Page 14 of Flog Me, Sir

Chapter Five

Lissa

“Did Garret find his wallet?” Mrs. Hummel’s question drew me from my musings about that very man.

I turned to find her watching me from the doorway of the library I dusted with more vigor than necessary. “He did.”

She nodded, but waited as though I had more to share.

Tired of talking, I went back to my work, swiping at imaginary dust on a coffee table’s polished top. Her stare remained on me—I could feel her questioning gaze.

“Why?” I finally asked, turning once more, my brow furrowed. “We come from different worlds, Mrs. Hummel. What could possibly come from your blatant attempts to throw us at one another?”

Her face softened, a small smile tugging at my heart. “He’s been through the ringer, too, child. I’m thinking there’s enough shared heartache between the two of you that you just might find some healin’ in each other’s arms. He’s an honest man and would be good for you—if’n you let him.”

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken.”

“When it comes to issues of the heart, child, I ain’t often mistaken.” Pain filled her dark eyes, but she left without another word, not giving me time to question her further.

I stewed over her reasoning while losing myself in my day’s to-do list.

Garret had offered to set me free, hell, he’d gone into detail about how, but giving into that sort of lust would only lead to eventual heartache. The explosive chemistry between us couldn’t possibly last.

Besides, I worked as a housemaid in his peer’s home. While social statuses didn’t exist to an extreme like they had in Victorian England, I knew I was beneath Garret Edwards in every way. We might share childhood pain from what Mrs. Hummel thought, but we sat on a different level as adults.

I marked off the library from my list and moved onto the next.

An hour later, off the clock a bit early due to focusing on my tasks like a nutjob and freshly showered, I headed into the woods beyond the old stone church with its alluring red door. Once sure Garret had left, I’d returned to finish cleaning, scouring every damn inch of its interior, all sorts of longings messing with my head.

I wanted him. I didn’t want him.

He turned me on. The idea of him scared the shit out of me.

Backpack slung over my shoulder like always when escaping into the quiet, people-less meadow beyond the church deep in the woods, I inhaled the warm summer air deeply into my lungs, trying to still my mind. Fall still lay a few weeks off, but it seemed the heat of summer, at least, had abated.

Once seated in the natural chair of a crooked tree’s trunk, I pulled out my notebook, the latest scene involving my hero and heroine screaming to be scribbled in black ink, so I gave over to the voices in my head rather than the emotions in my heart. My hand flew, the words I’d mapped out in my head the night before working onto page after page, my chicken scratch near illegible.

A couple of squirrels chatted to one another overhead while I wrote, and they eventually chased one another, their tiny claws scraping at bark while scampering up the tree beside me. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, dappling over my notebook as a gentle breeze blew a strand of my air-dried hair across my cheek.

Birds tweeted. Bees buzzed.

A sigh worked its way past my nose without intent, and I sucked in the stillness, the release nature and my stories offered. Better than people. Better than conversation, stilted, or even those I enjoyed. I loved the silence, being alone with the characters in my head. They argued and vied for attention enough I didn’t feel the need for real company. Thoughts of Garret stilled completely as I lost myself in the world I’d created with ink and paper.

My neck prickled.

I didn’t even bother to turn although my heartbeat quickened. Still scribbling the scene I needed to finish, I ignored the goosebumps breaking over my body, the pulse in my ears with every hurried thump of my heart.

He’d found me—or Mrs. Hummel told him where I hid every day once finished with work.

The final word lay on paper, and I jotted a pound sign to signify the scene’s end.

Finished, for now.

I lifted my head and glanced over my shoulder. Garret stood a few dozen feet away, leaning against a tree as casually as he’d been in the church’s bathroom.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Writing.” Hands suddenly shaking, I turned away to pack up my backpack, the sounds of his soft footfalls on last year’s fallen leaves drawing closer.

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