My fingers traced the cool wooden banister that led downstairs into the library’s basement. The natural lighting coming through the upstairs windows gradually faded behind me. The only thing ahead was the glow of fluorescent bulbs that hummed quietly.
Almost everyone was enjoying the festival activities, leaving the library with a skeleton crew. Not literally, of course. Although the state of this lower level could have doubled as a perfect crypt for the dearly departed.
I could almost hear Mrs. Sampson’s voice echoing in my head as I hit the bottom step.
“All you need to know about Falston’s history can be found right here in town. The archives section downstairs is not for those chasing fairytales and rainbows.”
Fairytales, my ass. If I wanted a book that lied to me, I’d pick up a copy of my dad’s self-help guidebook,Get Bit by the Glitterbug: Starting the S.P.A.R.K.L.E. Program.
It was eerily quiet here in the basement. There were all the faint sounds of an old building that somehow magnified when you found yourself alone in unfamiliar surroundings. A leaky pipe somewhere, thermostat kicking on, or just the beating of your own heart.
For as big as the library was, this section of the basement felt unusually small. Directly ahead was a drab wooden table with two chairs, and beyond it stood four freestanding shelving units and another two along the back wall.
The egress windows allowed minimal light, muted by a tinted film applied to the glass.
I’d expect some machinery down here, a microfiche reader or copier, but I found nothing of the sort. The most technologically advanced item down here was a dehumidifier running silently in the corner.
The walls were grossly over-decorated with various awards and ribbons, photographs, and a dusty wreath made of red flowers with black centers—poppies, if I had to guess.
Plants weren’t exactly my forte after I had an incidentwith failing to keep my Air Plant alive. It had made a better toy to bat around with my paws than a decoration.
Slowly, I wandered the small space, being sure to check out all that it had to offer. Just behind the stairs that I had taken down here, there was a dark oak door with an arched top. It looked like something that should have been in a castle rather than inside a library.
As I reached out to test the handle, someone cleared their throat behind me.
Spinning around, I saw Malcolm Dennison standing there. His green polo shirt was one size too small on him, and his khakis bore the mark of a dried coffee stain on the thigh.
“Shit, Malcolm. I didn’t hear you come down the stairs.” I placed a hand to my chest, feeling the swift thudding of my startled heart beneath the surface.
He smiled tightly, like a man who had enjoyed striking fear into people while pretending not to.
“Sincerest apologies. Forgive me?” he asked while reaching for my hand, capturing it before I could pull it away. Malcolm sandwiched my hand between both his. “I didn’t expect anyone to be down here with all the fun going on in town.”
I tried to flash a sincere smile instead of a grimace at all the sweat on his palms.
“It’s no problem. Really. I was just looking to do a little research on Falston, trying to get into the festival spirit.” Like any good lie, it bore a grain of truth to it.
A squeeze of my hand and a couple of pats later, hefinally relinquished his hold on me. I resisted the urge to wipe my damp skin on the thigh of my jeans.
Malcolm’s crooked smile flashed once before he gestured at the minimal shelves down here. “Be my guest, but the best way to learn about Falston is to experience it. These books have been written by men with snakes in their hearts and too much time on their hands.”
I stood there awkwardly, giving him an acknowledging nod while purposely tucking my hands into my back pockets. “Understood. I appreciate that, uh… helpful insight. I still think I’m going to take a look around out of professional curiosity. Old books can tell you so much just by how they’re made.”
He laughed like I had cracked a joke, leaving me feeling even more unsettled.
“You’re an absolute riot, Harlow! You won’t find audiobooks down here.”
Tilting my head, I knitted my brows together in confusion. This man couldn’t be that dense. I hadn’t meantliteraltalking.
Still, I played along, half-heartedly chuckling until we were both standing here staring at each other, waiting for this painful interaction to end.
Was it wrong that I secretly hoped someone dropped a house on him? A small one would suffice, like one of those tiny houses that you see advertised by minimalists who made money selling jars of air that were graced bythe wings of a butterfly.
“Say, would you like to have lunch with me?” he suddenly blurted out.
My eyes widened with surprise. I was so fucking bad at controlling my face sometimes. Quickly, I reeled it in as I feigned something resembling disappointment and polite apologeticness. Yes,apologeticness, an actual word.
“That’s really nice of you, but I already have plans.”
