Page 4 of Own

“H-h-hi.” Tears collect at the corners of my eyes. My breathing picks up, and anxiety kicks in again. I’m about to have a panic attack in the arms of the only man who has made me feel anything.

“Hey, Hester, I need you!” Chelsea calls from the front desk.

This guy is so big, I can’t see over or around him to acknowledge that I hear her.

“Gimme your eyes,” he demands, sending a shiver down my spine. “Why are you afraid?” How does he know? “The tears, the breathing, I know fear when I see it, kitten.” Is he a mind reader now?

“Hester!” Chelsea calls again, urgency in her tone.

“I-I-I-I have t-t-to go.” I force myself out of his hold and miss his touch immediately, which leads to me tripping over my own two feet and landing solidly on my knees. Scrambling to my feet when he moves closer to help me, I rush to the front desk, where Chelsea frantically punches buttons on the computer.

“Wh-wh-what did y-y-you do?” I whisper.

She stops jabbing at the keyboard and smirks. “Nothing. I just know that encounter freaked you out.”

Blinking at her, I have no words. We’ve been friendly since I began working here—she hasn’t really given me much of a choice—but I had no idea she paid such close attention to me.

“Th-thank you,” I whisper, my throat tight with emotion.

“Oh, honey.” She drags me in for a tight squeeze. “Go get that snack cart; I see little ones showing up already.”

Nodding, I head to the break room and load the cart with the individual milk containers, apple slices, and carrot sticks I prepared yesterday. After grabbing my thermos of hot green tea, I go back out to find children and their parents or guardians entering the library.

Smiling and waving, I almost forget about my encounter with the giant man until I see him sitting with Scarlett in his lap. My cheerfulness fades, and I gulp, hoping nobody heard me. Plastering the smile back on my face, I greet everyone with a small wave.

“Can I help?” Nathan’s eager voice distracts me enough to think again.

“Please. Could you hand out the milk?”

He’s quick to do as I ask, then comes back over to get the bags of apple slices and carrots, passing them around as well.

Inhaling deeply, I close my eyes and try to center myself. It doesn’t always help, but hopefully, I can get it together long enough to tell everyone about the goodie bags. After drinking a bit of my tea, I pick up my book and head over to the small chair where I sit to read.

With a genuine smile this time, I look out at all the eager faces, ready for a new story. “W-w-welcome,” I pause, trying to get my stutter under control. “W-w-we had a g-g-generous d-do-donation this week.” I wave to the bags placed near the children, trying my best to ignore a couple of women quietly mocking me while the children in their care dig through the bags.

Taking another sip of tea, I try to hide pushing my tears away by pinching the bridge of my nose. I realize I’m different. I have social anxiety and a stutter that often doesn’t go away, but reading to children has been a saving grace for me. I’ve been able to push my insecurities aside because children don’t judge as harshly as adults do. They just want to have fun and learn.

The kids chatter excitedly as they open their bags and pull out their very own stuffed lions, hugging them to their chests and naming them. Once they’ve settled again, I clear my mind and begin reading. For the first half of the book, my stuttering is pretty apparent, but as I near the end, I grow comfortable again, and it slips away.

I just wish the judgment and censure from some of the parents would, as well.

CHAPTER 3

Cato

Had I known this sweet morsel was here all this time, I’d have been bringing Scarlett to story time instead of my mother. From the second I spotted her setting up until she ran into me, I couldn’t take my eyes off her. That stutter of hers is fucking adorable too. Likely, she hates it, and after some of the comments I’ve overheard, I can’t say I blame her. She pushed through it, though, and that takes incredible strength. Something I seriously doubt she’s even aware she has.

“Tell me more about her,” I whisper to Nate as he sits next to me while Hester answers questions from some of the kids.

“Like what?” He frowns.

“Anything you know.” I’ll take anything at all. I just need to know more.

“Uh, well, she likes to read.” I gathered that on my own, given where she works. “She’s been teaching Scarlett how to read.” My eyes widen in shock. He shrugs. “Abuela stays for a bit afterwards ‘cause Scar always wants to learn new words.”

Impressive. I remain seated as the room clears out and shoot daggers at the two women who mocked my girl while she gave their children an enriching experience.

“She stutter like that a lot?” I ask Nate.