Page 124 of Checking Out the Librarian

Jonathan

Please don’t

He’d noticed Jonathan had dropped the periods at the end of most of his texts, but didn’t comment. Jonathan craved attention as much as Ribby did, but also he bristled if anyone pointed out anything nice that he did, so it was best to text through it.

Connor sent an after-photo of his clean crawl space, which had taken all day before softball. He didn’t want to traumatize Jonathan with the before shot. The man needed his sleep, and the camera flash reflecting off festoons of cobwebs and mysterious piles of leaves wouldn’t help him achieve it. If he’d been there to cuddle Jonathan, then maybe he would have shared the creepy photos, but not when Jonathan was alone.

His phone lit up with an incoming call.

“Yes?” He wanted to add sweetie or honey or something Jonathan would probably feel equally as incensed over, but held back.

“You can bring Ribby here. Tomorrow night.” Jonathan’s words sounded rushed, like he needed to speak before he was caught by something. “What do you think? Will it work?”

His heart raced. “To stay over?”

“If it works. If Ribby can be good.” It sounded like Jonathan was breathing hard and fast.

“He can wear his muzzle. He doesn’t mind. Rescue greyhounds are really used to them. I’ll feed him before we come and he’ll be all flazy and it’ll work.” He let out his breath. “It will.”

“Flazy?”

“The combined state of fat and lazy.”

“This is a new word.”

“A new concept for you, maybe? I’m willing to demonstrate.”

“Tomorrow night. No promises, it might not work out.” Jonathan’s voice was rapid and getting higher. “They might not be able to get along. Ribby might be too much for Kitten. I don’t know. I don’t know if my apartment’s ready for a dog. I don’t know.”

Jonathan inviting him to the apartment was absolutely a big deal, no question, way bigger than introducing their pets.

Connor had watched seven-year-olds navigate social dynamics with more self-awareness than the man on the other end of the phone. He took a deep breath and adopted his most soothing teacher-tone, the one that he thought of as the drizzled caramel topping voice.

“I’ll borrow a baby gate from Lauren, just in case we need it. She has portable ones, I think. And I’ll bring his crate. We’ll do our best, okay?”

He didn’t know how to calm Jonathan when he was too far away to hug. “We’ll just do our best.”

Wednesday passed as slowly as the final week of school.

He lifted, then went for a run. Joined Hank for pancakes at the diner where Emma worked. Went to Lauren’s for a baby gate. Went for a long, tiring walk with Ribby. Went to the dog bath spa place. He waited for Jonathan to finish work and didn’t make any progress insulating his nice and tidy crawl space.

Finally, he was at Jonathan’s.

Ribby sniffed each planter and plastic chair they passed on the walkway to Jonathan’s apartment, a second-floor middle unit in a typical Pacific Northwest building from the 1970s.

It had a tan brick foundation and three stories of wide, gray-stained vertical wood siding. The windows and doors opened onto the exterior concrete walkways, like a vintage roadside motel. Stairs at both ends of the walkway were pebbled concrete slabs supported by metal risers, with curlicues of black wrought iron railings.

Connor recognized the bike locked to the balcony railing as the one that Jonathan lent him when they took weekend rides. He rubbed his hands on his shorts. Jonathan could see him out the window. It wasn’t like he and Ribby had a subtle metatarsal between them. Still, he knocked quietly, in case Pawsley was sleeping.

“Why, hello there.” Jonathan opened the door with a peppy greeting and wearing a black and white checked apron tied around his waist, one that didn’t have a chest bib, wasn’t very long, and was entirely useless as protection from oil spatters but very, very cute.

He’d wrapped the ties all the way around and tied them in a tiny bow in the front, a there’s a present under this apron type of bow. Connor needed to pull those ties. He really, really needed to pull on the ties, but he requested that people keep their hands to themselves at least forty times a day in September, so he should remember that, too.

Jonathan slipped out and closed the door behind him, leaning to pet the excited Ribby. “You are so good. Are you going to be good? Oh, look at that tail. You are a very happy boy.” He looked up at Connor.

Connor wished he had his phone open for a photo, because he wanted to look at this exact scene, Jonathan in an apron and Ribby with a big open mouth, every morning and every lunchtime and maybe even every time he picked up his phone. He wanted it on his desk when he went back to work.

“I see you’re neglecting my bike.” He nodded at the railing. “Leaving it out here like that.”