Yours, For Good (Cozy Latine Billionaires #4)

17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Nora

The bed and breakfast was quieter than I thought it would be, with its old creaking wood and rooms full of guests. I had been alone up in the attic until that night, when Javier was supposed to arrive. He had texted me earlier in the day to say he'd be in late, and that we could catch up the next morning. Still, the anticipation didn't let me sleep, and little noises from the hallway announced his arrival.

According to my conversations with Mrs. Semple, the renovated rooms in the attic, where servants of centuries past had slept, worked well for overflow guests; people like Javier and I. A simple dresser, a bed tucked to the wall, a tiny desk by the window, and floral wallpaper gave it a sense of old and new at the same time. With its view of the ocean in the distance, the only other place that made me feel this comfortable was Mr. Beanpole's San Francisco condo.

I sat in my bed, my lights off, and paid attention to the faint conversation I could hear happening outside.

"... library… guests… much?"

"... be quiet…"

I smiled. It was too little to make sense of anything, but I would wager he wanted a book.

My eyes landed on the small stack on my bedside table. I had raided the library early in my stay, and picked a variety of books to sate my curiosity— two old leather-bound novels, a comic book, a sci-fi story, a high fantasy epic… and a children's book about a young archeologist. The mood reader in me had been ecstatic to have a large collection to fit my desires.

I grabbed the book on top, the one Javier had owned as a child. All details on the cover were grayed out in the faint light of the room, mostly borne of the moon and the curtains I had left open. I traced the illustrated child on the dust jacket, and followed the line of his hat and dancing whip. Clearly aimed at fans of a movie franchise, I tried to imagine Javier as a little boy who dreamed of adventures and gold idols, and grinned.

Maybe Javier wanted the book I had in my hands, for memory's sake.

I threw my covers aside and found a sweater to throw over my pajama tank top. With the book in my hand, I took a couple seconds to listen carefully for any signs of movement outside— I couldn't hear a thing. I opened my door quietly; the hallway remained dark. Out of my room, I inspected the door edges of the other room in the attic. Dark. Javier wasn't in his bedroom.

My socked feet padded silently on the polished wood under me. Mrs. Semple explained earlier in the week that she left a few strategically placed lights on all night, so her guests could always find their way at night. Poetic, if you asked me. She didn't know I was an expert at finding my own way in darkened passageways.

The house sat on what remained of an old plot of land the Pendletons had owned, back when Connecticut was farmland and rich families had country residences. Having sold most of it, the area formed a picturesque small town. Many properties now surrounded the old home, big and distinguished among newer construction.

Even though it was a couple of centuries old, the glamor of ancient days still showed everywhere. Portraits on the walls, antique pieces in nooks or on shelves, and carved details on dark wood decorated every floor. Most windows showcased stained glass ribbons and, in the evening, sunlight cast rainbows on the white walls. Carpets molded to the stairs with brass bars, and the smell of flowers in their vases and polish on the banister somehow melded to a placid classic scent.

With the news of its previous owner's visit, everything had been cleaned and polished within an angstrom of reflecting light like a mirror.

I went down the stairs avoiding the steps I had learned made the most noise and, just in case, made for the library. It was the right move. Javier stood alone by the bookshelves, running a finger down spines printed in gold lettering.

The door squeaked as I closed it behind me, not to disrupt sleeping guests. Javier's face whipped up in my direction at the noice.

Butterflies took flight behind my breastbone— clearly, the result of my excitement, that I had a friend to spend time with for the end of year celebration. It was a first for me, and I had built it up a lot in my head. It had nothing to do with the quiet intensity in his eyes.

It was enthusiasm that lit up my smile.

"Hey." I pursed my lips, but I didn't think it did much to hide my grin. I showed him the book in my hands. "I wondered if you might be looking for this."

I strolled to him and gave him the book. A small smile tilted his mouth as he studied it in his hands.

The blue of his gaze met my eyes. "I hope I didn't wake you up?"

He wore a dark blue sweater over a light blue shirt, giving him a casually rich look. I wasn't used to so much splendor, but I would guess the elegance had to do with the quality of the fabrics. If I got to touch him— his clothes— one day, I could make sure.

The garments highlighted the shade of blue in his eyes, deep like the sky at dusk. I studied the angles and shadows of his face in awe, very much the echo of what a pretty sunset could evoke in my chest bloomed behind my clavicles.

Ugh. Don't ruin it, Nora.

I cleared my throat. "I was awake. I heard something about the library, and here I am."

"Here you are." He opened the book cover and ran a finger pad over his name, written in pencil on a yellowed page. "I remember writing this."

