After our little tea party, he brought me to his father’s old study. He admitted to me that he didn’t use it nearly as often as his father, who had practically spent every minute of every day in here, but Wyatt still came here weekly at the very least. I had been right, the house had a well stocked library to the point that there were too many books to fit on the many shelves.
I had to be careful not to trip over the books on the floor, though Wyatt tiptoed over and past everything like he could do it with his eyes closed. The ground was quite literally littered with books, though they were also stacked against the walls and placed in and on top of at least a dozen bookshelves. With this big of a house, I kind of wondered why he didn’t simply dedicate a second room to this.
“So,” Wyatt
