"Well, there was the time a bull got loose at the county fair and ended up in the Piggly Wiggly. That was a whole situation."
"I remember that! Mrs. Yates still talks about it."
"She would. It ate half her produce display."
We talked about the bull incident, then Mistletoe Ridge gossip, the upcoming Christmas Eve celebration at the library, whether the Piggly Wiggly would ever stop playing "Jingle Bell Rock"on loop. She relaxed bit by bit, her shoulders loosening, that nervous edge fading from her laugh.
I couldn't figure her out.
She worked at the library reading to preschoolers, then came here at night. She wore buttoned-up sweaters and sensible skirts by day, but right now sat across from me in an elf costume that would give Santa a heart attack. She handled the merchandise with the same earnest professionalism she probably used explaining the Dewey Decimal System, but blushed every single time she had to read a product label.
She was doing this—working here, wearing that outfit, surrounded by things that clearly made her uncomfortable—because she had to. That couldn't be easy.
What did she need money for? What dreams required working two jobs and eating clearance frozen dinners?
She caught me staring and ducked her head, pushing those glasses up again. "What?"
"Just thinking."
"About?"
"How you handle all those products like you're cataloging library books. Very professional."
Her cheeks went pink. "Well, inventory is inventory, right? Same basic principle whether it's... romance novels or massage oil."
The way she said "romance novels" made me wonder. Did shy librarian Flannery Green have a whole secret world I didn't know about?
"You read romance novels?" I asked.
"I work at a library. I've read everything." She stabbed at her food. "The good ones, anyway. The ones where people actually talk to each other and there's, you know, a proper plot."
"And the bad ones?"
"Too much telling, not enough showing. Characters who make stupid decisions just to create drama. Instant attraction withno build-up." She stopped, her cheeks going pink. "Sorry. Occupational hazard. I have opinions about books."
"Don't apologize. It's nice hearing you talk about something you actually like instead of trying not to die of embarrassment."
She laughed, and the sound made my chest tighten.
I found myself noticing details. How she was careful not to spill on that ridiculous costume. The way she kept tucking her hair back even though it just fell forward again. The storm raged outside—wind howling, snow pelting the windows in waves—but in here it was warm. Quiet except for the heating system's steady hum and the distant Christmas music still playing out in the shop.
She'd probably never done any of this, I realized. Never tried the merchandise, never been with someone who made her feel the way those romance novels described.
The way she blushed handling the products—that wasn't just embarrassment at the awkward situation. It was genuine unfamiliarity. The way she read every label like she was encountering the items for the first time. The nervous energy that surrounded her wasn't the confidence of someone comfortable with sexuality wearing a provocative costume. It was someone trying very hard to be professional about something completely outside her experience.
She was untouched. Innocent.
How was that even possible? She was beautiful—especially now with her hair down and those glasses slightly crooked. Funny, smart, kind. The kids at Story Time adored her. Dash talked about her constantly.
But maybe in Mistletoe Ridge, everyone saw her as "Miss Flannery" the librarian, the sweet girl who read to kids and baked cookies with her grandmother. Nobody looked past the cardigans and sensible skirts to see the woman underneath.
Nobody except me, apparently, sitting here in a break room that smelled like questionable Salisbury steak.
Hit me harder than expected—wanting to protect her. And the heat that surprised me too, the knowledge that she'd never been touched, never been wanted the way she deserved.
"We should probably get back to work," she said finally, her voice soft.
"Yeah." I didn't move. Neither did she, not right away.
