“How will you deal with humidity changes in a building this size?”
“What chemical solutions do you intend to use for the binding repairs?”
“Do you have experience with early Germanic script?”
He wasn’t rude, that I could have handled. No, the way he talked was worse: it was meticulous and polite, sharp in his observations, in his knowledge too. He was testing me with every syllable. I hated that I wanted to pass.
By the time I finished answering his rapid-fire questions, my pulse thudded in my ears. I met his eyes, refusing to look away. Something slow and assessing flickered there. Then he nodded once—just once—but it was definitely in approval. My chest warmed, traitorously. Which was ridiculous. I didn’t need the approval of the storm-eyed stranger who lurked like a shadow, with cheekbones sharp enough to skew my self-esteem.
“Very well,” he said, and then he was gone. One moment he was standing beside the mayor. I blinked once, and the next moment, there were only dust motes drifting in a sunbeam.
“Did he just...?” Vanish? That was how I wanted to finish the sentence, but that seemed as impossible as it was improbable. Though I had very much wanted him to vanish not that long ago, I hadn’t expected that to be so literal. I spun around, trying to see if I could at least trace his footsteps in the dust, but there was absolutely nothing.
“He’s a busy man,” Liz said cheerfully, patting my arm. “And dramatic. Don’t mind him.” Right. Dramatic. That was one word for it. Dramatic implied a lot of things that I simply couldn’t match with a man as harsh and elegant as Luther. Dramatic made me want to check the floor for a secret trapdoor, like those on a stage.
She looped our arms together, steering me toward the exit. “Now! Let’s get you settled at Gwen’s B&B. She’s made scones—blueberry, I think—and supper’s early tonight. You’ll want a warm meal and a soft bed before the moon rises.”
I let her whisk me out of the library, casting one last glance behind me at the empty aisle where Luther had stood. He really was gone. Somehow, impossibly, I didn’t feel alone. That wasn’t because of the force of nature that was directing me down the steps and across the street. No, it felt a bit too much like I could still feel his eyes on me all the way to the cozy B&B, until its neat wooden door closed behind me.
Chapter 4
Jade
Sweet Dreams Guaranteed looked like the kind of place that wrapped you in a hug before you even stepped through the door. Warm, golden light spilled from the windows, and the entire porch was ringed with flower boxes overflowing with marigolds, ivy, and something purple I definitely couldn’t pronounce. Wind chimes tinkled gently, and there was a faint scent of cinnamon drifting out into the street as though someone inside had just finished baking something sinful.
Walking into the living room felt like stepping into a quilt. Not literally, though, given the number of handmade blankets draped over chairs and couches, that was probably a future possibility. The walls were painted soft cream, the kind that looked good in any season, and the staircase curled upward with polished wooden railings that shone like honey.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. No storm-gray eyes in here, no carved cheekbones, no overdressed man with far too many opinions and judgment. Just… warmth.
“I was really worried,” I admitted to Grandma Liz as she shrugged out of her shawl. “That I’d ruined everything before even starting. I mean, snooping around the library instead of meeting you at Town Hall…” I had learned from past mistakes that admitting when you’d stuffed up helped, loads. It just wasn’t always easy to do, especially when your boss or your ex was a jerk with an oversized ego. A bit, I thought snidely, like onesharp-eyed neighbor who stuck his nose into my business like it belonged there.
“Nonsense,” Grandma Liz said with a bright laugh and a dismissive wave that made all her bangles jingle like joyful wind chimes. “I liked the initiative.” Even her gray curls bounced merrily, as if caught in a gentle, unseen breeze created solely by her powerful personality.
“You did?” I asked faintly. My eyes went from the woman, nodding firmly, to the warm room and inviting furniture. Embraced in such a cozy atmosphere, it wasn’t hard to believe it was true. I guess Luther was not the only one suspicious by nature, however, because I found it hard to trust. Maybe I just found it hard to trust that I wouldn’t stuff it up further down the line. A fistfight with the library’s neighbor was a distinct possibility right now.
