Page 6 of Until the Last Leaf Falls

“Thank heavens I didn’t make an ass of myself.” Niles picked up the coffee Orren had brought him, the cup still warm. He cradled it in his hands, the way Orren had cradled his mug of hot chocolate, and the library felt a touch warmer and less empty than before. “At least now, there’s a chance he might stop by again.”

Niles spun his chair around, and his gaze caught a flash of gold on the reception desk. The book! How could he have forgotten the book with its dried leaf on top? How could he have spent all day in the library and not checked it out? His cheeks flamed for an entirely different reason now. He wasn’t so shallow to discard what had delighted and intrigued him for days just because a handsome man had chosen to visit his library, right?

He set the cup down and—with a touch of guilt burning in his chest—crossed the room to the reception desk.

Bound in deep brown leather and embellished with gold embossing, the book was gorgeous. But it was the chestnut leaf on the top that caught his eye. In the beautiful copperplate script he’d become familiar with, the latest message read: When a tree feels lonely, it remembers to listen.

Company

The next morning, Orren waited for him in the glade. He wore the same autumn-hued clothes, but now a dark green scarf curled about his neck.

“I was hoping I might work in the library again today,” Orren greeted with a smile.

Niles’s day turned into a holiday. “That’s what the library is for,” he said, ushering Orren towards the door. The trees had seen Orren. They’d understand why he’d lead the fascinating man into his domain instead of drinking his morning coffee amongst them as usual.

Orren had brought books this time and searched the library shelves for more, ending up with several open on the table in front of him, and often setting one down to pick up another.

He took no notes and the lack of a notebook and pen surprised Niles as much as Orren apparently not having a phone. Curiosity was like an itch in his brain, but he bit his tongue. At lunchtime, he ordered pizza, and it cheered him when Orren joined him in the glade.

“Why create a library?” Orren asked.

Niles shrugged. “It was an old dream of mine. A library is… a safe space of sorts when one’s not a people person. Then I made my money creating a library app. Spending it building an actual library seemed the logical next step, and when I came across this old posting house… It was too good an opportunity to pass up.” It felt like a wasted effort some days, a project just to please himself—but Niles didn’t say so. Instead, he talked of the renovations, his joy and excitement when the furniture had arrived, and his pride at shelving the first box of books.

“All my favourite books didn’t even fill a bookcase. To be honest, they looked forlorn in the space. But… I’m sorry, I’m rattling on,” he apologised. “I didn’t realise…”

“You haven’t talked to anyone in a while?”

Niles felt his ears heat and knew his cheeks would be red. “I talk to the trees, of course, but it’s different having someone who answers me in words.” He grabbed a pizza slice at random, chewed and swallowed in the hope to stop the words that wanted out. It didn’t work, because, for some reason, he felt Orren should know. “I didn’t think it’d be so quiet. Or that I’d be so alone.”

“Silence doesn’t equal loneliness,” Orren said.

“I know.”

“But do you? You may think your trees don’t talk, but when you rest your head against the birch, you feel the memory of a myriad of sunny days. When you trace the bark of the oak, you hear the echo of a hundred forgotten storms. The language of trees is the slow, patient language of the world. When you sit in the glade, you are more connected to this town’s soul than those who chatter in its streets.”

Orren laid a hand over Niles’s where it rested on the bench, and Niles stilled. A warm, broad, calloused palm. The touch gentle, delicate. Niles shivered, wished for the courage to turn his hand to twine their fingers. He wanted to hold on. Lean into Orren’s touch. The impulse scared him. It had been so long since he’d wanted anything from another person. Don’t be greedy, he admonished himself. Enjoy the comfort Orren offers.

And the simple touch was a comfort, a connection Niles hadn’t known he needed. It loosened a knot inside him that had been drawn painfully tight.

Niles felt no inclination to return to work that afternoon, and Orren seemed content to follow his lead. The sun bathed the glade, and Orren asked about the trees and the library, until Niles couldn’t believe how easy it was to talk. No stumbling, no awkward pauses, and none of the feeling that he embarrassed himself with every word.

He relaxed by degrees and ended up leaning against Orren as they watched the sun slip behind the roof and dusk settle over the courtyard.

“I’d better go.”

The reluctance in Orren’s tone re-awakened Niles’s awkwardness. His throat tightened on unspoken words, and he watched Orren walk away when he wanted nothing more than ask him to stay.

“Will… will you be back tomorrow?” he finally called as Orren reached the carriage arch, his form merging into the shadows.

“If you don’t mind. I have more reading to do,” Orren answered with reassuring promptness.

Niles rose from the bench and squinted into the gloom, but Orren had disappeared.

The next morning, Orren was back, books in his arms and a brown scarf around his throat. Niles didn’t know what he’d done to deserve such a boon, but he was determined to enjoy Orren’s company for as long as he could have it and be grateful. They settled in the library, worked in companionable silence, and shared lunch in the glade as they had the day before. It wasn’t until the afternoon light had shifted from gold to amber that Niles realised he'd stopped being aware of Orren's presence.

Not that he'd forgotten Orren was there, but the loop of worry in his mind—don’t be weird, don’t stare, watch what you say—had faded into nothing.

Orren read. Niles coded. The radiator ticked.