River holds his hands up. ‘Would you stop with the dirty talk? We’re in alibrary.’
It’s my turn to laugh out loud then and, to my relief, a little of the tension that’s been steadily building since this morning dilutes into something more comfortable.
I glance down at the book I’m holding. ‘How to Play The Bagpipes,’ I read out. ‘I could never. My lungs may be strong but my mouth skills are lacking.’
River grins. ‘Oh, I’d say your mouth skills are perfectly …’ He trails off, quickly grabbing a book from a nearby display table and gazing at the back cover with deep concentration. Squish, attached to the lead River is holding, suddenly barks and strains in the direction of a thin man in a waistcoat who is standing by the reception desk and fully staring at us.
‘Gertie?’ he calls to us cheerfully. ‘River?’
‘Yes!’ I say, heading over. ‘How did you know who we were?’
‘Mrs C pinged me a text, told me to expect you.’ He leans down to scratch Squish behind the ear. Squish rolls onto his back for an immediate belly rub. ‘Ordinarily dogs aren’t allowed in the library but my wife used to be Squish’s dog-walker so Squish and I are firm friends.’ He winks conspiratorially. ‘I’m very happy to bend the rules for friends from time to time.’
I grin at the cheerful, melodic Yorkshire accent that reminds me of my dad’s.My lovely dad.I quickly shake off the thought of my parents and focus on the librarian who is beaming at us. ‘I’m Aled.’ He shakes both of our hands. ‘I hear you are in need – desperate need – of books to help with your writer’s block, Gertie?’
‘Yes. We were going to look on the internet but Mrs Casablancas – Mrs C – told us you’d be able to find us the best stuff.’
‘Internet? Boo hiss!’ Aled laughs. ‘We can do a lot better than that, here at the library.’
I expect him to lead us through the stacked shelves in the direction of the most appropriate non-fiction section, but instead he taps a pile of five books on the desk at his side. ‘I took the liberty of pre-selecting the books I thought would be most helpful for you.’ Aled picks up a purple textbook calledWriting From the Inside.
‘My best friend,’ he lowers his voice discreetly, eyes flicking from side to side, ‘the crime author R. L. Cooper, found this one to be incredibly helpful.’
‘R. L. Cooper read this one?’ I gasp, a flip of excitement in my stomach. ‘I love his stuff. Okay! I’ll take the whole stack. Thank you, Aled. Mrs Casablancas was right. You aretremendousat your job.’
Aled flushes with pleasure and holds his palm out expectantly. ‘You have a library card, I assume?’
‘You bet.’ I fish my library membership card out of my pocket.
‘Would you like one, River?’ he asks as he scans mybooks through the computer system before placing them neatly into the tote bag I brought. ‘A library card is a portal, if you will, into any universe you can imagine!’
River laughs darkly as Aled hands him the tote bag. ‘I’m all good on extra universes for now, though I appreciate the offer.’
‘He’s not from around here,’ I explain in the biggest understatement of the decade.
‘Of course, silly me!’ Aled chuckles. ‘Your accent. Of course.’ He picks up a tiny stuffed owl from the desk and waves one of the wings at us. ‘Well, good luck. And if you need any more assistance I am here all day, every day, except for Monday lunchtimes when I play squash at the community centre and Tuesdays when my wife forces me to take a day off.’
‘Thank you so much!’ I say waving back.
‘Bye!’ Aled says, waving. ‘Bye, Squish!’
‘Good day, Aled,’ River says, reaching up to tip his hat and then – remembering it’s in Mrs Casablancas house for repair – does a weird sort of forehead tap instead. ‘Thanks so much for your help.’
Once we’re outside the library, Squish pulls frantically on his lead, straining for us to move towards a nearby lamp post he wants to examine. When we don’t immediately obey him he starts to bark, absolutely furious.
River peers down at him, a stern expression on his face. ‘This behaviour would not fly on Oakley Ranch … Now just sit. Come on now, Squish.Sit.’ He leans down and gently presses Squish’s bottom downwards. ‘Sit.’ Squish ignoreshim, his tail wiggling furiously at the unexpected attention. ‘You’re your own man, huh?’ River mutters eventually. ‘Reckon you know better, huh?’
I find myself watching the pair of them, a slow smile igniting at the sight of this burly interdimensional cowboy failing to control a tiny puppy.
When River notices me watching him, I sort of spin on my heel and face the wall like I’m inThe Blair Witch Project, panicked that he thinks I’m perving on him, or waiting for the right moment to pounce for another kiss.
This is ridiculous. I mean, I only kissed River because I was feeling reckless in the moment. Because I was curious and in desperate need of distraction and he is the most attractive man I’ve ever seen in real life. Plus he told me I was sexy. Which felt really nice. But it’s not like I fancy him. Not properly. Not in anything more than a surface-level basic ‘he’s a very hot guy’ way. Not like in the deep, emotional way that I fancy Henry.LoveHenry.
Henry.
I squeeze my eyes shut as the humiliation of the party snakes its way through my chest. The very particular way Henry’s elegant hands were splayed across Marisol’s lower back flashes into my brain like a clip in an erotic movie I never ever wanted to see. My Henry. With Marisol Keats. I bite my lip, fascinated that the main emotions I’m experiencing are fury and embarrassment, but still not the earth-shaking sadness I thought I’d feel in a situation like this. Hmm. Maybe it’s one of those repressed emotions things? Like when your body and brain doses out trauma reactions in small bursts so thatyou don’t explode with feeling. Maybe tomorrow the sadness and the jealousy will join the humiliation and anger for a lovely little pity party in my head.
I feel River’s presence at my side. I glance across at him. He stares at the wall with narrowed eyes. ‘What are you doing?’ he asks.
