Jocelyn:THE DOOR TO THE STAFF ROOM STICKS. I've been complaining about it for months. You're welcome.
Jocelyn:Also I love you and I'm telling Mom.
Me:Don't tell Mom.
Jocelyn:Too late, already calling her.
I pocket my phone and look down Main Street. I left Iron Peak at seventeen because it felt too small. Then I ran home at thirty-eight because the rest of the world felt too big. I’ve been trying to make it fit ever since.
For three months I've been walking through Iron Peak like a ghost. I’ve been going through motions and fixing other people's broken things because I didn't know how to fix my own. But Evelyn Porter walked into the library yesterday morning and something in me woke up. Nothing can ever be the same.
7
evelyn
“You wouldn’t believe the way they were clucking back and forth at each other, and over a magazine rack of all things…” June laughs as she fills me in on the drama.
“That is insane. I can only hope to end up with a permanent spot in a little library when I retire. Sounds like a dream doesn’t it?”
I laugh as I take it all in. I can’t believe that this is my life now. It’s small-town library drama. Magazine rack turf wars between octogenarians. A boss who texts me after hours because she already thinks of me as a friend and not just the new hire.
“Okay, I’m going to let you go. You better get home. The storm is coming in hot and it’s not going to let up for anyone. The last thing you need is to be driving up the canyon when the weather breaks.”
I look out the window and nod. “Yeah, I’ve gotten comfortable with the canyon drive, but I don’t want to push it.”
“Have a good night and stay hunkered down until this passes.”
I start my drive up the canyon. I love it. I love Iron Peak so much it scares me. The last time I loved something it was taken from me. Piece by piece, so slowly I didn't notice until I wasstanding in the wreckage trying to remember who I was before someone else decided for me.
I'm not going to let that happen again.
But I'm also starting to look forward to things. The ding of the silver bell on the library door. The warm coffee that tastes slightly burnt. Gossip with June, and of course, my visits fromhim.
It's been nine days and James Holt has been in the library every single one of them. Day two he fixed the shelf. Day three it was the staff room door that sticks. Day four he chased down a flickering light in the back hallway that I honestly hadn't even noticed. He was up on a step stool with a screwdriver between his teeth and his shirt riding up and I couldn’t look away. I walked directly into a book cart.
I thought it was a fluke until day five when I saw him working on all fours. He said something about the weather stripping on the front window, but all I could do was admire the view. Day six I lusted after his forearms while he caulked something. Days seven and eight he wore t-shirts so tight my eyes could trace the line of his stomach muscles every time he moved. Jocelyn was behind the desk for most of those days, watching the whole thing unfold with barely contained glee and mouthingoh my Godat me behind his back every chance she got.
Which brings us to today, day nine. James is taking out the trash and replacing liners. It makes me nervous because I imagine he’s out of things to fix. I consider tossing my phone through one of the window panes to shatter the glass just to keep him coming back.
In reality, I should be concerned. I should be analyzing every detail of this. A man showing up at my workplace every day, finding excuses to be in my space is a sentence that would havemade my hands shake and my vision narrow to a pinpoint a year ago.
But James isn’t here to check on me. He doesn't hover. He doesn't position himself between me and the door or monitor who I'm talking to. He doesn’t find reasons to touch me in front of other people so everyone knows I'm claimed.
He just shows up. He fixes everything. He says hello in that low, steady voice that makes my stomach flip. He works quietly for an hour while I shelve. Sometimes we talk and sometimes we don't. But both versions of seeing him leave my heart racing.
I’m already most of the way home and I’m still thinking about James. It’s becoming a problem. Not a cute, rom-com, oh-she's-so-smitten problem. An actual, clinical, I-might-need-to-talk-to-someone problem. That’s why I’m going to cut myself off as soon as I get home.
The sun drops behind the cliffs and the storm clouds are heavy when I get back to my cabin. The canyon goes blue and cold fast once the light's gone. That's the thing about living at the bottom of a box canyon. The days are shorter here and the shadows are longer. But it’s impossible to be afraid of the dark here when the stars are insanely bright.
The first plump drop of rain splatters on my shoulder as I make my way inside. I heat up soup. I wash my bowl and put it away. Then check the locks on the doors and the windows twice, because you can never be too careful. I brush my teeth and I get into bed as the sky lets go with hail and sleet.
I pull the covers up to my chin and watch as the first flakes of snow stick outside.
And then, I think about him.
8
james
