to my one reader--hope you like it!
Groaning, Paul lay his head down on his arms and sighed but looked up when he heard Shay giggling.
“Paul, it really isn’t that hard once you get it,” she laughed. “And you’ve almost got all of it, just a couple chapters left. Now all you need to do is answer the questions and you’ll be ready for the final.”
“Don’t say that word!” he exclaimed dramatically but was immediately shushed by his friend. Hunkering down, the two of them stole a glance at the librarian and found her glaring at them. When she stood up and made her way over to their table, each had several apologies running through their heads, but she waved them away.
“The library’s closing now, so you have to leave,” she said. Nodding, they packed up and left the warmth of the building and the comforting smell of books behind in exchange for a biting wind with pulsing rain.
“You’re kidding me, right?” complained Paul. “I thought this was California, the sunny state!”
“That would be Florida, and this is winter, you know,” she laughed, pulling up the hood of her jacket and heading out into the rain. Paul shook his head at the insanity and hid his books in his messenger bag, wincing under the strain on his shoulder. Unfortunately, his jacket did not have a hood, so a few moments after he had stepped out from underneath the protection of the eaves, his spiked hair wilted and plastered to his head under the downpour. Zipping up his jacket and tucking his chin in the collar, he jogged to catch up with his friend as they made their way down the sidewalk to the intersection.
Fifteen minutes and a few hundred puddles later, Shay unlocked the door to the house she shared with her father and a cat. Taking his dripping coat and hanging it up to dry, she turned up the heater and disappeared into the bathroom to grab a couple towels for them. When she returned, she motioned for him to come in front of the heater and dry up as much as he could, frowning at his drenched jeans and boots.
“Let me see if I can find something for you to wear. What size are you?” she asked. He told her and she went back down the hallway while Paul scrubbed at his hair vigorously, getting the rainwater out while the hot air beat on his chest in a wonderful sensation after the freezing cold outside.
“Here, try these on, and the bathroom’s right over there,” she said, handing him a pair of sweatpants and slippers. “Hope they fit, since you’re pretty big.”
Dragging the towel off, now sopping wet, his hair stuck straight up in damp wisps in numerous directions, giving him the appearance of a hedgehog. Thanking her, he took the clothes. Fortunately, they fit well, although the pants were a bit short and definitely loose around the waist.
“Do you want something to eat or drink?” she asked, heading for the kitchen. “I was going to make lunch and you’re welcome to have some.”
“I wouldn’t mind, thanks,” he agreed eagerly. “Although…I don’t think you’d want me cooking. TRUST me on that,” he laughed. “Especially microwave popcorn.”
Shay raised an eyebrow. “Do I even want to know?”
Grinning, he shook his head. “Probably not.”
“Just as well, since popcorn was not on the menu. And we don’t use a microwave, either,” she teased. “So, eat or study first? Or at the same time?”
“You okay with multi-tasking?”
“Sure. Just set up on the table and I’ll get something ready.”
A few minutes later, they were pouring over the French book and eating the best—rather, the only home-cooked food he had had since he had time-traveled. To take it further, the first time since he had left home for the tour…
“Paul, are you alright?” she asked quietly, seeing his face.
He looked up at her and blinked, forcing a smile. “Yeah, it’s just…the home-cooked meal reminded me of something. I’m fine,” he assured her quickly when he caught the sympathy in her eyes.
“If you say so,” she muttered, not looking at all convinced. “Do you want me to quiz you?”
“Pronouns again?” he groaned audibly, although he was grateful for the topic change. “Why did I ever agree to learn French?!”
Shay laughed as the mood lightened immediately. “Translate ‘Emma was not going to buy him the albums’ in complete pronoun form.”
Paul thought for a moment and then told her his answer: “Elle n’allait pas les acheter.”
“You forgot ‘him’,” she corrected automatically, earning a frown and a tilted head from the Irishman. “’Elle n’allait pas les lui acheter.’” He repeated it until he got the rules down, and then asked for more examples.
Having finished eating, they put the dishes in the sink and carried the books into the living room. When her father came home at six that evening, they were almost done preparing for the French test, sitting together on the couch, their books in their laps as they spoke French, laughing when he made some pronunciation mistake. Mr. Robinson leaned on the doorway and watched the two of them, noticing the young man’s moist hair and borrowed sweatpants that he recognized as his own. The fireplace was on, the flames flickering and the warmth falling right on the teenagers directly in front of it. Turning, he saw a pair of boots drying by the heater and heard the dryer working in the back of the house.
“Paul, teaching a person French who already speaks English with an Irish accent…” she broke off laughing. “Now you’re speaking French with an Irish English accent.”
He smirked at that but joined in when he realized what he must sound like. “Well, I
am getting better!”
“Yes, you are, but it’s nice, so don’t get rid of that Dubliner accent.”
Stepping back, her father left the room and opened the front door before shutting it with a noticeable slam. The laughter coming from the living room cut off abruptly, and when he walked by he pretended to do a double take and return into the room as he caught sight of the tenor by the fire.
“Hello, Paul,” he greeted as naturally as he could muster without appearing suspicious. Both of their faces were red and he noticed that they were stifling laughter, eyes sparkling, and then he pointedly let his gaze drop to the borrowed pants.
“We got soaked coming back,” she explained.
“I can see that. Well, I’ll be in the den if you need me,” he said and left, glancing back at them over his shoulder one last time, just enough to see them both collapse back into the cushions in silent laughter that erupted when he was further down the hall.
They studied for another half hour until Paul understood the material and could fluently speak it, and by that time the jeans and boots were dry.
“Thank you,” he said, pulling on his jacket. The rain had slowed into a light drizzle that pattered on the roof.
“You’re welcome. If you need any help later on, we can do this again,” she replied with a smile. “Or if you just feel like a home-cooked meal,” she added quietly.
Paul nodded, returning the smile, and then backed out onto the porch, turning as he went. “See you tomorrow!”
“You, too.”
* * *