Page 12 of Library or Lattes?

But when I finally thought of the best retort, I turned to say it and … watched him disappear into the back room.

The bell dinged and I turned on my smile as Mr. Crossword walked in, wearing the same tweed jacket he always wore. His real name was Mr. Dillon, but he’d always been Mr. Crossword to me. He held up his copy of the Gazette, then sat down in his usual spot in the corner.

“Morning, Miss Willa. Seventeen across. ‘Remote and standoffish.’ Five letters?”

“Aloof,” I said.

“Aloof!” Mr. Crossword beamed and wrote in the word. “A perfect fit.”

I glanced at the back room where James had just disappeared. A perfect fit indeed.

3 Library

THE NEXT MORNING, I texted Lennie as soon as I woke up.

Me: SOS. Are you awake?

Me: Can you come over before I go to the Acorn?

Lennie: My phone just vibrated, fell off my shelf, and hit me in the face. So … now I’m awake

Lennie: SOS in a good way?

Me: I think so?

Lennie: Intrigued

Lennie: See you soon

I mixed up some batter and started making pancakes. It was the least I could do, making Len get up so early, but I really needed to talk to her.

Pop rubbed his belly as he walked into the kitchen. “Do I smell pancakes?”

“You do. Want some?” I asked as I flipped. Golden and perfect.

“Please, sweetheart, and can I have some to take with me?”

“Sure thing. What’s going on today?”

“Just taking a look at a broken chicken coop up near the old mill.” Pop drizzled maple syrup over the pancakes I’d given him. He didn’t even sit, just stood at the counter and wolfed them down. When I handed him the next stack, I watched him wrap it up carefully in aluminum foil and slide it into his pocket.

“Pop, a stack of pancakes isn’t lunch. Promise me you’ll eat something else,” I urged him.

He looked at me fondly. “I will, don’t you worry. See you later?” He picked up his toolbox from beside the door.

“Later.” I saluted him with the spatula.

Lennie entered with perfect timing. I was just putting the last pancake on her stack when she threw the door open.

“I have arrived,” she declared. She still looked half asleep, her hair half in a ponytail, half not. She sniffed the air.

“Pancakes!” She sighed, walked over, picked up her stack and the bottle of maple syrup, and took them over to the sofa. She curled up under Mom’s quilt and started eating.

“Okay, I kind of have something I need to talk to you about …” I said.

“Pancakes first or talking first?” Mouth full.

Pancakes with my best friend sounded good right about now.