Wither: A Beauty and the Beast-inspired MM Novella by Ashlyn Drewek

Author:Ashlyn Drewek [Drewek, Ashlyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Fox Hollow Books
Published: 2023-08-13T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

GERULF

“I think I can fit a couple more,” Zane said, dangling precariously on the rolling library ladder as he tried to wedge another book onto the top shelf.

“This is not how I typically spend New Year’s Eve, you know,” I said, looking up at him and trying to feign my exasperation. It wasn’t really that hard. My idea of ringing in the new year was to be tucked in bed by ten, leaving the celebratory nonsense to the rest of the world. I couldn’t really drink anymore because of all my medication and fireworks gave me a splitting headache, so what was there to celebrate?

Apparently, Zane’s idea of a good time was finishing his beloved enterprise in the library. It was finally cataloged to his satisfaction, despite my best efforts at stalling him over the last couple of weeks. I’d moved sections of books, deleted the master file of the catalog from his laptop, and even sabotaged the ladder’s wheel, all to no avail. He’d remedied each problem without even breaking a sweat—or questioning the odds of so many misfortunes happening so close together—and was now on his way to shelving the very last tome.

Over the last several weeks, with each book he re-shelved, my unease grew stronger. Once the library project was finished, he’d have nothing else to keep him here. There was only one chapter left in Loss of Twilight and his contract was days away from terminating. Zane would go from a daily presence in my life to… nothing. A constant companion turned into a ghost. Ever since it dawned on me, the realization had left me with a strange heaviness in the center of my chest that I’d been lugging around, like Jacob Marley and his chains.

“You mean to tell me you don’t have a private firework show for the staff and bust out your best champagne?” Zane grinned down at me from the top of the ladder, his face half-obscured by his crazy, curly hair. On the days his efforts were focused on the library, he pulled it back in a bun, but tonight he’d left it loose, indicating to me he hadn’t planned on finishing this little pet project until Mrs. Potter oh-so-helpfully asked him how it was going over canapés.

“You think I’m going to pay you to sit around and drink all night?” I rolled my eyes.

“I thought for sure there’d at least be caviar and lobster at dinner and whatever else rich people eat.”

“I’m sorry the prime rib wasn’t up to your lavish standards.”

“Oh, the prime rib was great compared to the risotto.”

“You don’t like truffles?”

“Yeah, the chocolate kind—not the ones that taste like dirt.”

I scowled at him. “Do you have any idea how expensive those truffles were? I had the chef order them special for you” —I coughed and cleared my throat— “all. You all. The staff, I mean.”

Thankfully he seemed oblivious to my near-slip, since he laughed and grabbed another book. Stretching farther on the ladder instead of doing the sensible thing, like moving it, he wriggled the book between two other volumes.

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