Page 46 of Charlotte

Peterson took the book fully and stepped back.

“What’s the borrowing rule?” he asked, rougher than before.

Lottie gathered herself with difficulty. “One week to begin.”

Delly recovered faster. “Name, title, date borrowed, expected date of return.”

Peterson walked to the ledger.

He took the pencil in his left hand and bent it over the page.

Lottie watched the slow care of his writing. He formed each letter deliberately, pressing harder than necessary. When he finished, he set the pencil down and stepped aside.

Lottie moved close enough to see.

PETERSON.

Just that.

No Christian name. No C. No first name offered to the page or to her or to anyone in the room.

Only Peterson.

Delly’s gaze flicked from the ledger to Lottie.

Lottie touched the edge of the page with one finger, not the name itself. She understood more than she had yesterday and less than she wished. A man who would not write his whole name was not merely being difficult. He was keeping part of himself where no one could handle it roughly.

“All properly recorded,” she said.

Peterson glanced at her, wary.

She smiled. Not brightly. Not with the full force of hope he seemed to distrust. Gently, because gentleness was sometimes the only way to hold a thing without bruising it.

“I shall expect it back by next Tuesday, Mr. Peterson.”

He nodded once. “You’ll get it.”

“I believe you.”

The words left her before she weighed them. Lottie had the sudden, breathless sense she had handed him something larger than a book, and he knew it.

Then Luke from the camp put his head through the door. “Peterson. Boss says if you’re done courting the shelves, he needs the nails.”

A burst of laughter came from the men outside. Peterson’s face closed at once. There it was. The retreat. Fast as winter.

Lottie turned toward the door before he could answer.

“Mr. Peterson was not courting the shelves,” she said calmly. “He was repairing them. If shelves were courted so efficiently, I imagine more women would marry carpenters.”

Luke blinked.

Cornelia bent over the table with one hand pressed to her mouth.

Delly looked at Lottie as if she had discovered a new and alarming family trait.

The men outside laughed again, but this time the sound had changed. Less cruel. More surprised.

Peterson stared at Lottie. She had the terrible thought she might have embarrassed him further.