Page 45 of I Know You

“He took me dancing afterward. You don’t approve?” My voice rises. “I didn’t realize I needed permission for my activities, or I would have thought to ask.”

He runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident in the ragged way he moves. “This is a different world, Clara, with a man from the twenty-first century running around, and we have no idea what he’s up to.”

My guilt flitters away with every second—guilt over worrying him, guilt over letting Quint steal my heart. I can hardly remember how it felt to kiss Ben. He hasn’t spared a thought for me since we came back, engrossed in our mission. He has William to help him, William who knows the truth now. It isn’t the same as in 1901 when Ben and I had to depend on each other.

“I know,” I say coldly. “I’m not capable.”

He sighs, sounding so long-suffering that my hackles rise even further. “Please stop making me the bad guy.”

“Please stop being him.”

He moves closer, within inches of me, and lowers his voice. “Does it mean anything to you that I want to protect you?” he asks in a pleading voice. He runs his fingers under my jaw, tilting it up toward him. My first instinct is to jerk away, and terrifyingly not because of his treatment of me. My time with Quint should feel like I’m being unfair to whatever this is between me and Ben, but instead, letting Ben kiss me feels like betraying Quint.

So I don’t move. I press my lips together and try to settle the anger, frustration, and confusion fighting inside me. “If this was just about protection, maybe.”

“Clara.” His voice gains a desperate note. “When I think about what Gibbons might have done if he’d seen you tonight or something…” He cups my face in his hands and leans down to rest his forehead on mine. I step back, away from him. My feelings are convoluted. I’m confused.

But I’m also still hurt.

Ben stiffens, but I ignore him and go on. “If he had found me, and if he’d meant to harm me, I could have kicked him in the knees the way Burke showed me. Quint might have even helped me.” I tilt my head away.

“You don’t need to⁠—”

“Stop,” I say shortly. “I’ve made my feelings clear on how you’ve decided to undermine the fact that Burke and Cooper sent us back here together.” He opens his mouth again, but I turn my back. “Enough excuses.”

He’s silent. I can almost hear him simmering with more justifications for protecting me.

I sigh and sit down on my bed, not making eye contact as I ask, “Did you have any luck today?” I lift one leg to take off my shoes.

Ben watches me with frustration glimmering in his eyes. “Not really. We went back to the Plaza and spoke with the staff and guests to see if anyone had talked to him … I’m more sure than ever that he doesn’t want to be found.”

“What will we do?” I ask, emphasizing the we.

He clenches his jaw. “Gibbons was in the area for a reason. I just have to figure out what it was.”

I bite my lip to stop a retort about his use of I.

He goes to the door, the air thick with tension between us. He puts his hand on the handle but then pauses. I’m tempted to go to him. Even though our friendship is new, he’s proven himself my protector—for better or worse, he did save me in 1901—and my best friend. He’s my partner in our mission for the task force, and we have a much more logical lifetime ahead of us. If there is a choice to be made between him and Quint, he is the choice. Guantanamo Bay is the least of my worries if I bring Quint back from the past with me. Trying to convince the task force to let me save my parents would be a cakewalk compared to trying to convince them Quint belongs in the future with me. Especially when the memories say I belong here with him.

“I’m sorry about tonight,” I offer, extending an olive branch reluctantly. I need Ben to crack his mask and let me in, and not just about this mission to find Gibbons.

He nods and opens the door, slipping into the hallway without another sound.

I don’t bother arguing my case to Ben the next day. I spend the morning trying to brainstorm possibilities for why Gibbons would choose New York in 1928 and grow frustrated with how little I know—especially since I don’t want Ben to be right about my uselessness.

“What are you doing?” Quint asks when he comes upon me in the library.

“Getting nowhere.” I put down my pencil and turn to sit sideways in the desk chair I’ve been working from. “Gibbons must be here for a reason, but as it turns out, all those TV shows and movies I’ve watched are as pointless as Ben likes to claim.”

“TV?” Quint furrows his brows as he leans against the desk.

I wave my hand, coloring. Maybe Ben is also right about me not being able to move in 1928 society without messing something up. But talking to Quint feels like talking with an old friend, and the modern part of me forgets that this old friend doesn’t know about modern technology.

He taps his finger against his chin in thought. “We need to think about important events, decisions, those kinds of things that are happening in the world right now.” He hurries over to the door of the library, steps outside, and rings the bell. When Mrs. Barrow, the housekeeper, appears, he requests copies of all the local newspapers. “That will help us find it—big or small,” he says after the housekeeper disappears to fulfill the request.

“You’re a genius,” I proclaim.

An hour later, we have papers spread over a table in the library, each of us combing through the articles, front page and otherwise, looking for an idea.