“Please.”
I showed him around, explaining what I’d already done and what still needed work. His genuine interest and enthusiasm were infectious. When we reached the kitchen, he actually gasped.
“Those floors!” He crouched to run his fingers over the restored hardwood. “They’re amazing.”
“Worth the three days it took to strip off all that linoleum.” I couldn’t stop smiling at his excitement. “Ready for dinner?”
“It smells incredible in here.”
I heated up our food, and we settled at the kitchen table, where I’d set out fresh whole-grain bread—bought from Brianna’s Bakery. Brianna had assured me it was suitable for diabetics—and a simple salad to accompany the stew.
“This is perfect.” Pascal spooned up some stew. “The right balance of protein and vegetables, and lentils have a low glycemic index.”
“I did some research.” I didn’t mention my three calls to Heidi to ensure I got it right.
His smile was worth all the effort. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
“My sister-in-law, Heidi, has had type 1 diabetes since she was twelve. She’s taught me a lot.” I took a sip of water. “Like how stress can affect blood sugar levels.”
“Oh yeah.” Pascal adjusted his glasses. “Running Safe Space can be stressful sometimes. Good stress, but still. I always make sure to check my levels before and after.”
“How long have you had it?”
“Since I was eight. My mom noticed the classic signs—constant thirst, frequent bathroom trips. I was lucky she caught it early.” He stirred his stew. “What made you decide to volunteer at the library?”
I was starting to notice how he always directed the conversation away from himself. Did he do that because he didn’t like talking about himself? Or did he think he wasn’t interesting? I hated that last idea, especially since I found him endlessly fascinating. “I wanted to give back to the community. Plus, I missed being around people. Renovating a house is rewarding but solitary work.”
“Do you miss being a reporter?”
“Sometimes. I miss the excitement of breaking a story. But I don’t miss the constant pressure, the deadlines, and living oncoffee and takeout. I mean, talk about stress. It’s a constant in that profession.”
Pascal chewed, looking thoughtful. “I can’t even imagine. I love the peace and quiet of the library, even after all these years. It’s still my favorite place. Well, that or a bookstore.”
“What made you become a librarian?”
His whole face lit up. “Books saved my life when I was a lonely gay teen in a small town. The library was my safe haven, my happy place, and I wanted to pay that forward.”
“How did you end up in Forestville? You didn’t grow up here, right?”
He wiggled his hand. “Yes and no. I lived here from when I was four until I was twelve. Then, my father, who’s a pastor, got called to a different church, and we moved to a small town in Montana. Funny enough, my sister ended up there and I returned to Forestville. I had wonderful memories of my childhood here, so when I saw they were looking for a full-time librarian, I immediately applied. It turns out the head librarian who’d been there when I was a kid still worked there, and Mrs. Burby hired me on the spot. She retired a few years ago, but she’s still a volunteer. Gosh, that woman is amazing.”
“She’s the one with the purple hair, right?” I’d seen her a few times at the library, always wearing something colorful.
“That’s her. She started dyeing it purple after she retired. Says life’s too short for boring hair.” His laugh was musical. “She’s been such a mentor to me.”
We chatted through dinner, and I loved how passionate he got when talking about books or the library programs. His whole face lit up and his hands moved expressively as he spoke.
After dinner, I suggested we watchUnder the Tuscan Suntogether since I’d finished the book. Pascal’s eyes lit up. “I’d love that.”
We settled on the couch. I kept a bit of distance between us, not wanting to appear to take advantage of the situation, but Pascal tucked himself against my side like he belonged there. His head rested against my shoulder, and I couldn’t resist wrapping my arm around him. He fit perfectly.
The movie was good, though different from the book in many ways. I found myself more interested in Pascal’s reactions than the story itself. The way he mouthed certain lines along with the movie, how his eyes lit up at particularly beautiful shots of the Italian countryside, the soft sounds of appreciation he made… Everything about him drew me in.
Halfway through the movie, he caught me staring. A blush colored his cheeks. “What?”
“Nothing. Just enjoying the view.”
His blush deepened, but he snuggled closer. “Smooth talker.”
