Page 91 of Charlotte
“You are mistaking kindness for something else.”
Lottie went still.
There was an accusation. Not spoken as harshly as it had been in the old version of this day, but no less painful for being quieter. Perhaps more painful because his voice shook around it.
“Kindness,” she repeated.
“You have a tender heart. You see hurt and want to mend it. That does you credit.”
“Do not compliment me while insulting me.”
His gaze returned to her.
She stepped over the measuring string stretched between them. “Say the word if you mean it.”
His jaw tightened. “Pity.”
The word struck exactly where he meant it to.
Lottie’s eyes burned. She hated that they did. She hated that he saw her upset.
She refused to step back.
“No,” she said.
“Lottie—”
“No. You do not get to take what I gave you last night, what you gave me back, and reduce it to pity because pity is easier for you to refuse.”
He looked away. She followed the movement, staying in front of him without crowding him.
“Pity would not make me angry,” she said. “Pity would not keep me awake half the night. Pity would not make me want to shake you and kiss you in equal measure.”
His eyes closed briefly.
When they opened, the hurt she saw nearly undid her.
“I am not a girl handing out charity because your hand was damaged,” she said, softer now. “I have never looked down on you. I could hardly manage it if I tried. You are too tall and too stubborn.”
A rough sound escaped him. It was not quite a laugh.
She took courage from it.
“I look up to you,” she said. “I have looked up since I first read the letters you sent. Since I first saw you on the dock, when you picked my book out of the puddle. A man who cannot bear to see a book ruined is not a man I pity.”
His throat worked once.
“I will not let you call my heart tender as if tenderness is the same as foolishness. I know the difference between a wounded thing in the road and a man who has been brave so long he has mistaken loneliness for strength.”
Peterson flinched.
It was enough.
Lottie gentled her voice because she had not come to conquer him. She told the truth.
“You may decide not to marry me if you choose,” she said. “Maybe your fear is safer than wanting. You may even build me an entire library and tell yourself giving me shelves is the same as giving me up. Do not lie to me about what this is.”
For a long moment, he said nothing.
