“Know anyone hiring for temp work?”
“It’s almost Christmas, so I’m sure someone is.” He leans against the counter again, and there’s a softness to him that wasn’t there before. I’m calling it pity.
I snort. We had plans to spend Christmas with my brother this year. That’s a phone call I’ll have to make sooner rather than later. We don’t even have a home.
“What did you do for work in Atlanta?”
“Everything.” I go back to picking at my muffin, knowing I’m going to have to call my brother once I leave here. I’m not looking forward to that. “After high school, I worked menial jobs no one else wanted—maid, server, asparagus picker.”
“Oh, good, then you’ll love our asparagus festival.”
“Asparagus festival.” I point at him and his smiling face. He’s far too charming when he smiles, and it disarms me. “Let’s get back to that. I need proper work, a career.”
“What do you want to be when you grow up?”
“Don’t think I didn’t notice the tenses there, mister.” He holds his hands up in defeat, busted. Biting my lip to hide my smile, I think back to when I was Lark’s age and everything I wanted to be. “I don’t know. Honestly, I just wanted to be happy.”
“And are you?” He glances down at the countertop, a flush rising to his face before he stammers on. “Sorry, I’m sure that was out of place.”
“No, you’re right. Sometimes happiness is where we figure out where we belong career wise.” He looks up at me, those baby blue eyes of his ensnaring me. “I always wanted to write.”
“Yeah?” One word, a response that seems innocuous, simple, meaningless. But from Arlo? His eyes light up as he looks at me, and he tilts his head to the side, wearing that disarming smile on his lips. “What kind of writer?”
“I don’t know.” It’s a lie because I know exactly what I want to write, I just don’t think I can admit it to him out loud.
“Well, I just so happen to have the perfect job for you that may just allow you to accomplish your dreams.” He pops up, grabs a card from beneath his desk, and writes a number on it.
“Is that what you are now?”
“What’s that?” he asks, distracted.
“The sandman.”
His head shoots up, and his face is slack as he processes my words. “I see what you did there. The sandman for dreams.”
“It amused me.”
He steps around the counter and hands me a card. “The library is on the other side of the school. It’s probably closed because Ms. Aberdeen is over a hundred, and she often forgets to open it or she falls asleep in one of the leather chairs.”
“You’re serious?” I take the card with a number on it.
“That’s her number. Leave a message. She’s pretty good about calling people back.”
“When she’s awake?” I tuck the card into a pocket as Arlo backs away. “Thanks.”
“Yep.” He nods, rocking back and forth on his heels with his hands in his pockets.
An awkward silence settles over us, and I’m not sure how to handle it. “Right, so I’m going to go.”
“Oh!” He jumps out of his skin. “Of course.”
I stand as he backs toward the door, feelings strange at leaving this man, but that makes no sense.
“Birdie.” The nickname sends a thrill of warmth through my body, and on autopilot, I turn around. “Ah, your number?”
“Are you asking me for my phone number, Arlo?” I can feel my lips stretching across my face.
“For the car. For updates, you know?” He scratches his neck as a flush blooms on his cheeks right above the line of his beard. “So I can reach you and let you know what’s going on.”
