“Spike it?” I asked myself, looking at the few bottles of liquor in the cupboard above the fridge.
Does a bear shit in the woods?
I poured a dash of marshmallow vodka into the mug and sat down with it.
All right, time to focus. Miles had successfully helped me forget a lot about my meeting with Selectman Sam, but now that he was nowhere in sight and I was left to my own devices, that unfortunate conversation came rushing back.
Sam Bloom was going to do everything he could to tear that building down. I mean, even if the librarywasshut down, it could always be transformed into something else. Why bulldoze it? It was heartbreaking to consider. And even worse, I wasn’t sure there was much I could do to prevent it. All Icoulddo was clean the place up, bring it back to working order, try to finagle a digital catalogue of some kind, and at least prepare a proposal to show it wasn’t going to cost an arm and a leg to maintain the facility.
No one deserved to lose access to books simply because of where they lived.
I was sufficiently warmed up and a little tipsy after my cocoa, busily making notes on my laptop as I deciphered Beatrice’s records, when my phone buzzed on the tabletop. It was a text message from a number not in my address book.
Do you like whole wheat?
I stared at the message before snorting. It had to be Miles.
Stalker. How’d you get my number?I texted back, having to wait a minute for it to actually send. I needed to buy a better router.
Mr. Fields.
Employment information not confidential in small towns?
The little writing bubbles popped up, vanished, then popped up and left again.
I sent another message.I’m kidding.
Oh. Good.
What’s this about wheat bread?
Do you like it?Miles responded.
You know you can call me if you want to chat about bread.
His bubbles popped up again, followed byI don’t like talking on the phone.
I chuckled. Miles’s shyness was actually adorable as hell. The juxtaposition—a tall, strong, blue-collar sort of guy too bashful to have a phone conversation—was interesting. And attractive. Miles Sakasai was definitely the kind of guy I’d like to go on a date with, if he were interested. And I was pretty sure, after spending the day with him, he was at least a little into guys. But was he intomespecifically?
Maybe. Because I think we were flirting over bread.
I like wheat bread. Do you?
I was going to make some for tomorrow.
Lunch is on me, remember?I texted back.
It’s okay.
How about I bring sandwich makings, and you bring bread?
It took a moment for his message to come through, but Miles answered,I’d like that.
I didn’t hear from him again that night. I assumed he was kneading or punching or doing whatever. I would have enjoyed talking to him for real, what with that gravelly, sexy voice of his, but I stayed busy with a second mug of adult cocoa and my records. I eventually moved to the couch, which was haphazardly situated in the middle of the living room, surrounded by still-unpacked boxes, where I fell asleep with a ledger covering my face.
“GOOD MORNING.”
I was crouched in front of the minifridge, shoving some groceries inside for future lunches at the library. I shifted and looked up. Miles was standing over me.
