It's the hardest thing I've done all week.
Because what I want to do is crowd her against that shelf and put my mouth on the spot where her cardigan slipped. I want to find out if her skin is as soft as it looks and listen to whatever sound she'd make if I put my hands on her hips and pulled her against me.
I want to know what my name sounds like in her mouth when she's not being polite. I want to hear it breathy, desperate, and raw. That thought has no business being in my head in a public library at ten in the morning, but it doesn’t seem to be leaving any time soon.
"Jocelyn mentioned a loose shelf," I say. My voice sounds normal. I don't know how. "Figured I'd get it fixed for you."
Evelyn blinks. I watch the pink flush climb her neck and disappear under the collar of her cardigan.
"Yes, the shelf. It's... It’s right over there." She points vaguely at the wall. "It wobbles."
"I'll take a look."
"Great." The pink comes back and I like that I’m the one making it crawl across her collarbone.
"Great."
Neither of us moves. Until somewhere in the front of the library, June coughs. It sounds suspiciously deliberate and it breaks the spell. I turn and walk to the wall shelf before I do something I can't take back in the reference section of a public library on a Tuesday afternoon.
I put a hand on it and the old wood creaks. The brackets have pulled away from the drywall, probably from age and the weight of two decades' worth of encyclopedias nobody uses anymore. I set my tool bag down, pull out a drill and anchors, and get to work.
It's a no brainer, twenty-minute job. I manage to make it last an hour.
Evelyn doesn’t try to put distance between us. She doesn’t leave the section at all. She shelves books around me. She works quietly, except for the softthudsof books sliding into place.
I watch her from the corner of my eye while I drill. She sorts the returns by color. I noticed it yesterday and I notice it again now. Blues are clustered together, reds with reds, and greens ina neat line. She doesn't seem to know she's doing it. Her hands just move on auto-pilot, creating order out of whatever's in front of her.
I think about what it means. Her brain needs things lined up, contained, and predictable. So much so that she builds little walls out of book spines and color codes because something in her life was chaotic enough to make structure feel like survival. I tighten a bracket.
“I guess it’s my lucky day, I’ve got great timing with this emergency shelf repair.” She bites back a laugh.
I turn to smile at her. “Can’t have these things hanging around incomplete.”
“Well, carry on then.” She turns and walks back toward her rolling cart then pauses. “James, thank you for getting me home last night.”
I shrug it off. “It’s no big deal. I’ll always keep you safe.”
Something shifts in her face. The guarded look softens, not all the way, but enough. Then she turns and heads to the desk. I watch her go.
I think about every tour I extended because being overseas was easier than being home. Every room I cleared because the mission was clearer than the emptiness. Every year I spent running toward the wrong things because I didn't know what the right thing looked like.
But now it’s clear. The right thing looks like this… Messy bun, black glasses, biographies on her hip, and a mouth that's learning how to smile again.
We chat for the next thirty minutes while I finish the shelf. Far too soon, there’s nothing left for me to even pretend to do. So I pack my tools and walk to the front. June is at the desk. She doesn't look up from her computer, but she's smiling.
"Shelf all fixed?"
"Should hold."
"Funny. That shelf's been loose since 2021 and nobody's touched it." She types something. Still not looking at me. "Guess it just needed the right motivation."
I don't answer. I push through the green door and the bell chimes and I stand on Main Street in the cold mountain air. I pull out my phone and text Jocelyn.
Me:I need a reason to be at the library tomorrow.
Her response is immediate. Three exclamation points and a string of emojis I don't understand.
Me:What the hell does that mean?
