Page 16 of Emeric

By the time I got to the bottom of the stairs, she was entering the door from the garage. “Hello, Irene.”

“Good morning, dear. Did you sleep well?”

“Well enough.”

She hummed and looked me up and down. It was her way of making sure I appeared healthy and was feeding myself properly. While she was an amazing cook, I liked preparing my own food and didn’t accept food gifts from her. Instead of bringing me that, she had a small present with her when she arrived. Sometimes it was an item I could use that I hadn’t realized I needed. Other times, it was a sweet gift that let me know she cared.

Reaching into her bag, she withdrew three notebooks that were still sealed in plastic. “These are for you. I’d bought a few for my home. I liked that they were hardcover, spiral-bound, with plenty of pages to fill.”

“Thank you.” She handed them to me. They appeared to be well-made. “You can never have too many notebooks.”

“I knew you’d say that. It’s always good to have one around in case you need to jot an idea down.”

I smiled. She was right.

Irene was probably six inches shorter than me and had light brown hair with more gray threaded in it every time I saw her. Placing her bag in the kitchen, she put on a floral apron and got to work. I’d learned, early on, she liked the company and would talk to me as she cleaned. She’d said she didn’t do this at Jordan’s home since he was usually busy. Here, she would talk for hours as she went from room to room. With anyone else, it would have been uncomfortable doing nothing while she worked, but this was Irene. She enjoyed hearing about what I was writing, any adventures I’d had since the last time I’d seen her—usually none—and what books I’d read recently. I loved the break from work.

“I heard you had a visit from a certain guard and attorney,” she said as she dusted the mantel over the fireplace.

“I imagine you hear a lot of things working in Jordan’s home.”

“You have no idea, but we’re not talking about that. I couldn’t if I wanted to, by the way. Now, what did your neighbor do?”

I told her about the rabbits and how he said he was going to contact a lawyer, so I texted Jordan.

“You did the right thing.”

“I don’t like putting people out.”

“This needed to be handled before it escalated. You took his threat seriously, as you should have. Now, what did you think of Mr. Saylor?”

Groaning, I closed my eyes and dropped my head onto the back of the couch, where I sat in the library. “Are we really going to talk about this?” The answer was obvious, although the question bought me some time.

“What do you think?”

“I’m a man who likes other men, Irene. He’s handsome.”

“Mmhmm. So is our Ollie, but you already know that and appreciate him.” I wanted to burrow beneath the couch cushion and not have this conversation. With anyone else, I probably would have been too nervous to speak. Irene always put me at ease, except maybe right now. This wasn’t what I wanted to talk about today.

“This conversation won’t go anywhere.”

She grinned. “Not usually, but one day you’ll open your eyes and your mouth and do something about the attraction you have. Now there may be two men for you to have your eye on. You could be like Mr. Altair and his men.”

“I think you forget that I’m an introverted author who doesn’t like leaving his home, not a mafia boss who knows everyone and has no problem going after what he wants.”

She stopped what she was doing to prop her hand on her hip as she turned to face me. “You know better than to compare yourself to him. You live very different lives, neither better than the other. And don’t think he doesn’t have his hardships. Those men have been through a lot together, more than most people will in a lifetime.” She was right. I shouldn’t have said anything. If only I could fit under the couch cushions.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

Irene sat beside me. “Sylvan, I didn’t say that to upset you. I wanted you to see how everyone has something in their lives they don’t love, a hardship, difficulty doing a task, who knows? The difference is what you choose to do with those hurdles. Will you stand there and tell yourself you’ll never get over them, or will you take them one at a time, each becoming easier than the last because you have the proof you can do what you set your mind to?”

“You’re really great at this.” I prided myself on being good with words, but they only seemed to come out when I was writing. When I spoke, it wasn’t close to being the same. I would have trouble getting words out, stumbling over them sometimes if I were nervous. Spoken words weren’t my strong point.

“One day, you’re going to tell someone you care about them, and they’ll say the same in return. You’ll smile big and wonder why you waited so long. You deserve every happiness in the world, so do Oleander and Emeric, whether it is with you, each other, or someone else. Out in the world is the person or people meant to be yours. You’ll find your way to them if you haven’t already. The next step will be yours and yours alone. It’s comfortable on the sidelines; however, think how wonderful it could be if you were in the game.”

With that, she patted my thigh and stood, resuming her cleaning like we hadn’t just had a conversation that left me reeling.

On the surface, it was easy to see why she would tell me to do this. For the average person, it was simple. Irene knew I had anxiety, and she didn’t dismiss it. In fact, more times than not, she sat with me and made sure I was okay when it got the best of me. She’d hug me and talk to me about nothing of importance to get my mind off the panic racing through me. With that kindness, I needed the blunt conversations too. She knew when to be gentle and when to say what I had to hear. That didn’t make this simple.