Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71303 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71303 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
“Oscar, no,” I hissed.
But it was no use—the man had already stirred and was unzipping the flap.
Before I could apologize, I was rendered momentarily speechless by the beaming white smile that lit up his entire face. And he had such striking blue eyes that not even his shaggy hair and beard could mask them.
“Hey there. I see you’re visiting me again.” His voice was soft, almost reverent as he reached out to pet my dog’s head. “Oscar, right?”
Oscar pounced when he heard his name, propping his front paws on the man’s knees and licking his face. When he laughed, it was throaty and so full of joy, I was almost jealous that he could feel happiness so deeply. Maybe my dog being completely annoying wasn’t the worst thing after all.
“I have no idea why he’s so drawn to you,” I said, and his face fell. “That’s not what I…he doesn’t usually go right up to people like that.”
“Must be the Irish roots. Not that I look the part, but Oscar’s coat reminds me of my mother’s coloring. Which might sound strange to point out, but it was the first thing that came to mind.”
I forced a smile, trying to steal some of that joy. “Yeah?”
He averted his eyes as if he’d told me too much. Maybe he was afraid I’d call the police on him or read into his confession.
“Oscar’s namesake is Irish too. A famous poet and playwright.”
His eyes brightened. “As in Oscar Wilde?”
I nodded. “One of my favorites.”
“Ah,” he said to Oscar, brushing his coat. “I think your owner is probably a fan of The Picture of Dorian Gray.”
I stifled a gasp, though I didn’t know why I was so surprised. “You guessed right.”
“How scandalous,” he replied in this teasing way that made my eyes flash to his.
“For its time, yes.”
“And even for today in certain circles.” He gave me a knowing look that made my stomach feel funny.
“True.” Oscar Wilde was known for being flamboyant and unconventional—historians’ way of not coming right out and calling him gay. He was imprisoned for homosexuality, and some believed the conditions ultimately led to his death. He’d been brilliant and witty in his writing, and I couldn’t help blurting out, “Have you read The Importance of Being Earnest?” It was a famous play about two men leading a double life, and it made me giddy to think I’d found someone who understood its meaning, even if it was a random person on the street.
“I have,” he replied. “My mother had a bookcase full of classics, and I’d use a flashlight to read them at night under my covers. Her favorite was Lady Windermere’s Fan, and…she probably had her reasons.”
I looked off into the distance, remembering that the plot was about a woman who’d suspected her husband of cheating but in the end was proven mistaken. Very curious.
“She pored over the pages so much that it fell apart, even the tape she used wouldn’t hold. She eventually tossed it before I could read that one. But I did enjoy his books of poems.”
I smiled. “Wow, you know your stuff.”
Red dotted his cheeks. “Only because of my mother and her love of books. Obviously, you do too.”
“I’m a librarian, so…” I dipped my head. “Speaking of which, my day’s going to start soon. I need to…” I motioned toward the coffee shop and tugged on Oscar’s leash, feeling awkward to end the conversation so hastily.
“I’ll watch him for you while you run in. I mean, if you want.” He looked away as if expecting a flat-out no. “I’m not going to take him or anything.”
I felt bad for hesitating, but it wasn’t because he was down on his luck. Despite our pleasant conversation, I didn’t know him, so to trust him with my dog…
“Never mind. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“No, I appreciate it.” I glanced at the coffee place, which was roughly fifty feet away, then handed over the leash. “Be right back.”
I strode toward the shop, thinking I’d hear Oscar whining for me like he did when I had him wait outside, but it didn’t happen. As I pulled open the door, I glanced back to see Oscar lying down in front of the man.
I waited in the short line to put in my coffee order, feeling out of sorts. When I got back outside, Oscar was letting the man rub his belly.
I chuckled. “Well, someone has a new favorite person. Uh, here, I brought you something too. A coffee and a blueberry muffin. Hope that’s cool.”
Wariness flitted through his expression. Did he not want my offering?
“You don’t have to take it. I just thought…”
“No, thank you, it’s very kind of you.” He reached for the cup and bag. “It’s just… I’ve had strangers offer me food that’s been tampered with.”
My jaw dropped open in horror. “You’re kidding!”