Page 17 of That Rush

“The Princess in Black,” Poppy calls from the counter. “It’s good.”

I point at her. “That’s the one.”

“She gets it from Paige,” Poppy adds, lowering her sticker cup like she’s making a formal announcement.

“Who’s Paige?”

“The children’s librarian,” Rowan says. “Paige Whitaker. If Josie wants a specific book, ask her. She knows that whole section better than anyone.”

“That would require me to admit I can’t find it myself.”

“Yes.” Rowan’s expression turns sympathetic. “I know how hard that must be for you.”

“I’ll manage.”

“I’m proud of your growth.”

I finish my sandwich and take the plate to the counter, letting Sadie know Axel is on his way. Rowan gives me a small nod from the register as I leave.

I leave that old possibility where it belongs, in the past.

After I pick up Josie this afternoon, I’m going to find a librarian.

Chapter 2

Paige

By ten thirty, the children’s section looks as if a pack of glitter-obsessed raccoons broke in and rearranged everything.

I stand in the middle of the damage with a roll of tape looped around my wrist and survey the crooked planets hanging above the summer-reading display. Saturn is missing half its rings, Earth is upside down, and a six-year-old boy has decided Mars needs googly eyes.

I let him attach the second one.

“Perfect,” I tell him. “Very scientific.”

His mother gives me an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. He gets excited.”

“He’s in a library. Excited is the goal.”

The boy grins and reaches for another eye.

“Two is probably enough,” I add.

He considers this, then sticks the third to his own forehead.

Fair compromise.

I straighten the stack of registration forms while his mother guides him toward the picture books. The summer-reading launch begins after lunch, which gives me two hours to finish the display, set out activity packets, prepare the craft table, and convince the ancient printer in the workroom that paper is part of its job description.

This is my favorite kind of busy. Every task has a purpose, every book has a place, and every child who walks through the doors finds a story that feels like it was written just for them.

Even the children who put googly eyes on planets.

The circulation clerk appears at the edge of the rug carrying a box of juice pouches. “Where do you want these?”

“On the back counter, please. Far enough from the books that I don’t have to explain sticky pages to anyone.”

She carries them over, then glances at the registration list. “There are three Slades signed up already.”