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Raising my eyebrows, I crossed my arms over my chest, smug satisfaction written all over my face. “We have the same birthday.”
“Your birthday is the seventeenth too?”
Maybe I could make her forget too. “It is. See? We ain’t so far apart.”
“There’s almost twenty years between us, Frank. How can you say that?”
Then again, she could be my— Jesus, Frank. What are you doing with this woman?
“Frank? Where’d you go?”
Shaking my head, I tried to shake it off when she caught me in the realization that I was old enough to be her fucking parent. I didn’t know what the hell to do with that knowledge. “Nowhere.” I changed the subject, and with style, if I did say so myself. “So how did you get into the library sciences?”
“You know what that is?”
“I have a good guess, I think.”
“Oh, well, there’s a lot more to it than just the checkout person at the front desk. In a small town like Wisper, there are a lot of community building opportunities. Like, I’ve been thinking about starting a seed library and maybe a yoga class for senior citizens.” She snorted at herself softly. “After I learn how to do yoga. But I’ve loved books my whole life. They were always there for me.”
When she didn’t add anything further, I nodded, waiting for her to go on, and it seemed there wasn’t a better subject I could’ve asked her about. It didn’t take but a minute, and she was talking around me in circles, sounding so in love with life and so intelligent. I was mesmerized by her.
“I love the research part of it too. It feels good to help people when they need information or want a certain kind of book, but really, I just love books. It’s that simple. My parents traveled for their jobs. I spent summers here with my grandparents, but the rest of the year, I spent a lot of time in a hotel room, on a plane or train, or on a set. Books allowed me to escape the fact that I was a tagalong and a burden to my own parents. They barely cared if I did the homework my teachers would assign when they whisked me off on another trip. It was like they decided to have a kid and then went, ‘Oh, maybe that wasn’t such a good idea. Whatever, we’ll just drag her along.’”
“A set?”
“Movie sets. I spent a lot of time on movie sets growing up.”
“Your parents are actors?”
“Independent film directors. Husband-and-wife team. They were never really attentive parents, but they’re creative and generous. Just not generous with me, not with their time. And not with each other. I’m actually kind of surprised they stayed married all these years. Better for tax purposes, I guess.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” So maybe that was why she always had her nose stuck in a romance book.
Shrugging one shoulder, she said, “It’s not a big deal. I got to see the world. It was an adventure, I suppose, and sometimes it was even fun. And it wasn’t like they were neglectful, just not… warm or very nurturing. So I read about people who were or about fantastic worlds I could get lost in. I could ignore my parents’ indifference to each other and to me, and they never complained when I needed a new book because it meant they could do what they wanted, and I’d comply. There’s probably thousands of books out there with my childhood signature scratched on the last page. I signed every book I read and left it in the train or the hotel, hoping someone else would pick it up and read it.”
“That’s real sweet,” I said, imagining her wide-eyed view of the world back then. But then I caught myself trying not to imagine what I had looked like when she was ten years old. I was twenty-nine then. “You’re a dreamer.”
I liked that. It fit the hopeless romantic I saw her as. But as I smiled at the thought, I realized what it meant—that she most likely had a lot of expectations and big ideas about love—and it sent red flags straight to my brain. I ignored them, too, or I tried to, but I lived in the real world.
Maybe she was right that this date wasn’t a good idea. The last time I found myself caught up with a wishy-washy romantic, I lost my dog, my house, and all I got was a lousy divorce.
Her cheeks flushed at my dreamer comment, turning a pale pink color that matched her hair. But then her eyes shot to the door behind me. “Holy crap,” she said. “Is that Vern?”
I turned to see for myself, and sure enough, there was Vernon Wexler, dumbest outlaw on the planet and definitely not the best dressed. Except tonight, he was mixing it up in pressed Wranglers, a gray suit vest and white button-down, and a spiffy, new black felt hat. He had a pretty woman on his arm who seemed just as confused as I was that Vern looked so good. She kept stealing quick glances at him.
Samantha called over to them and waved. “Vern, is that you? You look amazing. Hi, Millie.”
Millie looked relieved to see Samantha. She released Vern’s arm and rushed to our table. I stood, trying to figure out how to greet the guy I’d arrested more than a few times. But I wasn’t a dick. If Vern was turning over a new leaf, I could accept that. It didn’t mean I wouldn’t still keep my eye on him though.
Peeking at me, Millie leaned down to hug Samantha. “I’m so glad to see you.”
“Are you on a date with Vern?”
“I didn’t think it was a date,” Millie whispered before Vern caught up with her. “I think he thinks it’s a date though.” She caught a glance over her shoulder and straightened when he approached.
Sam stood, too, placing her cloth napkin on the tabletop after folding it into thirds. She smiled. “You look really good, Vern. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so dressed up.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” He tipped his hat but then remembered his manners enough to remove it inside a restaurant. When he pulled it off, I was surprised to see his head had been shaved, his hair only half an inch long. No more mullet for Vern.
