Page 34 of Charlotte

Wrong word.

Lottie felt it the instant it landed.

Useful.

She had meant it kindly. Of course, she had. The word struck something in him and stayed there.

“I mean thoughtful,” she said quickly. “Not only useful. Though useful is not a small thing. I only meant—”

“You needn’t explain.”

“Yes, I do.” She stepped closer, stopping before she crowded him. “Words matter. I chose a poor one.”

His jaw shifted.

“You are a practical man,” she said. “I value practical things. I did not mean you are only useful, Mr. Peterson. No person ought to be only useful.”

He looked at her for a long moment. The noise from inside the hotel dimmed behind her. Or perhaps she only stopped hearing it. Peterson’s left hand opened and closed once near his thigh.

“That’s easy to say,” he murmured.

“It is harder to believe?”

His gaze dropped.

There. Another tender place.

Lottie could almost see Delly’s warning standing between them: You are young, hopeful, and far too ready to mistake your own kindness for understanding.

Perhaps she was.

Kindness was not nothing. Seeing pain did not mean she believed herself capable of fixing it. Sometimes seeing only meant refusing to look away.

“I am sorry,” she said again.

“You apologize often.”

“I step wrongly often.”

“That is not what I meant.”

“It is often true.”

His expression eased despite himself.

The hotel door opened behind her. Cornelia stepped onto the porch with her coffee cup in hand and more tact than the Busy Bees possessed collectively.

“Mr. Peterson,” she said warmly. “Are those brackets I see?”

“A few.”

“You are a blessing. Mrs. Schulte had already begun discussing ribbons as temporary shelf support, and I was afraid civilization itself might not survive the experiment.”

“Ribbons won’t hold books.”

“No. Try telling Mrs. Beck that when the ribbon matches the bunting.”

Peterson glanced toward the dining room window as if he would rather face a falling tree than Mrs. Beck with ribbon.