4. CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FOUR

ODETTE

Chente is gone before I can hand him his card, and I stand there holding it long after his tail swishes from view.

What just happened?

Confused by the entire encounter, I try to throw myself back into work.

But after ten minutes of not getting anything done, I decide to email my best friend, Shai.

We met years ago as kids at a camp for children with disabilities.

Shai's blind, but it's never stopped her from doing anything.

Even owning her own ranch in Wyoming.

My bestie is everything I'm not—outspoken, brazen, and spunky.

She's the picture-perfect cowgirl, but then again, I'm the picture-perfect librarian, complete with glasses and a bun.

Thinking of my specs, I push them up my nose and start typing.

Ma chère Shaianne,

I met someone today. At the library. He's a Chupacabra with an adorable accent who doesn't wear clothes.

No, I didn't see his…you know. So don't ask. But the weirdest thing happened. I think he was flirting with me.

He called me beautiful—can you imagine? Little ol' me in my wheelchair with my hair a mess, beautiful?

I felt a connection to him, and you know that never happens for me.

Maybe it's because he reminds me of one of my most beloved characters from a book?

He had to leave to go back to work and didn't take his library card, so I know he'll be back.

I just don't know how to act when he does. I've never been drawn to a stranger before, but like I said, it's like we already know each other.

That's ridiculous, right—tell me I'm being crazy.

In other news, I miss your face. Every freckle and especially your pigtails.

Hopefully, we can see one another soon. Please send advice.

Affectueusement,

Odette

Feeling a little less tense, I send off my email and busy myself with work once more.

It doesn't take long for my computer to ping a notification that I've got mail.

Shai must be taking a break for her to respond so quickly.

Dearest Odette,

You are the most beautiful person I've ever met even though I experience your beauty in a different way.

I've touched your face enough times to know your skin is silky smooth, your lips are full, and your nose is dainty.

You're the epitome of feminine grace, and I admit to feeling jealous knowing I'm a redheaded, freckled disaster in comparison.

And now I get to listen to you yell at me about how pretty I am.

Aren't we a pair—seeing the beauty in others but never ourselves.

Maybe that's why we're best friends.

So as your bestie, I'm telling you if this Chupacabra said you're beautiful, it's because you are and he genuinely thinks it.

Using a wheelchair does not detract from this, and you know it.

As for feeling a connection to him because he reminds you of one of your sweet, smutty monsters, there's nothing wrong with that.

If he comes in again, you can talk some more and find out why you're drawn to him.

I know flirting makes you shy, but the more comfortable you become around your Chupacabra, the more naturally it'll come.

But if you become uneasy, tell him. A true gentleman will back off.

Go at your pace.

Also, if you love me, you'll at least try to check out his junk and describe it in exacting detail for my own perverted pleasure.

Love ya!

Shai

Chuckling at her antics, I shake my head as I re-read the email.

She's right—I'm definitely going to go into a tirade about how stunning she is.

But maybe she's also right about neither of us seeing the beauty in ourselves.

I always pride myself for being fair-minded, but perhaps I haven't been when it comes to me.

Everyone tends to be harsher and more critical of themselves.

Our society tells us to put others before ourselves until we become an afterthought.

Usually, a negative one.

But I can do better—be better. If Shai and Chente think I'm pretty, then instead of shunning their words, I can embrace them.

Find the beauty in myself.

Maybe I can begin with a compliment…

I have long fingernails.

With this, I snort. It's more a statement than a compliment, but it's a start.

The last three decades haven't been kind to me, and in return, I haven't been kind to myself.

It's hard to find anything redeeming when I'm just a mousy librarian.

Movies have certainly done us a disservice. If I looked like Evelyn O'Connell from The Mummy , I might be better at complimenting myself.

But I'm nothing like the sexy lead lady. Instead, I'm a shy wallflower with an overbite.

The only thing we have in common is our glasses and love of books.

Although, I don't think Evelyn would be interested in what I read.

Monster smut.

It's almost comical how prim and proper people assume I am because of my job and hairstyle.

If they only knew the filth that I read.

Finishing up cataloging some new inventory, I push myself out of my chair to stretch.

My MS symptoms tend to flair when I hunch over a computer for too long, which is why I work in spurts.

I shelve books, then answer emails, then dust the shelves, then return to the computer.

My day is an endless, monotonous loop of these activities, but the familiarity of the routine calms me.

Too much stress also sends my symptoms into a spiral.

Rubbing my legs once I'm standing, I sigh as the numbness starts to recede as I wiggle my toes.

I have a cane but prefer my chair when I'm at work because it's easier for me to trip here than at home.

Safety first.

Not to mention, I can zoom when I'm in my chair. Walking with my cane takes me ages to get anywhere in comparison.

Once the blood feels like it's circulating better in my legs, I sit back down.

A sigh of relief escapes me as the tingling fades away for a moment.

Numbness throughout my limbs is my biggest source of daily agony, but I've been dealing with this for nearly thirty years.

I've learned to manage my pain, but the looks of pity from others still get under my skin sometimes.

They murmur apologies that I'm stuck in a wheelchair, and I strive for patience while I explain.

I'm not stuck or bound to my chair—I'm free because of it.

Thankfully, my regulars at the library don't seem to even see the wheelchair anymore, but when I go about Sherbrooke, people cast commiserative glances my way.

Wondering if this will ever change, I head over to a cart near a back shelf and get to work.

After an hour of carefully putting books in their place, I take a break.

Going over to my secret spot, excitement zips through me as I grab the book I was reading earlier.

I dive back into the scene, crushing my thighs together as need pulses through me.

It's so strange that I've never felt this kind of attraction for someone in real life, but the characters in my book are more alive and connected to me than anyone I've met.

Everyone except maybe Chente.

My eyes widen in alarm as the front door bell sounds, alerting me once more that a patron has come in.

It's four thirty, only half an hour before closing time, and I quickly wheel back to my desk after stashing away my book.

As if my musings summoned him, Chente stands in the lobby, his entire being filling the space again.

A tremor runs through me when his fiery red gaze collides with mine.

He stares at me with such wonder, as if he merely imagined me before and is proving I actually exist.

And for the first time ever, I think I might be pretty enough for someone.