Chapter 1
Biannca
Alot of people think that being a librarian is boring. That it’s something old ladies who have retired do to keep themselves busy.
But I love it.
Part of what I love is the shocked face when I meet a new person and they find out I’m a twenty-seven year old full-fledged librarian. With a degree and all.
The more annoying thing is when they assume that it’s the reason I’m not married. That I’m boring because I spend my days around books. What always shocksmeis that because I read, I’ve lived many different lives, I’ve traveled many journeys,and I’ve been able to experience things I might never experience in real life. In what way is my life limited?
There’s magic in books, and I’ve felt that way since I first read Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs and could vividly imagine that world where food fell from the sky. I’ve fallen in love with books that range from the classics like Bronte, to the newer things like Rebecca Yarros.
So, how could anyone possibly think that being surrounded by stories of lives I could never truly experience, be boring?
It’s nice working with like minded people. Sure, there are the older women who work here after retirement, but there are also plenty of younger people like me. And every stage of life in between. In fact, just a few weeks ago we had the cutest little baby shower for Mary that was all Dr. Seuss themed.
Not paying attention as my mind is lost in thought, my hip bumps the book cart to my left. A common occurrence that has a permanent bruise on my side. “Ouch.”
A snort from the other side of the shelves catches my attention and I peak through the rows to see Ethan chuckling to himself at his computer. My cheeks burn as my heart skips.
To say Ethan seems out of place would be an understatement. I try not to make judgements based on how people look, but hot damn he could be gracing the covers of magazines. Not locked in this place. He does dress the part though, a knit cardigan that he dons daily. Sometimes he picks one with the suede patches on the elbows.
When his gaze lifts as though he feels the heat of mine on his skin, I suck in a breath and press my back to the shelves. My palm rests against my chest, trying to contain the wildly beating organ that wants to burst out.
Once my heart rate returns to normal, I wipe the back of my hand across my mouth, sure I was drooling because…damn. I’mpretty sure there’s not a single person that walks past him that doesn’t do a double take.
I don’t know his story, I don’t know what brought him here or why he works in the library. Not even if he’s married or anything. He’s a pretty quiet and reserved person. Not that I can blame him the way women practically throw themselves across his desk to flirt with him.
My random and frequent cries of pain aren’t really a shock to anyone I work with anymore. Probably why he laughed lightly but didn't actually check on me. I’m not the most graceful, nor the most spatially aware person.
It all leads to frequent bumps, scrapes, and the ever present mystery bruise.
One last quick glance through the shelves in Ethan’s general direction and I find a girl with short shorts and long blonde hair standing on her toes and leaning forward. With a roll of my eyes, I get back to the task at hand. It’s not even weather appropriate to wear shorts at this point in late fall.
While our library regularly hires employees to empty the carts to help us keep the shelves fully stocked, especially in summer when the college kids are home, I’ve always loved to do it. Plus, we’re in that lull where the college kids have left, but aren’t yet back for their winter break.
Something about the simplicity, the routine, the structure. There’s no thinking involved. And it makes my heart happy to see the books back on the shelves with their friends. It’s easy to get lost in the process and forget about my surroundings. Forget that time continues on while I’m in a peaceful mindset.
That is, until I almost crash in Jemma as she stands at the end of the aisle I’m on with her eternal look of disdain. I typically do my best to avoid her but of course being lost in book land, I didn’t sense her sharp presence.
Part of me is convinced that she’s as old as the library itself, yet never ages beyond a youthful sixty.
“Biannca.” Just the way she says my name has my hackles rising and a chill running down my spine. But something about it also has me squaring my shoulders, tipping my chin up and clasping my fingers in front of me, like I’m under scrutiny. As though she’s about to circle me and point out every flaw before placing a stack of books on top of my head and having me recite the alphabet. Backward.
The corners of my lips rise in a heavily practiced friendly, yet not overly so, smile. “Good morning, Jemma. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”
Jemma runs the library behind the scenes. She spends the vast majority of her days holed up behind her desk in her private office, much to the delight of the entire library staff. I’m not the only one she strikes fear in.
“We will be hosting a charity banquet in three weeks time. All higher level staff, meaning you, Biannca, are expected to attend. The event will be black tie and catered.”
I take a step back and my brow furrows. Black tie? We live in a relatively affluent area, but even for here black tie seems…excessive. And hard to achieve.
The confusion must be enough to reach Jemma because she rolls her eyes and sighs heavily. “Funding isn’t what it used to be, as I’m sure you’re well aware. Or at least, youshouldbe since it directly effects your job and your life.”
I suppress the shiver that’s trying to run through me at the tone. It’s almost like I’m thrown back to being a child and getting a scolding from my mother. That woman has a way with words. She put fear in the heart of anyone, even my older brother who has said on more than one occasion that he’s not really afraid of anything except for mom. And it’s usually followed by a shudder.
“Yes, I’m aware, Jemma. I suppose I wasn’t expecting for us to do something quite so…extravagant, as a black tie event.”