"That name brought you here." I held my hands behind my back. "If I hadn't been sticking my nose among all these books, and found just that one, I don't know that I would have found you here in the library tonight."

"If I think too much about it— how eight-year old me didn't know, when he wrote his name, that you'd find it one day and it would bring me back— it might break my brain."

"Surely you've read more amazing things in a time-traveling, sci-fi book."

"Yeah. Those always break my brain. Too paradoxical." He sighed, his eyes gazing over the shelves. "I didn't know Lizzie kept the books I left behind."

"You expected her to— what? Throw them away?!"

He chuckled. "No. I thought she might have donated them."

"Why would she get rid of a nice collection like this?" I sat in one of the two armchairs near the bookshelves. "It's a mood reader's dream. If one of her guests— like moi— enjoys a perusal of old stories, this would actually be part of a five-star service."

He raised an eyebrow. "Maybe because there is no larger library than the one in our pockets?"

I gave him a dubious look. "Sure, but there's nothing quite as sweet as having the weight of a paperback to get lost in. One that has that magical smell to it. Old paper, sigh."

"You're not wrong about that." He closed the book in his hands and tapped it against a palm. "I think I'll take this one back home with me. Lizzie wouldn't mind."

Instead of sitting on the armchair across from me, he left the keepsake on a nearby table. With the confidence of someone who felt comfortable in a space, he went straight for a mysterious cabinet by the window. I had tried the door earlier in the week, but it had been locked.

Instead of pulling from the door handles, he reached for the key that locked the paned window behind it. He used that key to open the cabinet, and revealed a few bottles of liquor and crystal glasses.

"The advantages of being an old acquaintance." He gave me a cheeky wink. "Would you like a dram? If you're not too tired for a chat."

"I would love that."

He gave me a glass with a golden liquid. "It's brandy."

"Thanks."

He sat on the armchair across from me as I tasted the liquor. A subtly sweet and fruity zing coated my mouth.

"Mhh. This is good." I studied him as he sipped from his drink, and he watched me right back. Like he was waiting for me to make a move. I started with a simple one. "How did you know there would be liquor there?

"It's been there for generations. If Lizzie didn't get rid of my books, I didn't think she'd change the cabinet contents."

"Have you always called Mrs. Semple by her first name?"

"Yeah. She insisted, back when I was a child. She thought it would make me feel safer with her."

"Was she right?"

"Yes. My family is quite stuffy, if you remember how Julia insists on calling me uncle ? To have a grown up let me call her by her name made me feel closer— like there was something special between us."

"It must have been a pretty close relationship, if you gifted her the house and still visit, once in a while."

He leaned back and put one ankle over the other knee. It gave him a relaxed, self-assured look that did things to my lower belly. Maybe it was the remnants of the last time we met. I wouldn't be surprised if my body remembered how good it felt to be close to him.

Good thing my brain knew better than to let that confuse me.

"She was very special to me," he said. "Being so much younger than my siblings, my life growing up was very different from theirs. Even my relationship with my parents and family at large was strange. The only exception was my grandmother, but I didn't get to see her as often as I would have liked. Lizzie was around a lot of the time during the school year when I was a kid, and in and out during my teenage years— at my insistence. Like a mentor. She had the warmth I really needed at the time."

A soft, feathering current rippled up my chest. Javier had been lonely, too. This is why we had been smart to make our times together into a friendship.

I didn't know what it was, but I enjoyed how swiftly we could fall into great conversations. If someone told us we had met in another life, I would have thought long and hard about it. I might have even believed them.

I cocked my head. "We really don't beat around the bush, huh? Look at us. Talking for less than a minute and already going deep."

"And don't you love that?" A hint of passion filled his question. "I do. The deeper the better, in my opinion. It adds to the intimacy feeling, and that's how I like it."

I blinked a couple of times at his expression. A sudden image of Javier going deep intruded in my mind. I bit my lips in the hope it would stop the train of thought.

Quick! Tease him. DIVERT.

"That's… how you like it?" I asked. "You like going deep with all your friends?"

He closed his eyes, pursed his mouth to repress his humor, and shook his head. "You know what I mean."

"I do, but it's more fun this way."

Theoretically, I believed friendship could exist between people of all genders, as long as no one's feelings got confused. I had never been in that situation, but it made sense to me that as soon as one person's heart crossed into the romantic zone, the friendship changed.

Javier may be a member of the house of Julia, but I liked him. If I played my cards right, I'd end the incubator program with two friends. That was too good a prospect to risk it, nevermind the confused part of me that wondered at the attraction I felt for him.

