Page 41 of Monster Among the Roses (Fairy Tale Quartet 1)

Sending her a grin, I merely said, “But I want to see one of the bookshelves up today, too.”

Before she could argue the point further, I slid my safety glasses on, turned up the sander and drowned out her protests with noise.

We’d been working on the bookshelf project for about a week now. And throughout all the planning, brainstorming and calculating, we talked. We talked a lot. We talked about books, movies, and our favorite television shows. We talked about my family, my mom’s situation, her lost bakery business, and my absent siblings. She wasn’t as open about her family. She mentioned things about her dad and brother, but usually avoided conversation about her mom entirely, as well as the fire that had changed her life.

Occasionally, I asked her about her future, what she wanted to do with her life and if she ever planned to move out of Porter Hall on her own. But her eyes would glaze over with this faraway expression, and she would never go into any of that. So I’d change the subject.

But mainly, smiles and conversation flowed smoothly between us, just as it did for the rest of the afternoon.

At one point, Mr. Nash strolled into the room, saying, “Izzy, did you receive the note I left, letting you know I’d be late on Friday because I had a business dinner?” He was shuffling through a pile of mail in his hand, not paying attention to any of the progress we’d made.

“I saw it,” she answered, her voice strained, because she was busy holding two boards in place for me so I could screw them together.

Henry finally lifted his face and blinked. He gazed about the construction zone we had going on before returning his attention to us. “Shaw,” he said with some surprise. “I must not have been paying attention when I pulled into the drive. I didn’t realize you were still here. It’s two hours after your regular time to leave.”

“We wanted to get at least one shelf installed tonight.” I glanced at Isobel. “Ready?”

She nodded, her knuckles going white as she held everything in place while I drilled a screw through wood.

Henry moved curiously closer. “It’s really coming along,” he murmured with a note of surprise. “Looks professionally done, too.”

“That’s because Shaw is a perfectionist,” Isobel announced, sending me a glance with a bit of censure but also pride in her teasing gaze. “He usually redoes a single piece five times before he’s satisfied with it.”

“I’m not that bad,” I immediately argued, only to flush when she sent me an arch stare. “Okay, I might be that bad.”

“You’re totally that bad.” She laughed before turning to her dad. “We’ve made it to this point three times already, only for him to insist we start all over again.”

Shifting uncomfortably because I was sure Mr. Nash would get upset over how much lumber and supplies I’d wasted by doing that, I glanced up at my boss, only to see him gazing strangely between the two of us.

“Well,” he murmured quietly, “it seems like whatever he’s doing is paying off, so I say he should keep up the good work.”

The meaning in his gaze was clear. Henry wasn’t talking about bookshelves.

I glanced at Isobel and cleared my throat, worried she’d catch on to the silent message her father was trying to convey. After the past few days, I’d actually forgotten what my main purpose here was. I’d been too eager to see Isobel, spend the day with her, and work on our project together. Being reminded why I’d originally been brought to Porter Hall soured the beauty of the moment.

“It looks as if you’ve turned into quite the assistant, sweetheart.”

Isobel sent her dad a pleased but tired smile. “He probably needs about five assistants, but we’re getting it done. Slowly.”

Taking that as a cue that he was excused now, Henry shifted a step back. “I guess I’d better let you two get back to it, then.”

I snorted as I pulled a screw I’d been holding between my teeth and plugged it into the end of the drill. “What a friendly snub to your own father that was.”

Isobel flushed guiltily before sending me a scowl. “I couldn’t help it. I wanted to get this done tonight, and he was slowing us down.”

With a laugh, I shook my head and drilled the next screw into place before she could accuse me of slowing us down.

An hour later, we had the first shelf pieced together and standing upright. The next step was anchoring it to the wall.

“The stud wall should be right here,” Isobel murmured, marking an X on the wall with a pencil as her stud sensor beeped.

“You sure?” I asked, approaching with a tape measure.

She swept out her hand, inviting me to find out for myself. “Well, why don’t you drill a hole and see if it hits a stud?”

The idea had me startling to a stop, but Isobel continued. “Can’t hurt anything since all this space is going to be covered by bookshelves, anyway.”

I shrugged. Good point. “Okay.” I put the tape measure away and retrieved the drill. But as I pressed the bit to the wall directly over the small pencil mark, I froze.

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