Throughout the day, between helping patrons and continuing work on the mythology display, I found myself returning to that exchange, turning it over in my mind. There was somethingabout Rion’s avoidance of personal details, his reluctance to meet, that nagged at me.
Was he just intensely private? Socially anxious? Or was there something else—something he was deliberately concealing?
“You’re overthinking this,” I muttered to myself as I shelved a returned copy of “The Iliad.” “He’s probably just a busy guy who doesn’t want to get roped into fixing a stranger’s ladder problems in person.”
Yet the sense of otherness persisted—that feeling that there was something unusual about Rion, something that set him apart from ordinary text conversations.
“So how’s your mystery builder?” Brenda asked as we restocked the new releases section that afternoon. “Still dispensing wisdom about structural integrity?”
I nodded, sliding a bestselling thriller into place. “The ladder fix worked perfectly. I was able to retrieve the entire top row of the mythology display this morning.”
“Marvelous,” Brenda said. “And have you met this paragon of construction knowledge in person yet?”
I shook my head. “I suggested coffee as a thank-you, but he declined.”
“Hmm,” Brenda hummed, her expression thoughtful. “Interesting.”
“What’s interesting about it? He’s probably just busy.”
“Perhaps,” she agreed, though her tone suggested she thought otherwise. “Or perhaps there’s another reason he’s keeping your relationship digital.”
I rolled my eyes. “There is no ‘relationship.’ He’s just being kind to a stranger with ladder problems.”
“If you say so, dear,” Brenda replied, her eyes twinkling with that mischievous look I knew all too well. “But in my experience, men don’t spend days texting detailed construction advice to women they have no interest in.”
“Your experience includes a lot of men texting construction advice, does it?” I countered, feeling my cheeks warm.
Brenda laughed. “Touché. But my point stands—there’s something there. Maybe he’s shy. Or maybe…” She trailed off, that gleam in her eye intensifying.
“Maybe what?” I prompted, already regretting the question.
“Maybe he has something to hide,” she said dramatically. “Something he doesn’t want you to see.”
I thought of Rion’s terse messages, his reluctance to offer personal details, his vague descriptions of his mysterious “project.”
“Like what?” I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me despite my determination to be rational.
Brenda leaned in conspiratorially. “Remember my monster theory?”
I groaned. “Not this again.”
“Just consider the evidence,” she insisted. “He’s building something he describes as similar to a labyrinth. He got defensive when you mentioned ‘bullheaded.’ He communicates in a strangely formal way, like someone who learned English from books. And he refuses to meet in person.”
“That’s not evidence of anything except possibly social awkwardness,” I protested.
“Or,” Brenda countered, “he’s hiding horns. Or scales. Or tentacles. Or all of the above.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “You’ve been spending too much time in the fantasy section.”
“Perhaps,” she conceded with a smile. “But you have to admit, it would make for a much more interesting story than ‘socially awkward handyman helps librarian fix ladder.’”
I shook my head, amused despite myself. “I think I’ll stick with the more plausible explanation, thanks.”
But as we finished the restocking and moved on to other tasks, I found Brenda’s ridiculous theory lingering in my mind. Not because I believed it—of course Rion wasn’t a monster—but because it highlighted the strange sense of mystery that surrounded him.
Who was he, really? And why did I care so much?
CHAPTER FIVE