I sipped from my drink again. "Everytime you and I talk, I'm struck by how different it feels from talking to Julia. When she told me that one time she needed help entertaining her uncle, I mean… I didn't expect you to be so approachable and…"

"And…?"

I failed to give him a quick answer, and he was quick to smile and provide a few words himself.

He raised an eyebrow. "And sober? Pragmatic? Realistic?"

"Friendly," I finished, smirking. "A bit of a skeptic, but down-to-earth."

"Ah."

"How come you're so different? You and Julia would have been raised at about the same time, right? You're just a few years older than us."

"I am, but we were surrounded by different people. She had her mom and her own nanny, both of whom were different from mine. I think she had Lizzie as a tutor, too, but not my reasons to like her so much."

"It must be hard, though, growing up while feeling separate from them. Now being so different from them." My eyes widened as I realized the extent of what I said. "I mean, I know I'm making a million assumptions. Maybe there are more Pendletons like you than there are of the Julia type."

He chuckled. "No, you're right. They're mostly the Julia type. I think that's one of the reasons I feel so connected to my friends. They are my kind."

I opened my mouth to ask if I could meet them one day, but took more of my brandy instead. It felt too risky— too needy of an ask.

I frowned, my eyes away from him and into the golden liquid in my glass.

"You don't ask me about my family." My voice came out tender. I blamed it on the drink, and the sudden vulnerability stinging between my lungs.

He didn't respond. I lifted my gaze to find his eyes steady on mine, intensity flaring behind his blue irises.

When he finally spoke, his voice was deeper than mine. "Do you want me to ask?"

"No," I whispered.

"Then I won't."

Gratitude moved through me like fog on a cold morning.

I sighed and finished my drink. "Not a bad chat for only twenty minutes with each other, late into the night, right?"

Javier

I told myself that if I opened up easily to Nora, it was because it helped me balance the scales. She didn't know how much I knew about her, so I offered every part of me she wanted to learn more about.

We finished our drinks quickly, and made a brief stop in the kitchen to wash the glasses. Soon after, we waved to each other goodnight and entered each of our rooms in tandem.

In the morning, I tried to help Lizzie make breakfast, except she didn't let me. An incredible spread waited for Nora and I in the breakfast nook when I kissed the older woman's cheek hello.

"Sit, please," she said. "I hope you don't mind we're eating here. The other guests are using the formal dining room."

"Of course I don't mind. Thanks so much for this."

She, her husband George, and I chatted over a cup of coffee. I encouraged them to eat, but I waited for Nora.

She came into the kitchen later with a big smile— as usual. It pulled at the corner of my lips.

"Oh, wow. This looks epic!" she exclaimed. "The smell is so good my knees got weak."

She sat next to me just as I got up.

"Coffee?" I asked, grabbing her cup from her place on the table.

"Yes, please," she said, right as Lizzie got up as well.

"No, none of that!" My old nanny said. She took the cup from my hands and ushered me to the table. "I will treat you both today."

"Please, Lizzie," I said. "All I did was offer coffee. I promise it won't hurt me to do something ."

She tsked and pointed a strict finger toward the table, making a show of what was expected from me. I sat with a smirk on my face.

Nora leaned close to me and spoke in a low voice. "She didn't let you help with making breakfast either?"

"She did not," I said in the same tone.

"She let me help, before you made it here."

I raised an eyebrow. "What are you implying?"

"You're being pampered," she muttered, a teasing gleam in her eyes. "And by extension, she'll pamper me today."

The theme carried through when, after breakfast, she forbade us from cleaning up and pushed us out the door.

"Go for a walk," Lizzie insisted. "Remember what you liked about this old town. Maybe you'll come here more often if you do."

She winked. Nora snorted.

We put our coats on and walked out the door, on the way to the strip of shops a few blocks away.

"Wow." Nora snickered. "Has she always spoiled you like this?"

"Not when I was a child. Or a teen, for that matter. It was a… later change."

"Let me guess. More or less around the time you gifted her the house?"

I gave her a sideways glance. "You know how people sometimes do weird things when they're hurt? Like they'll ice you out because they don't know how to talk about it. Well, I find that people can do weird things, too, when they're grateful. Like they don't know how to express it."

I dug my hands into the pockets of my charcoal gray wool coat. Dark clouds hovered above us, heavy with snow, but chances were high that nothing would happen here so close to the coast.

Nora burrowed in her jacket. It was a dark berry color, with a texture that looked rougher than standard wool. She wore black clothes underneath, except for the puffy, mustard scarf around her neck.

