Page 44 of Love and History

“Mmhmm. And he decided he was a doctor too. He wrote a book on how to treat ulcers and reduce inflammation that’s on display at the British Museum.”

“Really? That’s interesting.” Holden mumbled a greeting to Cole, who’d shuffled bleary-eyed to the coffee machine, then leaned toward me. “What are you doing with your spoon?”

I held up the spoon in question and shrugged. “Nothing. Why?”

“You’re licking it,” he whispered, adding, “suggestively.”

I barked a strangled half laugh. “Spoon porn? Is that a thing?”

“Don’t ask me. I don’t know anything about porn.”

I arched my brow dubiously. “Really?”

“Really,” he assured me.

“Why not?”

“It’s not interesting to me.”

“Bullshit,” I coughed into my hand, snickering at his outraged expression. “Don’t tell me you’ve never imagined a ‘Robin Hood getting freaky in the forest’ scenario.”

“What does that even mean?”

“You know…hanky-panky in tights and those weird hats with feathers on ’em.” I dipped my spoon into my bowl of yogurt and licked it clean again. “I bet they got down to some kinky shenanigans in the Sherman Forest in Renaissance times.”

Holden pushed his glasses to the bridge of his nose, which I’d learned months ago signaled an oncoming lecture. I was right.

“That’s Sherwood Forest, not Sherman, and Robin Hood is a folktale set in medieval times, not the Renaissance.”

“Same difference.” I teased, rubbing my calf against his.

He narrowed his eyes. “I suspect this is tomfoolery, but I’ll explain the difference nonetheless.”

I set my hand on his knee and smiled. “Please do.”

He blushed, then went into more detail about the difference between the medieval and the Renaissance period than my brain could process at seven a.m. But I liked it.

I polished off my yogurt, listening with half an ear as I surreptitiously studied his details—his squared shoulders, his sharp gaze, and the proud tilt of his chin. Holden was all angles and edges with smiling eyes and unconscious charisma.

When I first moved in, I’d wondered if I could handle living with a guy who spouted random bits of historic or scientific intel like an audiobook version of a dull Wikipedia entry. Funny enough, I didn’t mind at all. I learned something new every day.

For example, a few months ago, he called me a “tallow-catch” when he tripped over the shoes I’d left on the landing. I didn’t have a comeback. I literally had no idea what the fuck that meant, so I consulted Merriam-Webster. Turns out a “tallow-catch” was a lump of animal fat that butchers used to make candles in olden days. Hey, I’d been called worse. I actually appreciated that he never resorted to basic insults and rarely swore.

Holden was a true gentleman. I wasn’t. And that might never change. However, I found myself wanting to try a little harder, and maybe use this newfound supersonic power to figure out what made him tick. ’Cause it occurred to me that his quest to soak up knowledge had a manic edge. As if he used his smarts to avoid…something.

Hell, I knew all about avoiding shit. And I knew that a couple of BJs didn’t give me the right to his secrets. But I wanted them anyway.

“…the invention of the printing press changed the world forever and—” Holden paused for air and gave a self-conscious shrug. “Sorry. I get a little carried away sometimes. I didn’t mean to bore you with a history lesson.”

“You’re not boring me. I think you’re fascinating,” I commented, unthinking.

He shook his head and snickered. “I don’t think you’re fascinated with my mind, Ezra.”

He was so wrong.

Christ, I’d never thought Holden was boring. He was…complex, interesting, eclectic, and brilliant. And his enthusiasm for learning was contagious. I had no doubt his students loved him. They probably placed bets on whether he’d wear a hat or a great coat to class, and looked forward to hearing how he’d tie the upheaval of the French Revolution to a new scientific discovery. There was something extraordinarily comforting about knowing there was someone out there who gave a shit about those details.

His solid presence eased something deep inside me, making my list of worries seem insignificant. Of course I’d pass the bar, of course Rossman would hire me without making me jump through ridiculous hoops, of course I’d find a place to live when our lease was up, and of course I’d come out…eventually.