“Of course,” the Mayor said with another wide, friendly smile. “It shows spirit. Curiosity.” She winked. “Librarians with no curiosity are like wolves with no teeth: unthinkable.” I didn’t know how to respond to that metaphor, so I just smiled awkwardly. It reminded me a little too much of the weird fluke of my brain that had made me see fangs rather than teeth in the sweet lady’s kind smile.
Before I could dig myself further into a hole, a woman emerged from the hallway with a tray of steaming teacups. She was warm in every sense: brown hair curled into glossy waves, brown eyes bright, curves soft and lovely, smile wide and welcoming. “You must be Jade!” she said. “I’m Gwen, Gwendolyn Avery. But everyone calls me Gwen.”
“Hi,” I said, accepting a teacup. It smelled like chamomile and honey. My shoulders sagged with relief at the sight of something so normal and mundane, coming from such a normal-looking woman. I’d had enough weirdness for one afternoon. “Your B&B is beautiful,” I offered politely, and I meant every word. I couldn’t wait to see my room, as I had no doubt it would feel just as cozy and warm as the living room did.
“Oh, thank you!” she beamed. “I’m so glad you like it. Let me show you to your room, you must be exhausted.” I absolutely was, and I was very glad she saw it but did not pass judgment. I was also quite relieved to put down my cup and, for just a few minutes, step out of sight of the kind mayor so I could regroup. This town, it was not at all what I’d expected. Not the library, not its neighbor, and definitely not the rest of the place either.
Gwen led me up the stairs with a cheerful bounce in her step, her hair in a long braid swinging jauntily behind her. “Jackson will get your bags for you,” she said with a smile over her shoulder, just as she reached the landing. A hallway lined with doors extended before us, the space light and airy thanks to greenery in pots and well-placed sconces.
“Jackson?” I echoed. I’d missed the part where there was a guy in this so clearly feminine design of a place. It was tasteful, not overwhelming, but definitely didn’t hint at any masculine interference.
“My mate… I mean, my boyfriend.” Her cheeks flushed, but her smile didn’t fade. “Old habit. He’s the sheriff, so he’ll be by soon.” Mate. That was… an odd slip. She didn’t sound Australian—not even a little—but this whole town was weird. Maybe it wassome Iowa slang I had yet to learn. At least her boyfriend being the sheriff was somewhat comforting to know.
The second-floor room was perfect. Butter-yellow walls, a hand-knit blanket folded at the foot of the bed, and a little reading nook by the window with two plump pillows completed the cozy scene. A vase of fresh daisies sat on the dresser, and the whole space smelled faintly of lemon oil and something warm, vanilla, maybe.
I went straight to the window, curiosity getting the better of me. The view overlooked Main Street: quaint, quiet, dotted with flowerpots and the occasional dusty pickup truck. From here, I could clearly see the general store—Luther’s domain—and the dark windows above it.
The curtains on the second floor shifted. Just slightly, like someone had stepped away from them. My heart skittered before I forced myself to breathe. Too many shadows. Too many nerves. It was probably nothing—a draft, a trick of the light. Or maybe Grandma Liz’s overly dramatic caretaker had stopped by to glare judgmentally at me from afar. I rolled my eyes at myself. “Get a grip, Jade.”
Downstairs, the dining room glowed with soft lamplight. Liz had already taken over one end of the table with folders, a tablet, and a stack of handwritten notes. Gwen placed a basket of warm rolls between us—blueberry scones, just as the mayor had promised—and sat with a contented sigh.
“So!” Liz began, pushing her glasses up her nose. “Let’s talk budget.” We went over the details: funds for book restoration, structural improvements, pest control, and the humidity-regulation system that absolutely had to be replaced. Gwen chimed in every now and then, offering suggestions and little anecdotes about when she’d renovated the B&B.
