His intense gaze drew her in like a magnet, so she leaned away. Quick-paced, crowded words skittered out from beneath his hands on the desk.Come on. Give it a try. Take a chance.
“No,” Stella blurted, and the man’s expression changed to one of confusion. She whirled around to Arnie. “I mean, um, Arnie here isyour guy. He knows exactly what you need, don’t you, Arnie? He knows where all the soccer books are kept.”
Arnie tilted his head, and his eyebrows crawled toward the center of his brow. “As do you.”
“Butyouknow where the best ones are. I’ll just take a quick lunch break while you help out Mr. Soccer Coach here.” Stella turned back toward the man. Why did he look disappointed? “Seriously, Arnie is your guy. Good luck,” she said, grabbing her book and the lunch bags, then scurrying toward the library’s kitchenette.
When she glanced over her shoulder, wispy, bright blue words followed her like an airplane’s condensation trail.Adventure. Carefree. Risk.Stella glared at the words before taking one last look at Arnie speaking with the man, and then she disappeared around the corner.
Fifteen minutes later, as Stella folded the sandwich paper around the other half of her cheesesteak, Arnie stepped into the doorway of the kitchenette. She stood, opened the ’70s gold refrigerator door, and shoved her sandwich inside.
“Hey, kiddo,” Arnie said. “How’re you feeling?”
Stella stared at the contents of the refrigerator for a long pause before closing the door. He wasn’t asking about her changing life path or the strange ways words were showing up. So she responded with, “The headache is finally gone, and now my stomach is full, thanks to you.”
Arnie stepped into the kitchenette. “Want to tell me what that was about?”
Stella stared at the aging black-and-white tile floor and processed her choices: play dumb or admit the truth. She brought her gaze up to meet his. “To what are you referring?” she asked innocently.
Arnie’s exasperation was evident in his knowing stare. Stellaheaved a sigh that could have lifted kites into the sky. She dropped back onto one of the vintage chrome and red vinyl chairs that had been donated years ago by the local diner when they remodeled. When she leaned back, air whooshed out of a crack in the vinyl.
Stella laced her fingers together in her lap. “I’m no good with guys.”
Arnie walked to a cabinet and pulled down a tall, decorative tin full of loose-leaf green tea. “Certainly not if you scurry away like a mouse every time one of them shows any interest.”
Stella fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Hewasn’tshowing interest. He was looking for a book.”
Arnie filled the electric kettle with hot water and plugged it in. Then he sat down at the diner table across from her. He folded his hands together on the black laminate tabletop. “I saw the way he was looking at you, all googly-eyed. I believe he would have taken a bookandyou out to dinner. I think he’d prefer the latter more than the book, but you snuffed him out without giving him a chance.”
Stella’s chest tightened at the idea of going out with a man again. The image of Mr. Soccer Coach, all sunshine and ease, coasted through her mind. Then she saw an image of herself beating those thoughts of him with a fly swatter until they were scattered pieces blowing away. “I don’t want to give him a chance.”
“Or any man.”
Stella’s temples started to throb, and she clenched her jaw. “I don’tneeda man,” she said, knowing she sounded like a brat. But she truly didn’t. Especially not until she figured out how tostopholding on to the memories of Wade. She didn’t even have any good examples in her life of what a healthy, loving relationship looked like. Her parents had crashed and burned. Arnie had been single for as long as she’d known him. Percy dated like it was part of hisprofession. Ariel waswaitingfor a guy to realize she was a dream catch and ask her out.
“Maybe the perfect guy for me doesn’t exist,” she said. Her throat squeezed as though protesting the words.
“You don’t believe that,” Arnie said.
Stella stood abruptly from the table, wanting to end the conversation before it became sentimental and hopeful, before some shred of romance tried to wheedle its way into her heart, which was currently a confusing mesh ofLove is a train wreckandHappily ever after exists.
When she tried to walk past Arnie, he reached out and grabbed her arm in a relaxed grip. “Hey.” His voice was gentle enough to cause her throat to close up. “You don’t need a man. You’re right about that. I’m not implying you do. I just think you might eventually like to have a partner, someone fun to hang out with and enjoy similar activities with. Not every man will be like Wade.”
“What about the half dozen other guys I’ve tried dating? They all ended the same way. Failures.” She picked up her copy ofBeyond the Southern Horizon. “Don’t suppose you have a clone of Jack Mathis somewhere, do you?”
Arnie shifted in his seat, and his gaze drifted toward the doorway. “Jack Mathis?”
Stella sighed. “He checks all the boxes for me.” Then she rolled her eyes. “But alas, he’s fictional. And even if hewerehere, I’m not ready.”
Arnie said, “You’ll know when you are.”
The kettle whistled, sounding like a voice of mourning. Arnie’s sigh followed her out of the kitchenette, pushing against her back like a rush of understanding.
Stella was shelving returned books on the first floor when Dana Cannon, a high school history teacher, walked through the front doors. She wore gardening khakis and a lightweight, button-up aqua shirt that enhanced her startling light green eyes. Her wavy dusty-brown hair—streaked with silver that reflected light like tinsel on a Christmas tree—was tucked behind her ears. Stella placed the books in her arms back on the cart and walked toward Dana, wondering what kind of book she might be searching for.
As if called to action, green, grasslike words lifted from Dana’s shirt and circled around her body.Blossoming friendship. Folksy. Secret murder from an unfolding past.The image of a Fannie Flagg novel rose in Stella’s mind. The connection surprised her, but it was similar to how she’d felt when she tested her gift on Ariel last night. How could she share what she’d seen with Dana without coming across as incredibly odd? Beat around the bush or be direct? What if she was wrong?
“Good afternoon, Dana,” Stella said. Opting for a combination of evasive and direct, she continued, “It’s a good day for a Fannie Flagg novel, don’t you think? Something likeFried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe?”
