Within These Walls (The Walls Duet #1)(19)

“Hey, you’re that guy who talks books with my papa,” Abigail said, sitting up to face Jude.

Jude’s face warmed a bit as he shifted from one foot to the other and smiled at Abigail.

He had a gorgeous smile. His shy, unpracticed grin just barely tugged at the corner of his lips, causing the slightest dimple to appear on his left cheek.

He should really smile more often, like all the time.

“I am. Your papa loves to talk about books,” he said with a bit of a chuckle at the end.

That led me to believe that Nash did the majority of the talking in those conversations, and it didn’t surprise me. Jude seemed to be more of a listener.

“What are you two ladies up to tonight?” He took another casual step forward before plunging his hands in his pockets.

“We were talking about dying,” Abigail answered plainly.

My eyes widened and shot over to hers. There were no tears, just honesty.

Kids could be so strange. I wondered if I had been that blunt when I was her age.

“Oh…well, uh…” Jude struggled for a moment, reaching up to grasp the back of his neck with his hand, as he looked to me for some sort of cue.

I just shrugged, so his panicked eyes continued to wander until they zeroed in on Abigail’s journal.

“Hey, what’s that?” he asked.

“Oh, it’s my diary. Papa got it for me. I’d asked him for a pink one with jewels on it, but he said this one was for real writers.”

Like he’d done the night he visited me, Jude walked across the room, pulled the corner chair over to the bed, and took a seat. He leaned in close to Abigail. “Will you read something?”

She scrunched up her nose and shook her head.

“Oh, come on. I’m sure you have some great stuff in there.”

“It’s all stupid.”

“As long as you write about what makes you happy, none of it could ever be considered stupid,” I added, rubbing her back in encouragement.

“Okay. You promise not to laugh?”

I looked at Jude over her head, and we both grinned. After both crossing our hearts and swearing an oath, she agreed to read a poem.

“Pandas are cute.

Dolphins are nice.

Sugar is sweet,

Just like you.”

We both clapped in unison, and Jude jumped up to his feet to give her a standing ovation.

She hopped out of the room to tell her papa all about it, and her high-pitched giggles filled my room and warmed my heart long after.

“That was really sweet of you,” I commented after she’d left.

“You both just looked so sad when I came in. I had to do something to lighten the mood.”

“Well, it worked. Seeing her skip out of here was perfect. That’s how I usually see her, full of life and energy. I hate to think that I took that away from her.”

“You didn’t take that away from her,” he said, returning to his seat next to my bed. He leaned back and put his shoes up on the rails of the bed.

He looked relaxed and casual, and for some reason, that made me less so. I suddenly wanted to smooth out my hair and check my shirt for stains.

What shirt am I wearing?

My hand flew to my shirt collar, and I exhaled as I felt the smooth cotton material covering my chest. It was then that I realized he’d witnessed my bizarre behavior, and he was now silently watching me.

“Oh, um…I mean, I just hate that I made her sad,” I said, stumbling on my words, as I tried to get us back on topic and less focused on my obsession with my shirt. I needed to change the subject. “So, um…no pudding today?”

“No, the cafeteria has been out,” he answered.

His eyes didn’t meet mine, which made me wonder if he was telling the truth.

“You’ve been busy?” I asked, wondering why he hadn’t been around in a few days. Has he purposely been avoiding me?

“Yeah, I had two days off and I’ve been running around pretty much from the start of my shift until the very end each day since. Didn’t even have time to take a lunch break today, which is why I can only stay a few minutes tonight.”

Again, he wasn’t making eye contact.

“Her poem was cute.” That same shy smile spread across his face as he finally looked up at me.

“Yeah, it was. I’m glad she shared it with us. It’s not easy to bare your soul like that even if it is about pandas.” I grinned.

“Bit of a poet yourself, Lailah?” His right eyebrow rose to form a sexy arch above his light green eyes.

Sexy arch? Seriously? I need to get a life.

“No, poetry is definitely not my thing. Life is pretty dull around here, so I write.”

“About what?”

“Anything, everything. I babble mostly. I’m good at babbling. I write about my days in and out of the hospital. If I’m having good days, I’ll write. If I’m having bad days, I’ll write. I keep lists,” I said with a grin.

“Lists, huh? That’s not a surprise,” he said, obviously remembering our first conversation when I’d brought up my suspect list. “What kind of lists?”

“All sorts, like types of treatments I’ve had, books I’ve read, books I want to read, and then I have the list.”

“That sounds ominous,” he said with a bit of humor.