"The true sign of intelligence is not knowledge but imagination." Albert Einstein

Saint

The scent of lavender and old paper hung in the air, a familiar comfort I hadn't realized I craved. Stepping into Evergreen, a place Veronica had poured her heart and resources into, was like stepping into a different world. A world far removed from the sharp edges and calculated risks of my usual existence. The soft murmur of voices, the gentle smiles of the residents, the vibrant artwork that adorned the walls – it was a stark contrast to the sterile, impersonal environments I frequented. And there she was. Veronica. Surrounded by a small group of elderly men and women, her voice, usually crisp and professional, was soft and soothing as she read from a book of poetry. I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, simply watching her. She looked… peaceful. Content. A far cry from the poised, sometimes guarded woman I knew. This was a side of her she rarely showed, a glimpse of vulnerability and genuine warmth that resonated deep within me. I hadn't planned on coming. Truth be told, I hadn't seen her much in the past few days. Things had been unusually quiet since the charity masquerade event. A strange calm had settled over everything, a quiet that felt almost… unsettling. Something had shifted between us after… the morning after. The memory of her in my arms, the unspoken intimacy of that moment, lingered in the air between us, a fragile, unspoken truth. We were both navigating uncharted territory, a delicate dance of unspoken feelings and uncertain boundaries. I'd been… distant. Preoccupied. Not just with the lingering unease after the gala, though that was always a constant hum in the background. No, I'd been wrestling with something far more complex. Something I hadn't expected. Something I wasn't sure I was ready for. Seeing her here, though, surrounded by these people she clearly cared for, a warmth spread through me. It was a reminder of the depth of her character, the kindness that lay beneath the surface. It was… compelling. I pushed myself off the doorframe and walked towards them, my footsteps silent on the plush carpet. "Veronica," I said, my voice low and warm, a smile tugging at the corner of my lips. "I hope I'm not interrupting." I glanced at the residents, my expression softening further. "Please, continue." I pulled up a chair and sat quietly, my eyes fixed on her as she resumed reading. She seemed a little surprised that I had joined them, a flicker of something I couldn't quite place in her eyes, but she quickly recovered, her voice resuming its soothing cadence. As she read poetry by Maya Angelou, I couldn't help but study her. The way her brow furrowed slightly as she concentrated, the gentle curve of her lips when she smiled at one of the residents, the way her hand instinctively reached out to touch Mrs. Peterson's arm is in a gesture of comfort. It was all so… genuine. So unlike the carefully constructed image she presented to the world. It was a glimpse of the real Veronica, and it was… captivating. When she finished the poem, a hush fell over the room. Mrs. Peterson, ever the first to speak, patted her hand again. "Beautiful, dear," she said. "Just beautiful." The other residents murmured their agreement, their faces filled with contentment. Veronica smiled, a genuine, radiant smile that made my chest ache. "Thank you," she said. "It was my grandmother's favorite." My gaze met hers, and I felt a pull, a connection that was both familiar and terrifying. "It was…" moving," I said, my voice a little rough. "Thank you for sharing it." I stood up, offering her my hand. "Shall we?" I asked, the question hanging in the air between us, a silent invitation. She took my hand, and a jolt of electricity, familiar and potent, surged through me. As we walked out of the library, I tucked her hand into the crook of my arm, a gesture both protective and… possessive. "I wanted to see you," I said quietly, my voice barely audible above the soft murmur of the residents. "And… seeing you with them... it's really something." She looked up at me, those intelligent, expressive eyes searching mine. "It's nothing," she said. "It's… something I love to do." I stopped walking, turning to face her. "It's not nothing, Veronica," I said, my voice firm but gentle. "It's… important. You're important." My words hung in the air between us, charged with unspoken meaning. I hesitated, wanting to say more, wanting to tell her… something. But the words seemed to catch in my throat, trapped by a fear I couldn't quite name. Instead, I changed tack. "I was thinking," I said, a softer look in my eyes, "perhaps we could grab some lunch? There's a little bistro just down the street that I've been meaning to try." Her expression softened, a genuine smile spreading across her face. "I'd like that very much," she said. "Let me just say goodbye to everyone." As she made the rounds, exchanging hugs and warm wishes, I watched her, my gaze lingering on her. She was so good with them, so patient, so kind. It was a quality I admired in her, a quality that made her even more… irresistible. When she returned, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes sparkling, I couldn't help but feel a surge of… something. Possessiveness? Pride? I wasn't sure. All I knew was that I wanted to be near her, to spend time with her, to explore this… connection that had sparked between us. As we stepped out into the warm afternoon sun, I couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation. Lunch with Veronica. It was a simple thing, yet it felt significant, a small step forward in the uncharted territory of our… relationship.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.