freeya squeals and bends down to pick the shell up. The first amendment I made to the schedule was daily walks on the beach. It’s criminal to have this incredible ocean as our own personal science lab and not use it. Now we start our day exploring on the beach and collecting, identifying, and categorizing whatever we find. Shells most always make their way into our bucket. Pieces of driftwood, seaweed, sea glass, and even a shark’s tooth is now part of our collection.

Trash gets picked up too and that started a whole new lesson on ecology and how things affect the Earth.

“Yeah!” I exclaim and hold the bucket out for her to drop the treasure in. “How did you identify that as a Scotch Bonnet?”

She washes the shell off in the surf and turns it over in her hand. “It’s a white shell with brown and yellowish squares in rows and they spiral around the seashell. They can be anywhere from an inch to four inches in size. This one is about two inches.”

Something I discovered about Freeya is the kid is smart. Like really smart. I’m going to have my own homework to keep up with her. Thank goodness she has an online tutor for the hard stuff.

“You got it, kiddo. Drop it in the bucket.”

I’ve been working with Freeya for a week now and I am constantly amazed by the way her brain works. She builds worlds in her mind the way most kids her age build Lego houses.

When I was her age, I loved creating stories too. That was when my love for writing started, but I never could have come up with the stories she does. She even makes up her own language and draws maps of her fantasy lands. I googled how to make a relief map and we’re working on a model of one of her worlds.

I want to talk to Brax about developing her work into actual books. We could do it as a school project and even follow it through to publishing. She may not sell a single book, but the learning process would be good for her. Heck, who knows, she could be one of the lucky ones and end up with a publishing contract. At ten!

I’m not sure how Brax will take that. We’re still in the getting-to-know-you phase. He drops Freeya off in the school room at nine and I don’t see him again until five when he takes his daughter with him to do whatever it is they do after work. I have no doubt that he loves her and wants to spend time with her.

I also know he doesn’t want to be around me. That’s why the hasty drop-off and pick-up with minimal pleasantries. They go to their part of the castle and I don’t see or hear from them again until the next morning. He doesn’t invite me to join them for dinner or whatever they do in their family wing.

I wander around the castle on my own to occupy myself. I need to get out and do something to take my mind off the images of what happened between us that night, and the way his gaze burned into mine as we stood before my bed. The way his arms felt wrapped around me and how his skin felt beneath my palms. I’m getting hot just thinking about him. I need to call Kimberly and plan a night out with the girls. Space. I need space to get my head back on straight and stop living for the few crumbs of time he gives me.

Mrs. Ballard and Freeya gave me a tour of the castle my second morning here. There has been a lot of renovating done, but some areas are either still under construction or in their original condition. I was told that when Mr. Sullivan is “in residence,” all construction stops so as not to interfere with his work.

I still don’t know what his work is, but he stays holed up in his office all day long.

The thing that impresses me the most about the castle is the way they renovated. They didn’t come in and tear everything out that was special about the castle and replace it with sleek, modern finishes more suited for a penthouse in Manhattan.

Instead, they kept the stone walls and floors and only updated what had to be original lighting fixtures with electric. Really good quality electric that looks exactly like flickering candles. They didn’t renovate the castle out of the structure. Even though things have been modernized, it still feels medieval. Just without the spider webs and ghoulish things. Well, there are several suits of armor against the walls and shields with crossing swords above a few of the many fireplaces.

The kitchen has a huge fireplace that I bet was original to the building, but the rest of the room has been updated to a chefs dream. A copper hood sits above a six-burner gas range with a pot filler on the wall. There’s a huge white and gray marble-topped island in the middle of the room with bar stools tucked beneath. I can just see serving wenches standing around the island prepping food for the laird’s dinner.

There’s a morning room with a gleaming wood table for meals. Mrs. Ballard said that Mr. Sullivan and Freeya have breakfast there most mornings. I have no way of confirming it as I’ve never been invited to that either. Other than the first day when I joined them in the dining room, my food is delivered to my room or to the school room. I did ask for dinner to be served outside in the garden one evening and that was fun. As fun as a dinner for one could be.

I know what he’s doing. He’s putting a wall up to keep me from finding my way into his life. But I see the looks he gives me when he thinks I’m occupied with Freeya. He remembers that night just as much as I do. I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t dream of it and more. I know I do.

---