The Echo of Old Books(38)

Ashlyn blinked at him. “Who?”

“Us,” he answered simply. “The Mannings and the Hillards. My father was a Hillard. His mother was a Manning until she married. Do you have a name for Helene’s husband?”

Ashlyn shrugged. “She never says. Not even a nickname. At least not in the chapters I’ve read so far. All I know is he was loaded and something of a tyrant. There are times when Belle sounds almost afraid of him.”

Ethan studied her through narrowed green eyes. “You talk about her like you know her.”

Ashlyn looked away. How could she possibly explain it? “If you’d read them . . .”

“That’s why I’m here. To read them. Or at least have a look.”

“Right. Of course.” Ashlyn picked up the books from the counter and stepped around Ethan to lock the shop door. “There are a couple of good chairs at the back where we can read.”

“Oh, I don’t want to keep you. I was just going to take them with me.”

Ashlyn experienced a moment of panic at the thought of the books leaving the shop. What if he decided not to return them? “I’d prefer they stay here if you don’t mind. But feel free to stay as long as you like.”

Ethan seemed surprised, though whether that had to do with her offer to let him stay and read after hours or with her reluctance to let the books out of her possession, she couldn’t say. “All right,” he said, stripping off his anorak. “If you’re sure.”

Ashlyn led him to the back of the shop, the books cradled in the crook of her arm. Ethan lagged several steps behind, pausing now and then to survey the exposed brick walls and tin-tiled ceiling. “Quite a place you have here,” he said when he finally caught up. “My dad loved old haunts like this. Looks like it’s been here awhile. Is it a family business?”

Ashlyn thought of Frank and smiled. “No. Though I did sort of grow up here. The original owner used to let me hang around when I was a kid. He let me do chores in exchange for books. When I got older, I worked here through high school and college. When he died a few years ago, he left me the place.”

Ethan’s brows shot up. “That was generous.”

“He didn’t have any family. I was it.”

“Still.”

Ashlyn nodded. “He was a wonderful man. I still miss him.”

An awkward silence descended and for a moment they stood staring at each other, Ashlyn clutching the books, Ethan with his jacket slung over one shoulder. Finally, he pointed to her clasped arms. “I take it those are the books?”

“Oh, sorry. Yes. We can sit here. Take the chair on the left. It’s more comfortable.”

Ethan glanced at the chair, then back at Ashlyn. “I’m perfectly fine on my own if you have something you need to do.”

“It’s fine,” she replied, taking the chair closest to the window. “I was actually planning to read anyway.”

Ethan tossed his jacket over the back of the neighboring chair and sat. “Right. Thanks.”

“How do you want to do this?”

“Do this?”

“Do you want to jump straight into Belle’s book? Or start with Hemi’s, since it came first? I’ve found that if you alternate between them, you get a feel for both sides of the story.”

“I don’t need a feel for both sides. I just want to know if my aunt wrote the second book.”

“And if she did?”

He shrugged. “Then she did.”

“No, I mean, what happens to the books? Will you want them back?”

He eyed her with some surprise. “Is that why you think I’m here? To take them back?”

“I just assumed that if they were about your family . . .”

Ethan straightened in his chair, as if he couldn’t quite get comfortable. “My parents were my family. That’s pretty much where it ends.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“Forget it. The family thing just isn’t something the Mannings and Hillards do. At least not like other families. We don’t get all warm and fuzzy at the holidays or blow out candles and open presents. We share estate planners and probate attorneys—and not much else, unless you count a few threads of DNA.”

“Is that why you’ve never met your aunt?”

He nodded. “Bad blood of some sort. I did meet her kids once when they came to visit, but they didn’t stay long. I can’t even remember their names.”

“You don’t happen to know if she’s still alive, do you?”

“I don’t. I didn’t hear from her when my father died, but then I never tried to contact her. Why?”

“I haven’t read them all the way through, but what I have read feels awfully personal. If Belle does turn out to be your aunt and she’s alive, she might not be thrilled about the intimate details of her love life ending up in the hands of a stranger. Come to think of it, how would your father have ended up with them?”

“No idea. He and Marian used to be close—favorite nephew kind of thing—but they eventually lost touch. Maybe they were a gift.”

Ashlyn ruled out the possibility immediately. Women didn’t generally share those kinds of details with nephews. Even favorite ones. “Is there anyone who might have an address for her? Or a phone number?”