Page 169 of Checking Out the Librarian

“Beg to differ.”

“I can prove it! I have receipts! I am hot!”

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever you say.”

“Before Jonathan, I pulled professional athletes. More than one.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“In more than one sport!”

“I guess pickleball and pool—billiards?—have professionals now, don’t they?”

“In the NHL!” Jess always did this to him, made him live in exclamation marks, made him walk around like a cartoon character trying to get someone to understand the speech bubbles over his head. She could push his buttons like nobody else in the world, and she lived for it.

“Yeah, whatever, millionaire hockey dude hookups, sure, Connor. Sure.”

And they both burst out laughing, him because he was relieved it was the same as it ever was, and his little sister because she thought she’d bested him.

“My fucking life,” he gasped, clutching his stomach.

His life felt amazing. Jess knew and she’d made him laugh and his fucking life was amazing.

34

NO LIE DETECTED

“I finished all the prep and taping this morning. It’s ready to paint.” Jonathan glanced at Lily while he continued sealing the plastic bags holding the finger weaving kits for the upcoming Crafturday kids.

There was no universe in which that would be his choice of name for summer craft sessions aimed at five-to-seven-year-olds, but the library had leaned heavily into imagery of anthropomorphic poop doing crafts, so he was stuck with Crafturday. A fairy misplaced his mascara wand every time Jonathan had to even think the word.

“Still free tonight?”

Next to him, Lily perched on a stool, designing the instruction flier, or at least finding a template on the internet.

Yesterday she’d offered to help paint the walls in Connor’s entry if Jonathan took her to dinner. He didn’t want to force her to honor the casual commitment to wearing out her arms by rollering walls and cutting paint into corners, but surprising Connor with a redecorated front hall had sounded easier to do than it was.

Also, one measly night of being alone had broken his spirit. Him, the man who had once maintained an apartment-sized fortress of solitude.

She answered without looking up from her screen. “Absolutely. I’m in. I’m going to soak you for so much pad thai, you won’t believe it.”

“Enough leftovers for one lunch. That’s my limit. Or at least my credit card limit.”

She flapped a hand at him. “Ugh, I can’t use this graphic program and talk at the same time. Give me a minute.”

He caught a glimpse of his face on the dark reflective surface of an extra monitor. He looked petulant, which wasn’t a good look. Being a better person meant understanding that other people had priorities that weren’t meant to slight him. He could wait.

He counted the craft kits again. Fifteen was the stated limit for the class, but he should make extras because siblings and others always squeezed in to Crafturday.

“Done.” She swiveled her screen in his direction. “What do you think?”

“Oh, the eyes on that smiling pile of feces really humanize it.” The gossamer rainbow wings around his heart shriveled and turned to dust. Poop dust. His life was poop.

He took a deep breath. “There’s one more thing. I sort of need your vehicle because it’s larger than mine, and also your very strong arms and back to help move a piece of furniture from my place to Connor’s.”

She looked over her totally fake cat-eye glasses, allegedly for blue light, but really just fake. “Gonna cost you extra.”

“Two dinners?”