The bell above the door rings again, and Devon Baker, one of my Saturday morning regulars, tromps inside, tugging on his dad’s hand. His father is a local, but almost a decade older than me. While I attended school with his younger sister, I can’t for the life of me remember his first name.
“She has it, Daddy,” I hear Devon say, dragging Mr. Baker toward me like a magnet about to attach itself to the steel counter.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Nemeth. I need to call you back.”
The man doesn’t seem to hear me. “Can I borrow Annika’s book?”
Hyper-focused, just as I suspected.
Devon rounds the counter and gives me a hug. Then he rushes off toward the castle.
“Just one moment,” I whisper to Devon’s dad. He looks irritated about having to wait, especially since no one except us and a cat are in the store. So much for customer service.
Turning slightly, I try to hide the telephone under my long hair as if Devon’s father won’t see it.
“I can pick it up—”
“No.” I don’t want this man I don’t know to show up at the store. “I’ll scan the marked pages and upload them to Dropbox.”
Then again, I’d like to meet him before I hand over Annika’s list, and hear his uncle’s story. Mr. Baker glances at me again, and I know I’m about to lose a customer if I don’t end the call.
“I’ll bring it to you,” I blurt. Instantly I wish I could take back my words. I don’t want to drive to Columbus or attempt to navigate the crowds at Ohio State.
Devon catapults off the slide, and after his father retrieves him, the man takes a step back as if he might bolt for the door.
“Did you translate any of the notes?” Dr. Nemeth asks, clearly not relenting.
“I’m sorry. I have to go.”
“When can I meet you?”
“Email me at the store’s address,” I say. “We’ll figure out a time.”
He begins talking again, but I disconnect the call.
“Now—” I lean toward Devon—“what can I help you find?”
Devon smiles, his freckles climbing upward. “A Magic Tree House book.”
“I suspect you have a specific one in mind.”
He nods. “The one about the sabertooth.”
I curl my fingers, pretending they are claws. “It’s a fierce sabertooth.”
“I like fierce.”
“Very good then. Let’s see if we have a saber-toothed tiger in stock.” I guide him toward the base of the castle, the section crammed with dozens of Magic Tree House chapter books and decorated with the cutout of a sturdy tree. Devon plucks the sabertooth story off the shelf, and his dad agrees to buy it along with two more in a series of more than fifty books now.
While Devon climbs up the castle steps again, presumably to ride down the slide one more time, I take his books to the counter.
Mr. Baker hands me his credit card. “Devon thinks this place is his second home.”
“I understand. It’s been my second home since I was about his age.”
Mr. Baker’s gaze falls to my left hand, as if someone might have slipped an engagement or even wedding ring on it since story time this morning. Then he smiles at me, any lingering frustration about his waiting gone.
I pull my hand back to reach for a paper bag under the counter. Single men make me nervous enough, the expectations often unclear, but the married ones who like to flirt—nauseating.
