Page 45 of The Lies We Tell
But I think there’s a reason people become led by fear as adults, and it’s usually because they didn’t process the trauma from childhood. Processing things after a stressful situation is a lot different to remaining stuck for the rest of your adult life. Trust me, Briar. You’re safe with me.
He wants me to trust him, but I wonder how much he’s keeping from me.
I tug on some leggings and a T-shirt. I got a request from a design firm I occasionally work with to design a library card and new branding for the library’s website. It’s exciting. I’ve loved libraries since I was a little girl. And I really like Janice, who I’ll be working with. The rate is good. And it’s time for me to begin filling my work calendar again.
I get out my tablet and begin to sketch out concepts. It has to include books, obviously. But maybe the spines are the name of the library. Fun colors for sure. I pause occasionally for research. The New York Public Library has a simple black-and-white outline of a lion. The British Library is a simple red background with the wordsBritish Library. Their websites are focused on the content. I want to focus on the joy.
Libraries are a whole new world. The smell of books. Where I grew up in Gary, Indiana, felt small, but books made the world feel huge.
And maybe that’s it. Maybe it’s not about the books but the places they’ll take you. Brightly colored birds. Oceans and deserts. Landmarks.
I make notes of the ideas as they come. They’re all worth consideration.
I’m adding comments about diversity and representation in the community when the front door opens. Saint walks in with a tray of coffee cups and a paper bag.
“You’re up,” he says, pressing a kiss on the top of my head before placing the things he carries down on the table.
“Trying to get some work done. You’ve been busy.”
I open the bag, and inside are fat pastries. Pain au chocolat with two thick rows of chocolate inside. Croissants, still warm. My stomach rumbles.
“Here,” he says, placing a plate in front of me. “Thought you’d be hungry.” He hands me a large cup that smells nutty and delicious.
The first sip is heaven. “So good,” I mumble against the lid.
Saint sits opposite me and rips the paper bag open. “You okay? After last night?” he asks.
“Do we have to talk about this?”
He takes a big bite of croissant. “Thought we agreed we’d talk this shit through. Breakfast feels like a safer place than in bed with my dick inside you.”
I blush at his directness. “Fine. Yes. I’m good. Still a little embarrassed. But good.”
Saint grins. “See. Not that hard, was it?”
“You know, last night, you said, ‘You’re safe with me.’ But I don’t even really know how dangerous your life is.”
I bet Saint would make an exceptional poker player. Nothing super noticeable about him changes. Not in his posture or the creases in his eyes. Yet I can feel something change, even as he leans back in his chair and drinks some of his coffee.
“I mean. You’ve told me it’s not safe. But how not safe is it?”
“You’re safe with me.”
I raise an eyebrow. “What did you say earlier? ‘Thought we’d agreed to talk this shit through.’ I think this is a prime example of you not keeping your side of thetalk about your shitbargain.”
The corners of Saint’s lips twitch as if he’s going to smile. “Fine. But there are lines. Things I’m never going to be able to tell you.”
I decide to help him out a little. “Am I in more danger here than back in New York?”
“Definitely not. Let me think on how much I can say. I swear it’ll be the most detail I can give you.”
It’s surprisingly honest and good enough for now.
When we’re finished eating, he stands and throws the garbage away. “I got something for you.” He offers me his hand, and when I take it, he leads me to the front of the house. “I figured you might want to make a start on the rest,” he says.
In the back of the truck is an array of new tools and plants. There are a lot of shrubs and small trees, given it’s October. One I recognize as a crab apple. There are three rose bushes, long since bloomed, but the hips are still present.
“I know it’s probably the wrong time to plant them or something. But I figured it might make for a nicer view out the kitchen window. And my sister assures me the plants won’t mind if we give them plenty of fertilizer and water.”
