Mrs. Wilson’s expression didn’t change, but her eyes widened slightly, confirming my suspicion. She knew what Rion was.
“How did you?—”
“I’ve been the head librarian in Willowbrook for nearly thirty years, Clara,” she said, cutting me off. “There’s very little about this town I don’t know.”
I swallowed hard, trying to make sense of this revelation. “So you know that there are… others? Like Rion?”
“Willowbrook has always been a sanctuary of sorts,” she said carefully. “A place where those who are… different… can live peacefully. But that peace is maintained through discretion.”
“You’re asking me to hide him,” I said flatly. “To be ashamed of him.”
“Not at all.” She touched my arm gently. “I’m simply suggesting that public displays might draw unwanted attention. Not everyone is as accepting as you, my dear.”
I pulled away from her touch. “He has as much right to be here as anyone else.”
“Of course he does,” she agreed smoothly. “I’m not suggesting otherwise. I’m merely concerned about the comfort of all our patrons. And,” she added, her voice lowering, “about your safety.”
“My safety?” I repeated, confusion mingling with my anger. “Rion would never hurt me.”
“I wasn’t referring to him.” She glanced around, though the stacks were empty. “There are those who view relationships between humans and… non-humans… with extreme prejudice. I would hate to see either of you face harassment or worse.”
The genuine concern in her voice gave me pause. She wasn’t being cruel or discriminatory—at least, she didn’t think she was. She genuinely believed she was protecting us.
“Mrs. Wilson, I appreciate your concern, but?—”
A deep voice from behind me cut me off. “She’s right, Clara.”
I whirled around to find Rion standing at the end of the aisle, his large frame nearly filling the space between the shelves. His face was carefully composed, but I could see the tension in the set of his shoulders.
“Rion! What are you doing here?” I moved towards him instinctively.
“I brought you lunch.” He held up a paper bag. “You forgot it on the counter this morning.”
This morning. The casual reference to our domestic arrangement made my heart twist. I’d made lunch at his place before we left, distracted by his kisses as I tried to pack it up.
Mrs. Wilson cleared her throat softly. “Mr.… Rion. It’s nice to formally meet you. I’m Elaine Wilson, head librarian.”
“I know who you are,” he said, his voice neutral. “Clara speaks highly of you.”
She inclined her head in acknowledgment. “I apologize if you overheard our conversation. It wasn’t my intention to discuss this without you present.”
“I understand your concerns,” Rion said, surprising me with his calm. “And I agree. It’s better if I stay in the background.”
“Rion, no—” I started, but he shook his head.
“I’ve lived in Willowbrook for fifteen years, Clara. I know how this works.” His eyes, when they met mine, held a resignation that broke my heart. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay,” I insisted, anger bubbling up again. “This is discrimination, plain and simple.”
“It’s reality,” he corrected gently. “And it’s not Mrs. Wilson’s fault.”
Mrs. Wilson’s expression was unreadable. “For what it’s worth, I don’t personally share these prejudices. But as a public institution, we must consider all perspectives.”
“Even the bigoted ones?” I challenged.
“Especially those,” she said quietly. “They’re the ones who can cause the most harm.”
I wanted to argue further, but Rion’s hand on my shoulder stopped me. His touch was gentle, his fingers curling protectively around my upper arm.