She rubbed her lips together. "I think that, when you're truly, deeply grateful, it feels like no words suffice."

I nodded, my eyes on the Christmas decorations up on the light posts, and on people's front yards. "I'll be honest. In cases like that, I'm not sure how to respond, either. Saying you're welcome doesn't seem enough. For either party."

Duty and gratefulness had long been a Gordian knot in my soul. These days, one of the threads had Nora's name on it.

I glanced at her. I couldn't tell her we were tangentially talking about our situation, and how difficult it was to imagine Nora might learn who Mr. B. really was, and how it might change things between us. Charity was messy, like she had said in an email a while ago… not to add the whole thing with hiding his— my— identity.

"You changed the course of her life." Nora lifted serious, warm brown eyes my way. "Of course she wants to show you she's thankful."

"I don't need her to—"

"But if she wants to…"

I sighed. "Maybe. I just wish it didn't make it so awkward. It makes things complicated. I do these things because it's the right thing to do. Because it feels good to do good. Altruism isn't real— even when I do it because of my morals, I'm already getting something out of it. I'm glad it means a lot to other people, too, but I shouldn't get infinite thanks when it didn't really cost me hardships in the first place."

I didn't want Nora to change with me if she learned I paid for the clothes she wore.

She arched an eyebrow at me. "Giving her a house that had been in your family for decades upon decades didn't cost you, so she doesn't need to be thankful?"

We turned a corner onto the street we aimed for, with little shops on either side. Christmas decorations multiplied there, with big wreaths and red ribbons on the doors, twigs of green with berries around metal poles, and strings of lights among the lamps.

She stopped at the corner, her eyes on me rather than on the holiday explosion around us.

She studied me closely. "Is thankfulness proportional to how difficult it was for you to accomplish, or how impactful it was to the recipient?"

My brain lost the signal for a moment, like old TVs on a stormy night. The surprise left me in a resigned scoff.

"Fuck, Nora. How do you do this?"

"What?"

"Keep me on my toes. Ask me a rhetorical question that shifts the axis of my morals in just a few words."

She laughed. I smiled, and melted at her feet.

She bowed like an artist receiving applause from her admirers. "My pleasure."

I was a puddle, reflecting the view of her and the sky, and ready for her to stomp on me and change everything .

"I don't know how to answer your question," I admitted.

"Think about it. Next time we meet, you can be ready with an answer." She shot her hand forward. "Deal?"

I didn't hesitate— I took her hand in mine. We didn't shake on it but it lingered; warm skin to warm skin, we smiled at each other. Her grin triumphant and mine a novelty on my face.

We let go after a while, and walked down the street side by side. The air, cold enough to freeze my skin, didn't deter us. I told her little stories of coming up to this or that shop as a kid, and what had changed since then.

"Oh, yes!" I stopped next to a big window and looked inside. "At least this place is still here."

Nora inspected the storefront. " The Scoop ? Ice cream parlor, coffee, tea, and bakes."

Her nose had reddened from the cold.

I opened the door. "You won't regret it."

I let her go in first. The light in the shop, a warm, bright shade of yellow, invited us to settle and take a break. It broke the coldness of winter in Connecticut and welcomed us in. We left our coats on nearby hangers, and sat at a small table for two by the window.

A stray thought whispered that this was cozy enough for a date. I let it float by and away.

The décor of the place had both changed and not changed since the last time I'd been there; the checkered floor remained, as did the ornate wainscotting on the walls. The paint had been refreshed into whites and pastel colors, but the big fireplace in the back was alight just like last time. Different details in the natural wood tones, including the tables and chairs, warmed up the place further.

At least some of the light in the place came from within Nora, with her high-powered smile. It softened one of those spots that always felt a little too tight in my chest.

A server left a glass of water and a menu in front of each of us.

"I'm so glad we came in." She took the menu and inspected it. "I stole a peek inside a couple of times when I walked down the street earlier in the week."

"But you hadn't come in?"

She shook her head. "I wanted to, but I didn't get a chance. I planned to bring a good book and have a coffee while people-watching all the Christmas shoppers."

I brought my eyes to my menu.

"Okay… these flavors are different," she said.

"I don't know if they still have the same management, but they have always done it this way. This shop was one of the first to open in town and the founder was an ice cream inventor, or so he liked to say."

"Ooooh. Experimental ice cream. Tell me more!"

"They haven't had the same ice cream flavors twice, whenever I come here."

"I hope you're okay with sharing, then. I can't have just one flavor! But I also can't order them all and waste a bunch."

