I pointed to the number underneath. “This number here tells you where to find the book on the shelf. Take that piece of scratch paper, write it down, then take it with you so you remember where you're supposed to look.” I picked up one of the tiny pencils and handed it to him.
Lane stuck his tongue out like he was concentrating while he jotted the number down. His handwriting wasn't entirely legible, so I made a mental note of the number as well.
“Now, let’s go find the shelf with these numbers on it so we can get your book.” I held out my hand and he took it. Hand in hand, we strolled toward the adult non-fiction section. Lane looked at the piece of paper then scanned the numbers printed at the end of each shelving unit as we passed.
“I think it’s down here.” He stopped at the right row.
“Great. Now look at the books on the shelf to find the right numbers.” I let go of his hand so he could concentrate on moving down the line of shelves. I could tell he was getting frustrated when he started fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt. “Want some help?”
“No. I wanna do it myself.” He continued to scan the numbers, but he was nowhere near where he needed to be. If I didn’t intervene soon, he might go into a full-fledged meltdown.
“Why don’t you check over here?” I suggested, pointing to a section quite a way down the row.
“I don’t want help.” His voice raised and a few kids sitting at the edge of the toddler story time looked over.
Lane continued to work his way down each shelf, running his finger along the spines of the books and getting more and more irritated by the second.
I pulled his stuffed T-Rex out of the tote bag I’d packed and held it out to him. “Looks like you’re getting a little frustrated. Want to give your T-Rex a big squeezy hug?”
He grabbed hold of it and hugged it tight against his chest. “His name is King Chomper.”
Relief rolled through me. I was prepared to help him out of a tantrum but was glad it didn’t look like it was going to come to that. A kid Lane’s age was old enough to know what kind of behaviors were appropriate in public even if he couldn’t help it if he became dysregulated. I didn’t want him to get embarrassed or feel ashamed because he couldn’t hold it together.
“Can you take in a big, deep breath like a brachiosaurus?” I asked as I demonstrated.
He copied me, sucking in a huge amount of air.
“Now let it out like a sleepy stegosaurus, a little bit at a time.”
Lane’s eyes drifted closed as he let out his breath. When he opened them again, he smiled. “King Chomper always makes me feel better.”
“Then he’s doing his job.” I pointed to the shelf where the book we were looking for was located. “Why don’t you look over here? See how the numbers on the spines are close to the numbers of the book we need?”
He squinted at the numbers then reached out to pull the book off the shelf. “I found it!”
“You sure did. Way to go.” I held out my fist for a fist bump. “Should we go find a chair where we can sit and look through it for a little bit?”
Nodding, he carried King Chomper under an arm and held the book in his hand as he led me to a couch in the corner. For the next two hours we flipped through dinosaur books, practiced finding the ones we wanted on the shelves, and even sat in on a demo the librarian gave on how to use their new 3D printer. Lane was pretty excited about the small rabbit he got to make.
I registered for a library card so we could check out a stack of books, then we loaded up the tote bag before we had to meet Holt for lunch.
“What do you think your dad’s going to think about all of the books we got?” I asked Lane as we entered the cafe hand in hand.
“I think he’ll like the one about the dinosaur who rides a motorcycle. He said he used to have one before I was born.” Lane spotted his dad at the back booth and tugged me toward him.
If I didn’t already have a crush on Holt Thorne, picturing him on the back of a big motorcycle sealed the deal. I chased the image out of my head as we neared the table.
“Hey, bud. Did you have a good morning?” Holt melted at the sight of his son. He stood up and pulled him into a hug.
“We got lots of books at the library.” Lane leaned away from his dad’s chest and held out the plastic bunny. “And we got to make a Jack the Rabbit to take home.”
Holt glanced over, the smile meant for his son still stretched across his lips. “Sounds like a good time.”
“It was. And guess what? Calla’s really good at doing voices, just like you, Dad.” Lane scooted into the booth, his attention focused on the plastic rabbit.
“Really?” Holt eyed me with suspicion. “Just how good is she?”
“Show him, Calla,” Lane prompted.
