Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 125117 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125117 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
The shopping bags cut into his hands even through the gloves, and he rushed to unlock the door.
“Come on in.”
Truman bustled the groceries into the kitchen, habit driving him to get the ice cream into the freezer right away. In New Orleans, it would melt on the counter in the time it took to put the rest of the groceries away. Here, he realized, he wouldn’t have that problem.
Ash followed him. He placed a thick green sweater and a heavy blue coat on the kitchen stool. “I know you can wear Greta’s stuff, but she’s smaller than you, so I thought maybe you could use this stuff. The sweater’s mine, but the coat’s my mom’s. She’s a little taller than you, but…if you want.” He shrugged.
Truman struggled out of Greta’s too-small coat. “Does your mom live on Owl Island too?” The coat was a bit too big, but Ash was so large it shouldn’t be any surprise his mom would be too. Truman zipped it up and instantly felt overheated. “Wow, thanks. This is awesome.”
“You’re welcome. And yes, she lives here.”
“Well, thank her for me.”
Something flickered over Ash’s face, but he nodded. “I will.”
Chapter 7
Truman
“Oh, good, they fit,” Ash said as Truman walked through Thorn’s door.
Truman had traded Greta’s sweater for Ash’s in case it was warmer. It certainly had nothing whatsoever to do with wondering what it would smell like. (It smelled like cedar and something bright and botanical that Truman couldn’t quite place.) He realized he’d never once worn an article of Guy’s clothing. It had been raining one day, and Truman had grabbed Guy’s jacket hanging by the door to run down the street to get them coffee, and Guy had stopped him, handing him his own instead.
Truman cringed.
“Yeah. Thanks again.”
Ash’s hair was in a messy ponytail, and there were thorns all around him. Bundles of different colored roses sat in the bucket at his feet. A soft ruff told Truman that Bruce was snoozing behind the counter. He felt like he’d stumbled into another world.
“Do you ever take breaks?” Truman asked.
“Well, not usually when we’re so busy,” Ash deadpanned.
“Oh, er. Of course,” Truman said politely. Then he realized Ash was kidding. “I’m going over to the bookstore. I don’t know if you like books, but… Oh! I don’t suppose you ever knew anyone who might’ve lived here named Agatha? Agatha Tark?”
Ash shook his head thoughtfully. “Don’t think so. But I was gone for a few years. And I do.”
It took Truman a moment to realize Ash was saying he liked books.
“Oh, right, okay. Well, any interest in coming along? Maybe the owners would be more forthcoming with a local around.”
Ash raised an eyebrow, but he took off his gloves, pulled on a thick navy-blue pea coat and a wool hat that might have once been maroon but was faded or bleached to a pale pink, and clipped a leash to Bruce’s collar. He scribbled something on the back of an envelope and ushered Truman out in front of him. The envelope he taped to the door read Back soon. If you need flowers, call Ash, then a phone number.
Bruce howled at the falling snow, shook himself off, then seemed delighted to be outside. He sniffed at the icy sidewalk and licked some snow off the curb.
“So who’s Agatha Tark?” Ash asked when Bruce let them start walking.
“She’s the author of my all-time favorite series, the Dead of Zagørjič. It’s just the most amazingly immersive high fantasy series, with wonderful characters and heartbreaking romance and, god, the settings. Her writing is just so descriptive, it makes you feel like you’re inside the story.”
“And you think she lived here?”
“It’s probably silly, but I know she lived in Maine. It’s, like, the only thing I know about her. Her books have a cult following, but she was super private.”
Truman told Ash about finding the ship on the floor in Greta’s house.
“Have you seen that before? Is it some kind of…I don’t know, Maine thing?”
Ash smiled. “Not that I know of. Wood inlays are usually decorative, aren’t they? In the entryway of a house or a fancy parlor or something?”
He made the word parlor sound like Mars.
Truman’s heart sped up. Did that mean it was possible?
Bruce let out a plaintive bark and tried to pull Ash toward the entrance to a restaurant.
“Sorry, buddy. You’ve got a good few months until barbecue season.”
Bruce harrumphed resignedly.
A pang of longing for Horse lodged in Truman’s throat, and his fingers itched to open his phone to the picture Greta had sent him the day before of Horse standing next to an actual horse. It was a miniature horse that Truman had seen around the neighborhood from time to time, and when he’d asked Greta what was up, she’d written cryptically, love is in the air, with a GIF of a cartoon rabbit making heart eyes at a mouse.