Martha’s face clouds. “Hopefully the powers-that-be can apply for and be awarded a federal grant for the renovation. The last I heard, private donations are at an all-time low right now and revenue from city and county taxes are barely enough to cover our current expenses.”
“What about insurance? Won’t they cover the cost of a new roof?” I ask.
Evangeline winces. “According to Ryan, the property insurance policy the library holds is an actual cash value one instead of replacement cost value. Which means the payout will only be what the insurance adjuster deems the roof was valued at before the storm damage. Which will probably be significantly lower than the money required to replace the roof.”
Martha and I share a concerned look. That doesn’t sound good. If budget cuts are on the horizon, what will go? The bookmobile was a donation, but it still requires money for fuel and maintenance. Martha’s been growing the children’s department with crafternoons, STEM-focused activities, and focused presentations by special guests like the wildlife rescue facility and the power company. Some of those don’t cost the library anything because they’re considered community outreach within their own company, but for others the library pays an honorarium.
A more pressing thought stabs at my temple. Should we be worried about our jobs?
Evangeline blows out a hard breath as if ridding herself of the negativity, then paints on a bright face. The woman has a strong belief in faking it until you make it.
“I’m sure it will all work out.” She turns to me, her grin becoming more pointed. “Besides, now that Hayley is back, I think we can agree that the more pressing question is when we can meet this new man of hers.”
I tap my chin as if deep in thought, trying to keep the tone light and playful. If it were up to Evangeline, I’m sure she’d have Levi and I married in a Gatlinburg chapel by nightfall. Me, on the other hand...
Well, things just aren’t that simple.
“Can we really call himmyman?”
“Yes!” both women respond. Evangeline’s is a shout of exclamation while Martha’s is a more subdued agreement, along with a small shake of her head like she can’t believe I’m being so dense.
“The man writes love letters to you,” Evangeline points out.
“They’re regular letters, not love letters,” I correct.
She rolls her eyes. “Letters with secret love messages in them.” Her gaze narrows. “Why are you being intentionally obtuse? Oh my gosh, you didn’t pull a too-dumb-to-live heroine card or fall into a miscommunication trope, did you?”
I turn the Martha. “Is she the pot or the kettle, do you think?”
Evangeline taps her toe. “I learned from my mistake, and you can learn from it too instead of making the same one yourself.”
“Why do you think I’ve made some sort of mistake?”
She throws her hands up. “Because you’re skirting around claiming him as your man and downplaying how utterly romantic the fact he writes you letters is. I’ve seen you go out with a string of men. You keep things surface-level and fun. This time things are different, and most people tend to get just a little bitscared when things are different, especially when something big is on the line. Like your heart.”
So much for keeping things light. I glance to Martha for help, but she only shakes her head at me, unwilling to get in the middle of Evangeline and her pursuit of romance all around her.
Evangeline takes a step closer and picks up my hands to cradle in her palms. “Is that it, Hayley? Are you scared? Because it’s okay if you are. Vulnerability is terrifying.”
This has gotten too real too quickly. I’m already dealing with the crumbling walls of mypossibledisillusionment from my notebooks as well as my own unsurety about the rightness of continuing things with Levi. I can’t deal with Evangeline’s probing questions right now on top of that.
I laugh like the whole exchange has been a joke from the start. “You need to simmer down, Cupid. Levi’s coming over to my place later this week, and I’m going to cook him dinner.” I hold up my hand. “And before you ask, no, you can’t crash our date so you can swoon over the idea of another happily-ever-after in real life. Go enjoy your own with Tai.”
She wrinkles her nose at me. “Spoilsport.”
The sound of the deadbolt hitting the strike plate at the front entrance thunks through the room and draws our attention. Mrs. Kittle stands on the other side of the glass with her canvas library bag slung over her shoulder. The library has a thirty-item limit for checking out media, and Mrs. Kittle comes every twenty-one days on the dot to exchange her thirty items for another thirty.
Martha glances at the clock on the wall. “We were supposed to open three minutes ago.” Her gaze sweeps the library. Half the computers still need to be turned on, including the one we use behind the circulation desk as well as the self-check-out scanner. Toddler story time will start in an hour, and she probably still needs to gather whatever props she plans on using for the day.
I flush, knowing I’m the reason we’re so behind already this morning. “I’ll get the door.”
I walk to the front with a welcoming smile on my face for Mrs. Kittle. There’s a lot in my life I need to sort through, but that’s going to have to wait. For the next eight hours, I plan on escaping into the literary worlds around me.
29
The animal shelter left a voicemail requesting help with a group of dogs they were getting from another shelter over its capacity limit. That’s code forHayley,we need helpwrestling dogs in the shower. My least favorite volunteer task at the shelter, hands down.
After the day I’ve had at work, I just want to go home, channel my inner Garfield, and stuff my face with a big plate of lasagna while watching a period drama on PBS. The grim expressions of the roofers who were in and out all day making assessments and coming up with repair quotes are imprinted on my brain, and I need a dose of Aidan Turner and his tricorn to evict them.
