Dolores returned with my breakfast. I took a bite, hoping the conversation would move elsewhere. It did not.
“So,” Sisi continued, leaning forward with renewed energy, “Elliot mentioned something interesting about our favorite delivery boy.”
I nearly choked. “Elliot?”
“Yeah, you remember him from Mrs. H’s house. He’s Mike’s man. The lineman?” She watched my face carefully.
Oh. Right. Lineman. Power poles. That guy.
“Okay?” I said cautiously.
“Well, Mike mentioned he’d spotted a certain hot delivery guy visiting the school library this week. He said the drop-off took a lot longer than it should have, and when he stuck his head in to check it out, he found said delivery guy on the floor with our resident librarian.”
Shit. I hadn’t seen Mike, but he’d obviously seen me and reported back to the mafia that was our little family of friends.
Heat crept up my neck.
“I deliver to lots of places. They added Mount Vernon to my route this week.”
“Uh-huh.” Sisi’s grin turned predatory. “And I’m betting you’d love to make a very special delivery to a certain librarian.”
Mateo snorted into his coffee.
“What are you talking about?” I said, but I could feel my face heating up.
Sisi looked toward Mateo and crooned, “From what I heard, our Jeremiah wants to check out more than books. I bet he wants to help the poor man organize his stacks.”
“His what?” I asked, confused.
“You know,” Sisi said with mock innocence, “help him with shoving tomes into all the right places. Maybe show him how to properly handle his rare manuscripts.”
Mateo’s eyes widened as he caught on, and he dissolved into laughter.
“Please stop,” I groaned, but I was fighting back a smile. “He’s a nice guy. We only—”
“I wonder if he’d let you access his restricted section,” Sisi continued mercilessly. “Or maybe you could help him with some late-night indexing.”
“Oh, my God. You’re terrible,” Mateo wheezed. “Besides, wouldn’t that be in-dick-sing?”
Sisi howled.
I covered my face with my napkin.
Dolores arrived, poured coffee, and scanned the table, searching for the troublemaker who had me blushing redder than her picnic cloth apron.
“You.” She pointed a gnarled finger at Sisi. “Be nice. This is a sweet boy.”
“What?” Sisi held up her hands in mock surrender. “I’m just saying our boy here clearly wants to leave butt prints on the checkout counter.”
Dolores shook her head, patted my shoulder, and vanished back into the kitchen.
I buried my face in my hands. “I hate both of you.”
“We’re your best friends,” Sisi corrected, looking pleased with herself. “And we want details. What’s he like?”
I peeked through my fingers.
There wasn’t much to tell, really. Just impressions. Fragments.
