Jade stared at the gap.“You sure about this?”she asked.
“You’re stepping through a fence into a library yard,” I said.“Not a portal into hell.”
“You haven’t met some of the librarians I grew up with,” she muttered.
I squeezed her hand.“You want to go back?”
“No,” she said.“I want to go forward.My stomach hasn’t gotten the memo yet.”
“Then we go slow,” I said.
We stepped through together.
The library sat small and brick, single story, with big windows and a faded mural on one wall.Someone had painted kids reading under a tree, an owl perched over them like he was judging their book choice.
A couple of cars dotted the front lot.Older sedans.A minivan.No black SUVs or flashy sports cars.
I pushed the door open.
Cool air washed over us, carrying dust and paper and a scent unique to library stacks.Old glue.Ink.Stories.
My chest loosened as I breathed in.
A bell chimed somewhere near the front desk.
“Hello,” a voice called.“Can I help… oh.Kane.”Miss Irene peered around a shelf of DVDs, her glasses sliding down her nose.Sixty-something, gray bun, cardigan.She appeared an ordinary small-town librarian -- until someone put a shotgun in her hands.Years ago, she’d sat on Atilla’s jury when some local idiot tried to stir trouble.The club earned her loyalty after.
“Ma’am.”I nodded.“You remember Jade?”
“I remember the girl who returned three overdue romance novels in one day and looked like she wanted to bolt when I smiled at her,” she replied dryly.“Hello, dear.”
Jade flushed.“Hi.Sorry again about… the fines.”
“You paid them,” Miss Irene said.“You fought through a panic attack to do it.I marked your account ‘heroic behavior.’”
Jade blinked.“You did?”
“’Course I did.Now what are you looking for?Same aisle?Or you ready for something with more explosions?”
Jade shook her head.“No explosions.Enough of those in real life right now.”
“Romance it is.”Irene nodded toward the shelves.“You know where they live.You two holler if you need anything.”She disappeared behind the desk.
Jade stood frozen for a second.
“Hey.”I nudged her gently.“You breathing?”
“Trying.”
“Want to leave?”I asked.
“No,” she said quickly.“I… she remembered me.”
“Yeah,” I agreed.“She remembers everyone.It’s her job.She also knows not to ask questions you don’t want to answer.Consider this neutral ground.No cartel.No cops.Just old ladies who read more than we do.”
She laughed softly.“Okay.Show me your favorite section.”
I steered her toward the back.“Why don’t I show you whereyourfavorite section is first.”
