But as I watch Dax pace outside, phone pressed to his ear. He’s animated, something I haven’t seen since, well that night. He’s also smiling. Laughing even. My frown deepens. Amazing the act people can put on when they want to.
“She must be really funny, whoever she is,” Summer says.
A few minutes later, I am organizing the kids' corner. Little people are starting to trickle in, hands full of books and puppets, all waiting anxiously. As I grab a couple books and the Gruffalo stuffy, I feel someone behind me.
“What’s all this?” Dax asks.
“Story time,” I say dryly before smiling at a little girl with pigtails.
“Story time?” he echoes. All of his previous joy and amusement is gone. Like it never existed at all.
“Yes. It’s where someone reads a picture book to a group of children.”
“I know what it is,” he snaps. His eyes graze over the area, which is already a mess. Not that it matters. Kids corners weren’t meant to be pristine. They’re meant to be colorful, fun, and relaxing. “Also, don’t get used to it.”
My eyes dart over to him, the smile I have in place for the children fading slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that when Hemingway takes over–”
“Shh!” I snap. Because my regulars don’t know about that yet. I’ll tell them when I’m ready.
Dax goes on, same volume level. “There won’t be a story time.”
I stand up straight and turn to him, my face close enough to his that I can scold him without anyone else detecting it.
“YA section. Now.”
Dax takes his time before following me. Then he crosses his arms over his broad chest and raises his eyebrows.
“What do you mean there won’t be a story time?” I demand.
“I mean Hemingway doesn’t do story time.”
“What kind of bookstore doesn’t have a kids corner!?”
“I never said we don’t have a kids section. It’s just smaller. Less colorful. Less…scattered.”
I nod, camouflaging my irritation with a tight smile. “Right. So let me guess, you have two aisles with kids books shoved at the back of the store–”
“Three. But yes, in the back. And no toys.”
“So, what are the kids supposed to do when they’re at the store?” I ask. Meanwhile a paper plane flies past us. Dax reaches out and catches it.
“Stay with their parents and not turn the place into a pigsty.” He hands me the plane. I am ready to say something else, to really go off on him, when Summer chimes the bell.
“Who’s ready for Miss Libby’s Story Time?”
We square off for two more seconds before I walk around him, plaster a smile on my face and do what I love most.
Story time is my getaway. It’s the foundation of why I love what I do. Back when my parents ran the store, this was my favorite part. And it still is. Watching kids quiet down, read along, laugh as I change my voice for different characters. Wiggle on the floor waiting for the page turn.
No screens. No fighting. Just stories.
Later that evening, I let Summer and Tom go early. I don’t mind closing by myself. It’s quiet and peaceful and gives me time in my own head. I can still feel my parents here, my dad especially. I can only imagine what he would say about Dax right now.
Don’t let him get you down, Libby. He’s a joker in a suit. All he cares about is money.
“I know, Dad,” I say out loud as I organize the kid’s corner. I don’t mind the mess. I never mind the mess. Mess means kids were here– reading, laughing, playing. Giving their moms a minute to browse the rom-com or gardening section. Breathing joy into the corners of my shop. “He’s making it awfully hard though.”
