A startling amount of noise met her as the doors breezed shut, and before she got more than a step or two inside, a parade of children flying some kind of dragon banner rushed by, cheering and laughing. Unable to stop a smile, Lola let them run past, then went forward cautiously as their parade took them through the front half of the library and back toward a sunken children's area immediately to the entrance's right.
This wasdefinitelynot the stuffy, silent kind of library she remembered from her own childhood. There were people studying and looking for books in the back half of the library, but none of them seemed to mind the noise—most were wearing headphones of some kind, which probably helped—and the front half contained the check-out desk and tall stacks that proclaimed a kid's section for readers who could handle more than picture books.
Posters hung on the ends of the stacks, announcing at least six different kinds of clubs that met at the library, and advertising other local events. A rather tall woman in a boxy red 1950s-style retro dress and her hair done in victory curls stuck another poster up as Lola watched, then turned, caught Lola's eye, and waved a greeting.
Lola startled guiltily, feeling like she'd been caught, but smiled, and the woman approached with an outstretched hand. "Sarah Ekstrom, local librarian. You're new here. Anything I can help you with?"
"I just wanted to look around," Lola murmured. "I've heard good things about this library."
Sarah clapped a hand over her heart. "Music to my ears. If there's anything you need, just let me or one of the other librarians know. We can get you set up with a library card in five minutes."
Lola laughed. "I'm not sure I'll be in town that long, but thank you."
"In that case, welcome to Virtue and I hope you enjoy your stay." Sarah waved again and went back to putting up posters and wrangling small children, who giggled and more or less behaved themselves. Lola, smiling again, wandered through the library, warming up and being quietly astonished that the tired little town she remembered could now support such a vibrant community space. People of all ages were reading, working, talking quietly, browsing the stacks, and occasionally glancing toward the front of the library with expressions of mostly-fond exasperation when a burst of noise rose from the rowdy children's area.
She didn't need a library card, but shehadneeded to see this space, she decided as she left again. Somehow it bolstered her. The town had obviously changed—that much had been clear from all the new businesses around the square—but the library was full oflife. The Virtue she'd left behind all those years ago was gone, and Lola thought she rather liked the new one. It made her feel braver about the idea of meeting Sam again, somehow, which made no sense at all. But then, if she'd learned anything in her seven decades of life, it was that people didn't make much sense most of the time anyway.
The walk back into town was more invigorating than the one to the library had been. Lola felt like she'd gotten her bearings now, and like the world was at her feet. She hadn't felt that way in a long time—maybe not since before she'd left Virtue in the first place—but it felt good now, and she smiled and nodded greetings at the few passers-by she met as she headed toward the doughnut and coffee shop. Funny how the noisy library had restored her confidence. Maybe because it reminded her that it was possible for Virtue to have changed as much as she had.
Bells rang cheerfully on the doughnut store door as she pushed it open, and the scent of cinnamon and sugar made her stomach rumble for the first time since she'd arrived in Virtue. The woman behind the counter was less than a decade younger than Lola herself, and gave her a bright, wicked grin. "Just what I needed, another woman of a certain age. Could you please help me convince these gentlemen that it's better to have a little extra padding than not, at our age?"
Since she—Imelda herself, according to her name tag—was strongly round in the same way Charlee was, Lola figured she meant every word of it…and that her own puffy winter coat disguised the fact that Lola herself was of somewhat slimmer build. Still, she said, "Absolutely," with amused delight. "Why do you think I'm here? Those doughnuts smell amazing."
Imelda, who had a tremendous amount of iron grey hair tied in a twist beneath a hair net, and sparkling brown eyes, turned that brown gaze on the 'gentlemen' in question, her expression triumphant. "See? So you can't possibly convince me that a man your size only needsonebear claw doughnut."
"No," one of the men said, audibly fighting laughter. "No, you need at least four, don't you, Garius?"
"For God's sake, Conri. I don't suppose you havewolfclaw doughnuts?" another of the men asked, by which time Lola had glanced from the delectable offerings in the shop's glass display case toward the men. There were three of them, oneverylarge—that was Garius, since he was still speaking—and Conri, who was much smaller but still not small. He sat across the table from Garius, making motions like he'd elbow the big man in the ribs if they were next to each other. They were both in their late thirties, Lola thought: still practically children. It was astonishing howyoungthat age looked, from her side of things.
The third man was older, and had come to his feet when she'd spoken; she'd seen that from the corner of her eye, and now she got a good look at him. He was slim but strongly built, with white hair swept back from a widow's peak and a cascade of gentle wrinkles. He wore a beard, short and well-kept, and a suit that spoke of good taste and the money to support it.
Lola put a hand out, fumbling for something to hold on to, and planted her palm against the pristine glass display case. Imelda made a perfectly reasonable indignant sound at that, but it was all that kept Lola from falling, because as Sam Todd's sharp blue eyes met hers for the first time in fifty years, all she could think was,He hasn't changed a bit.
CHAPTER4
Sam Todd hadn't heardthat voice in five decades.
He was standing before he knew it, the men with him forgotten as he glimpsed the woman who'd just come into the store and gave Imelda a laughing response. The voice was older, of course, maybe a little deeper than it had been when he'd last heard it, but even if his fox hadn't come to full alert, Sam would have known Charlotte Nelson's soft tones anywhere in the world.
And it might have been less shocking anywhere but here, at home in Virtue.
The hair that peeked out from under a badly-knitted green hat was white now, soft curls curving around the brim. The shape of her cheekbone was much the same, though he couldn't really see anything else of her beyond the high collar of her winter coat. Still, it was his Charlotte, and if he'd had any doubts, they fled as she turned to smile at the table he was at.
God, she was lovely. As lovely as she'd been when they were eighteen, with a ready smile, gentle brown eyes, and a comforting presence he could sink into. Her cheeks were pink from the cold right now, and her lips, a little thinner than he remembered, were compressed even as she smiled. She was everything he remembered: sweet, wonderful perfection.
Right up until all the color drained from her face when she saw him. A horrible sick lurch shot through Sam's gut as he realized—remembered—that she thought he was dead. For all she knew, she was seeing a ghost, right now. She clutched at the display case to keep her balance, and Sam opened his mouth to offer some kind of reassurance that came out as a helpless croak of sound.
Garius, closest to Charlotte, came to his feet and caught her weight to make certain she didn't fall. She made a sound not unlike the one Sam had just made, steadied herself, and gave the big shifter a weak smile. "Thank you." Her gaze flickered back to Sam instantly, though, and Garius, following it, got an expression of sudden understanding.
"You're welcome. May I invite you to our table?"
"Oh." Charlotte barely vocalized the word, then cast an uncertain glance between the store's proprietor and the men at the table. "I just…came in for…coffee and a doughnut…"
"Conri and I," Garius announced firmly, to Conri's strangled noise of protest, "were just about to takeourcoffee and doughnuts for a walk around the square. Why don't you take our places? And my bear claws."
Charlotte, rallying, said, "I don't think I can eat four," with audible amusement, but let Garius guide her to the table while Sam continued to stand there like a fool, gaping helplessly, hopelessly, adoringly, at the woman he'd lost decades earlier. Conri made another sound of protest that ended with Garius levering him up from his seat and bodily walking him out the door. Sam caught him muttering something about sparks flying as the door jangled shut again, and then for all he cared in the world, he was alone with Charlotte Nelson.
He only realized he was still standing when she said, "Well. Shall we sit?" in a wry tone. It jolted him into action, an abrupt step toward her, which would have worked better if the table hadn't been between them: he crashed into it with his thighs, yelped, and as the silverware clattered and coffee slopped, sat back down.
