The ladder situation had reached DEFCON 1.
I stood in the middle of the library, hands on my hips, glaring at the heap of splintered wood that used to be our only means of reaching the top shelves. The temporary fix Rion had helped me with had held for exactly three days before Mr. Finch’s enthusiastic “assistance” had reduced it to kindling.
“This is fine,” I muttered to myself, nudging a broken piece with my toe. “Everything is fine.”
Behind me, Brenda cleared her throat. “Clara, dear, talking to broken furniture is the first sign of librarian madness. The second is alphabetizing your breakfast cereal.”
I turned to face her, pushing my glasses up my nose. “The school group from Willowbrook Elementary is coming in four days, Brenda. Four. Days. And they’re specifically coming to see the mythology display that I promised would be—and I quote myself here—’a magnificent journey through cross-cultural monster mythology spanning three continents and five millennia.’”
“Well, at least you didn’t oversell it,” Brenda said dryly.
I groaned, sinking into the nearest chair. “What am I going to do? The budget committee doesn’t meet for another two weeks, and Mr. Hopkins already made it clear that ‘ladder emergencies’ don’t qualify for discretionary spending.”
Brenda perched on the edge of the reference desk, her eyes twinkling with that mischievous gleam I’d come to recognize all too well. “What about your mystery builder? He seemed quite invested in your ladder crisis.”
My phone felt suddenly heavy in my pocket. Rion. My mysterious text correspondent who had spent days helping me with detailed instructions for ladder repair, who had even designed a custom replacement… but who had consistently dodged any suggestion of meeting in person.
“He’s not going to meet me,” I said, though a tiny flicker of hope kindled despite my words. “He’s made that pretty clear.”
“Has he, though?” Brenda tilted her head. “Or has he just been cautious? Perhaps he needs a more… compelling reason than a social coffee.”
I frowned, considering. “What do you mean?”
“Well, from what you’ve told me, he’s passionate about building things. About solving structural problems.” Brenda gestured towards the broken ladder. “This is no longer a minor repair job. This is a full-blown construction emergency.”
She had a point. Rion had seemed genuinely interested in the technical aspects of my ladder dilemma. His texts had grown more detailed, more engaged when discussing design specifications and structural integrity.
“So you think if I frame it as a serious building challenge, he might actually agree to meet?”
“It’s worth a try,” Brenda said with a shrug. “The worst he can say is no, and you’re no worse off than you are now.”
She was right. I had nothing to lose except my dignity, and that ship had sailed the moment I’d sent that first rambling text about my “ladder emergency.”
“I’ll do it,” I decided, pulling out my phone. “But I’m going to need absolute quiet to compose this message. This needs to be the perfect blend of professional, desperate, and non-threatening.”
Brenda mimed zipping her lips and glided away towards the periodicals section, leaving me alone with my phone and the remains of the ladder.
I stared at our previous text exchange, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. How exactly does one craft a message that says “please meet me in person to discuss my library ladder needs” without sounding either pathetically needy or vaguely stalkerish?
After several false starts and deleted drafts, I finally settled on:
“Ladder update: Catastrophic structural failure. Complete rebuild necessary. Would you be willing to meet for a brief project consultation? I can bring the measurements and material samples. Your expertise would be invaluable.”
I read it over three times, analyzing each word. Professional? Check. Focused on the technical aspects? Check. Acknowledging his expertise? Check. Suggesting a time-limited, purpose-driven meeting rather than an open-ended social encounter? Check.
Before I could overthink it further, I hit send.
The message whooshed away, and immediately my stomach knotted. What if he found the request presumptuous? What if he thought I was trying to manipulate him into meeting? What if he stopped responding entirely?
You’re being ridiculous,I told myself sternly.It’s a perfectly reasonable request between two adults. One of whom happens to be a mysterious stranger who refuses to share personal details and is weirdly secretive about his appearance. Totally normal.
I shoved my phone back in my pocket and threw myself into cataloging new arrivals, determined not to check for a response every thirty seconds like a teenager waiting for a crush to text back.
I lasted almost fifteen minutes before sneaking a glance.
No response.
It’s fine,I thought.He’s probably busy. Building… whatever it is he builds. Those complex passageways he mentioned.
