1
PASCAL
Wednesday afternoons were my favorite in the library.
I watched from my half-hidden spot behind some bookcases as Stanton Kohler read the wonderfulThe Pengroomsto a group of enraptured kindergartners. That in itself was a cause for celebration as much as admiration since that age group was notoriously hard to entertain.
But, oh man, that voice. The warm, rich baritone read so perfectly, making up unique voices for each character. Seriously, this man could read the phone book and I would listen.
And watch because he was darn easy on the eyes. The way his blue eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled made my heart flip, and his silver-streaked dark beard was perfectly trimmed, begging to be touched. He moved with an effortless grace that belied his tall frame, and the way his velvet jacket stretched across his broad shoulders should’ve been illegal.
Every Wednesday, when he came in to read to the kids, I had a hard time focusing on anything else. Instead, I stole glances at him, admiring how his hands moved expressively while he told stories or how his whole face lit up when a child responded to the story.
I adjusted my glasses and pretended to reorganize the nearby shelf while sneaking peeks at him through the rows of books. The kids sat cross-legged on their colorful cushions, utterly mesmerized. Same, kids. Same.
My heart did a little flutter when he looked up and caught my eye, those laugh lines crinkling as he gave me a quick wink before returning to the story. I nearly dropped the book I was holding. I hadn’t even realized he was aware of my presence.
So far, we hadn’t exchanged more than a few words. Heck, I wasn’t even sure if he was interested in men. The Pride flag flying from his farmhouse was cause for hope, as was theLove is Lovesticker on his truck, but for all I knew, he could just be an ally.
I still had to ask him. No, not for a date. Heck no. As attractive as he was, I would never ask a man out if I wasn’t one hundred percent sure he was into men. And into men like me.
I didn’t want to label myself as an acquired taste, but I was too obviously gay for some guys. They liked my body type—I was small and slender—but not the rest of me. Not the flamboyance and definitely not the chronic illness that came with complications.
Their loss. I’d learned to love myself the way I was a long time ago, and one day, I would meet the man who could appreciate me in the way I deserved.
But that had nothing to do with Stanton Kohler, of course. Because it would be silly to even entertain the idea of anything with him when I didn’t even know if he was into men. Totally silly.
No, I had something else to ask him, and I took his rainbow-patterned socks as a good omen he would say yes. His book choice was amazing too. I lovedThe Pengrooms, both the story and the wonderful drawings. Hard to believe they were done by a man who was legally blind. I was an avid fan of him and hishusband and their hilarious and sometimes heartbreaking social media videos.
The story wrapped up, and the kids crowded around Stanton, chattering excitedly. He answered each one with genuine interest, that warm voice somehow both gentle and strong. The kids all came to him for high-fives and hugs before their parents collected them.
Some of the moms hung back, batting their eyes at Stanton, who responded with friendliness but nothing more. Points for him. It took a strong man to resist Melanie Lyons, who was five-foot-five, cute, blond, and perky with a pair of boobs even I could appreciate. She was also recently divorced and, if the rumors were correct, hunting for a new man.
Mr. Dowdell, my eighty-one-year-old landlord, was always well-informed thanks to the ladies he played Bingo with every week, so I trusted his intel on Melanie. But while friendly, Stanton clearly kept his distance from her, despite some rather blatant flirting. Didn’t the woman have any pride?
Finally, they all left, including Melanie and her daughter. One could only hope the kid would grow up to have more sense than her mom. Stanton breathed an audible sigh of what I interpreted as relief, then headed my way. My stomach did a little flip as he approached the desk where I was pretending to be very busy with the return cart.
“Great turnout today,” he said, that rich voice even more appealing up close.
I nodded, probably a bit too enthusiastically. “They love you. I’ve never seen Jimmy sit still for that long, and he’s our resident wiggle worm.”
Stanton chuckled, the sound warming me from the inside out. “The secret is doing all the voices. Gets them every time.”
“You’re a great reader.”
“You’re pretty good yourself.”
Taken aback, I almost tripped over my own feet. “You’ve heard me read?”
He nodded. “The first week I volunteered, I stayed after my part and watched you read to the first and second graders, hoping to pick up some tips. You were amazing.”
My cheeks grew so hot I feared spontaneous combustion. “Thank you. I love reading to kids. It’s how my mom made me fall in love with books. She taught third grade and always read to me and my sister. Both of us are still big readers. Well, I guess that’s obvious for me since I became a librarian.”
Oh my word, I needed to stop talking before I word-vomited all over him. I tended to prattle when I was nervous.
But Stanton’s smile held no frustration or judgment. “Both my parents are big readers too, but I’m the only one who inherited their love for books. Both my brothers are more doers and prefer to learn things hands-on than from a book.”
I chuckled. “I’m the type that reads the whole manual front to back before even turning any new appliance or device on, even a car.”
