Page 54 of The Nook for Brooks
“Gilt,” I murmured. “It’s a thing.”
Milton reached slowly for it, then hesitated. “Can I… ?”
“You may. Are your hands clean?”
He held them up. They practically sparkled.
“Excellent.”
He opened to the middle and froze at an intricate illustration of a dragon arched over a river gorge, solemn rather than savage. The facing page traced it through Welsh and Balkan folklore, the footnotes gloriously pedantic.
“This is…” Milton swallowed. “This is the best thing I’ve ever seen.”
“It’s a reference work,” I said, neutral.
“It looks kinda pricey,” Cody said. “How much?”
“Enough,” I replied.
Milton lifted his backpack higher. “I can… save up. I’ve started helping Clancy and River out at the ice cream parlor. It’s only a couple of hours a week, but I can put away all my earnings till I’ve got enough.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell him he’d be in his fifties by the time he could afford it, so instead I said… “Or you can take it now.”
Both of them stared at me.
“Consider it a gift,” I nodded. “On one condition.”
“I’ll look after it,” Milton blurted. “I swear I will.”
“Two conditions,” I corrected. “Read it. Then tell me which dragon is the most frightening… and how does one defeat him.”
He nodded so hard his glasses slipped. “Yes, Mr. Beresford.”
“You’ll need a slipcase.” I fetched one from the back, slipped the book inside, and handed it over.
“Thank you,” he said, before adding in a voice so humble it was barely audible—“You’re my hero.”
He hugged the book and left with his shoulders an inch higher than when he’d come in.
I stood still and cleared my throat.
Cody leaned on the counter, smiling faintly. “Oh my god. I think you might be my hero too. That was really something.”
I inhaled. “A book like that needs a good home. And Milton needs a book like that. They belong together. I simply did the right thing.”
“Not just the right thing… you did agoodthing.”
I felt my cheeks flush and began fussing with the till. “You should go. You’ve got a picnic to plan.”
“Indeed I do. I hope you like bread sticks and camembert cheese. And stuffed olives. And sliced pears. And grapes. Oh, and those juicy little gherkins, whatever they’re called.”
“Cornichons,” I told him. “Just remember the bug spray.”
“You betcha!” He started toward the door then paused. “Brooks?”
“What?”
“That was beautiful, what you just did. Being a hero suits you.”
