Sitting in the passenger seat while she’s driving through town is the perfect opportunity to take in her tense posture, the delicate profile framed by an aura of windswept hair. I’ve come to terms with the fact I find her attractive, but in little glimpses, she’s pure warmth making its way through my veins.
It’s uncharacteristic sentimental drivel I hide under the pretense of admiring the shops opening or the view around the coastal road until we reach an old red-brick building with an angled roof, surrounded by shrubs andtrees. It’s a charming piece of architecture with large white framed windows looking over the harbor.
“Is this court-ordered community service?”
“Why do you always presume I’m in trouble with the law?” She does her best to hide her amusement.
“Because you look like trouble.” In more ways than one.
“I do not.” She lifts her nose in the air. “I’m a law-abiding citizen.”
“Probably because you get away with everything by charming people’s pants off.” It’s supposed to be a joke, covering the fact I’m thoroughly charmed. When her cheeks turn rosy, and she looks anywhere but at me I’m filled with a silly giddiness. I’ll addmaking her blushnext toannoying heron the list of things that make my day.
“I’ll leave out the law-breaking part of your backhanded compliment,” she chuckles.
A middle-aged woman wearing an eye-watering lime dress is waiting for us in the doorway, her hands clasped, grinning at Eliza. “The parents are so excited you came this week.”
Eliza fidgets, uncomfortable with the woman’s excitement. “I was hoping I could just read and dash, to be honest, Penelope.”
“Don’t be silly. The situation”—she air quotes the last word—“is taboo. I’ll enforce a ban for life on anybody who dares open their mouth about the subject.”
Penelope takes me on a tour of the place before we reach the children’s colorful reading room. It’s obvious it has seen better days.
“The library doesn’t have enough resources to do more than keep our doors open,” the woman says as I takein the rainbow carpet, floor-to-ceiling arched windows facing a little patio and garden. “But the families are happy to be here, they bring snacks and chat outside. It’s a community gathering spot.”
The people are enjoying the nice weather, laughing and glancing at the kids from time to time. I don’t remember the last time I went to an event for fun.
A guy dressed head-to-toe in camo gear lingers too long around Eliza, even though she doesn’t engage in the one-sided conversation. I’m about to check on her, but a little girl with braids beats me to it and pushes him toward the terrace, glaring at him until he chuckles awkwardly and puts his hands up in surrender.
Eliza, looking relieved, plops on a little yellow stool and claps animatedly.
“Kids, gather round. Let’s find out what the little purple dragon is up to this time.” She smiles at the hyper-excited group of kids who follow her siren call.
“Your kid in there?” a translucent woman, close to a hundred asks.
“No. I’m Eliza’s bodyguard.”
She guffaws, “You kids and your humor.” The woman looks ready to pinch my cheek, so I sidestep the menace and find refuge behind a bookshelf with a prime view of Eliza.
The kids eat her up. Her eyes brighten as she gestures through the scenes. I was five the last time my mother was allowed to read me bedtime stories. My father said fairy tales were for toddlers.
My mind drifts to the soothing rhythm of her voice, to little feet slapping against the floor when I step through the door. Tiny arms rounding my neck and the smell of lavender and shaved wood telling me I’m home.
The vision bursts and reality comes into focus as sharp squeals hurry out to their parents on the patio. The sense of loss is so acute I wonder if I’ve lost my mind. How can I miss something that wasn’t even real?
“You ready to face the firing squad?”
A small laugh escapes her and she bites her lip. “They’ll be nice, but I’m not ready yet. Let’s go home.”
Home. The word is strangely comforting. But she’ll find something to do as far away from me as possible.
“How about we get some fresh air? I want to cash in my tourist privileges until you decide to disappear off the face of the earth again.”
She crosses her arms and tilts her chin up. “I’m busy. I have a life to get back on track, as you kindly pointed out.”
Ouch. This Eliza, not afraid to call me out, is a shot of espresso to my system. The women around me let me get away with anything if it gets them closer to their goal. They’d agree mindlessly to any absurdity coming out of my mouth just for the chance to become Mrs. Rawlings.
“Do you have interviews on Saturdays?”