I licked my bottom lip and stole a glance at her. "I don't think I've shared before—"

"Nor have I, but we can overcome the obstacle together, right?"

The corner of my lips tilted upwards. "Okay. Yes. What's catching your eye?"

I was about to rest my head on my hand to admire her in front of me— I bet I would have even let out a happy sigh— but I stopped myself right in time.

She tapped her nose with her index finger. "This cinnamon and cardamom one. You?"

"I think I'll have the chocolate with basil and black pepper one."

"And coffee, of course."

"Of course."

It didn't take long for the ice cream to arrive, in pretty bowls with a chocolate-covered wafer cone stuck in each. I allowed myself to rest my chin on my hand this time, and watched her try her ice cream first.

She closed her eyes in delight, with a loud, quick moan escaping her. "This is divine! Try it."

I gulped and scooped a bit of her ice cream with my spoon.

I had to close his eyes, too. "Wow."

"Now let's do yours. You go first."

It was even more delicious. Whatever face I'd made, it made her chuckle.

"That good, huh? I'm going in." She didn't wait for my permission and tried it, too.

"Oh good gods. This one is just as good. While in college, the place I was staying at had ice cream every Sunday after dinner. Always vanilla, always forgettable. It was supposed to be exciting but it gets old quickly, you know? It kind of ruined my taste for ice cream. This shop has solely restored my interest and appreciation."

The smile that always hid in the corner of my lips around Nora made another appearance. It seemed my heart refused to stay quiet; I had to blame it for the constant stream of thoughts and feelings fueling my first infatuation in a decade.

Denial. Self-imposed shackles. Only platonic feelings welcome on this Yuletide. I knew how to be a good friend, so I would be a good friend.

She stole another spoonful of my ice cream. "And there's something mischievous about eating ice cream in winter, don't you think?"

I cleared my throat. "We are in a cozy coffee shop. I'd say it's on brand for a cold winter morning, when there's a fire to warm you up."

"Then maybe we'll have to come pick up some ice cream tomorrow and eat it while walking around. Let people wonder."

"Yes, I'm very sure they'll wonder." I raised an eyebrow and had some more chocolatey goodness. It soothed my insides. "Who are these two wild creatures, eating ice cream in winter?"

"Exactly. I promise it'll be fine. People look at me like that a lot and I've survived this long."

"What do you mean, people look at you that way?"

She studied me, savoring her ice cream. "Okay. I'll tell you a bit. We've talked about how I don't always say the right thing."

I nodded.

She took a bite out of the wafer cone, and followed it up with coffee. "Some people just think I'm horrible at reading the room. Social cues and all— but I'm actually good at that. I had to learn, because I spent a lot of time surrounded by people I didn't know and didn't like. In my view, my problem is more that I don't care as much for… propriety, should we say. Maybe because I wasn't taught it? But even now in my late twenties… I'm in this incubator thing with Julia and I really don't think they're used to people like me."

"People like you?"

"Yeah. People who didn't grow up rich. Who speak their mind."

Her eyes were still on me. Like she was taking a big risk in sharing this, and prepared for whatever my response might be.

The night before, in our conversation at the library, she noted I never asked her about her family. Of course I didn't; I knew more than she thought. She kept her past private and didn't easily share.

That she told me a small sliver of it was a good sign… even if guilt spread inside. The joy of gaining a piece of her trust melted faster than the ice cream in front of us, because I didn't deserve it.

I took a big gulp of my coffee and anchored my eyes to the mug. "You feel like a fish out of water, then?"

"Not even of this world. Like an alien trying to pass as a human."

"You're very human to me."

When she didn't immediately respond, I caved and gazed at her.

Her eyes were soft on my face. "Maybe you think that because you're also a bit of an odd duck, aren't you?"

"I've had it really good, Nora. I don't think it's comparable."

"I think you had it really good… and feeling different is a feeling we've both had."

I stared at her. She let me, her eyes relentless on me, even as she scooped more of my ice cream for herself with a cheeky smile.

I robbed some of her cinnamon dessert to balance the scales. "Everyone feels different from everyone else. Isn't that a universal experience?"

She considered me, even as her spoon made it across the table again.

"But does everyone feel lonely?" she finally asked…

… right before she licked the chocolate ice cream off her spoon, in a suggestive move I wasn't sure she'd intended.

"Do you feel lonely?" I croaked.

"Do you?"

Giving up as much as I could, I swapped our bowls of ice cream.

I'd read it right. She liked my ice cream better. Nora lifted her arms in a celebratory gesture, very much like the night I'd surrendered and danced with her.

"Not right now," I said.