“Well, I live by that friends close, enemies closer philosophy. It works for me.”
“Yeah it does. She adores you.” I may have sounded a little bit jealous. Which was ridiculous since I hated Sophia Pierce.
“She adores me because she adores my mother. Besides, she thinks that if I’m with Hudson, she’ll have complete access to his life. Like I’d share anything personal with her. I have her snowed, that’s all.”
“Then all I have to do to get her on my side is to snow her too?”
“Maybe.” Celia’s eyes narrowed as she considered. Then she shook her head. “Seriously, forget her. She’s not worth it. Have you heard about the time that Hudson told her—” The grandfather clock in the foyer chimed once. “Oh, my, is it really one o’clock already?” Celia checked her watch. “It really is. I have a full afternoon. I’ve got to get going.” She stood and smoothed down her dress. “I’m sorry to rush off like this. It was great talking to you.”
“Yeah, this was nice.” I hated to admit it, but I was disappointed to see her go. Especially when she was about to tell me a story about Hudson. She had so much to offer in terms of understanding him. She’d already made me feel better and there was so much more to be gained from speaking with her.
“We should totally get together again,” Celia exclaimed, almost at the exact moment I was thinking it. “Here.” She pulled a card out of her purse and handed it to me. “My cell is on here. Call me and we can do coffee. Tomorrow, maybe?”
“I’d like that.” I took the card from her, glancing at the print. Celia Werner, Corporate and Private Interior Design.
“Awesome. Give me a call in the morning then.” She paused. “Oh, and if I don’t answer, keep calling. I have a nasty habit of leaving my phone in random places and if you call over and over then I will get to you. And I’ll find my phone! It’s a total win-win.”
I laughed at her method of phone control. “Perfect.”
“Great! Tomorrow then. Give Hudson my love.” She started toward the library door and then stopped and turned back to me, her hand clutched against her chest. “You know, it really is about time Hudson had someone in his life, and I’m so glad it’s someone who loves and understands him as it seems you do.” Her words and actions would seem overly dramatic for most people, yet she was just classy enough to get away with it.
“Thanks. I do. I get him.” Probably more than either he or I knew yet.
“I know you do.” Her face grew serious. “He’s told me things about you, too. I hope that doesn’t bother you.”
She could only be referring to my crazy stalker past. Some of it was quite embarrassing. I’d violated a restraining order once. For that, I had a police record. It was buried now, by Hudson and my lawyer brother, but that didn’t change that it had happened. That I had done that. It was only one of a long list of many shitty things I’d done.
Normally I would have been humiliated to find that someone knew about my history. But right then, with all the good that was going on with Hudson, I didn’t. “No, it doesn’t bother me. Surprisingly.”
“Good.” She smiled. “I won’t tell anyone, of course. I’m glad that I know though. I can see how perfect you are for him because of what you’ve been through yourself. I’m on your side.”
“Thank you. I’m very grateful.”
She winked. “Okay, well, I’m off. Good luck!”
I stood in the library thinking over Celia’s visit long after she had gone and I had programmed her number into my phone. I was looking forward to having coffee with her, and, the truth was, that made me feel twitchy. As sure as I was that she could be a vital source of Hudson insider knowledge, I was also sure he’d be none too happy about it. And rightly so. If I wanted to learn about his past, I should go through him.
Still, could it really hurt to have coffee?
I decided to put my decision off until the morning.
Scanning the dozens of boxes once again, I decided to open some up and start unpacking them on the shelves. Hudson had said to make myself at home, and it would keep me from snooping. Even though I’d gotten permission, it wasn’t the healthiest behavior.
I found a letter opener in one of Hudson’s drawers and, kneeling beside one of the boxes, I used the opener to cut through the packaging tape. Molière was on top, along with a copy of Shakespeare. Underneath, I found several other classics from Dante to Dickens. I sat back on my heels and looked at the shelves, formulating a plan to organize the library.