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One more reason I’m almost certain he doesn’t have a home to go to. Or if he does, it’s not one he wants to spend much time at.
My office is tiny, but I’ve done what I can to make it a cozy space. A couple of flea market lamps to avoid using the overhead fluorescent lighting. An armchair my mom found left behind at a house she sold. Framed poster-sized covers of some of my favorite novels.
And pillows. I love throw pillows. There are at least six in my office, which is quite restrained when compared to the number in my apartment. As long as I don’t count the number at home, I can pretend the amount hasn’t reached unhealthy proportions.
Opening the door of my mini-fridge, I reach in and come out with a granny smith apple in hand.
“Here.”
Jamie avoids my eyes. Men and their pride.
“You don’t want coffee breath. You’ll drive all the group members to the other side of the room. Apples are like fruity toothbrushes.”
“I think I need to see the research on that,” Jamie says. But he accepts the apple.
Good. He has food and caffeine.
Next, a jacket. I can’t solve that right now, but I have my whole shift to come up with a solution. Just like with food, I need to trick the kid into accepting help. He’s adamantly against handouts.
“You don’t trust me?” I fake offense. “I’m a librarian. We know everything.”
He wrinkles his nose at me before taking a large crunchy bite out of the apple, his disbelief clear in the way he chews slow and cow-like.
“Stop sassing me and go do your homework. I’m on the reference desk at four if you need help.”
“Yes, Ms. Pierce.”
Jamie strolls away on his way to claim his favorite desk in the far corner of the library. His backpack slaps against his back as he moves, and I notice the dull silver shine of duct tape around one strap.
My heart breaks just a little bit. But I force myself to concentrate on the massive amount of emails cluttering my inbox. If I worry too much, I won’t be able to work. If I don’t work, I’ll lose my job, and then I’ll have no money to sneakily buy Jamie things.
Work it is.
Chapter Four
SUMMER
“Thank you, Mrs. Faun. Your disregard for due dates keeps the library event account well-funded.”
The eighty-year-old woman smiles at me as she pushes her handful of dimes across the counter.
“I’m a rebel. Always have been.”
“I can believe it.” I’m careful to place the stack of mystery novels evenly in her cloth tote and only allow half my attention to track the writers’ group filing out of the front meeting room. From their animated talking, it sounds like an hour wasn’t enough.
“Happy reading. See you on”—I glance at her check out receipt— “January third.” I try to make my voice stern even as I smile.
“We’ll see!” She cackles and strolls out, maneuvering through the dispersing writers with ease.
I only realize I’m searching for a certain tattooed person when my attention gets pulled away by the sound of my name.
“Summer. I’ve been thinking about you all day.” A handsome man steps up to the desk, smiling down at me with beautifully white, perfectly shaped teeth. I bet he was born with them that way, too.
Joshua Perry.
Joshua goes by Joshua, not Josh. Calling him Josh will earn you a small tight smile and a polite correction. I know because I received the gentle rebuke the first time he asked me out.
“I hope they were happy thoughts,” I chime, not sure how else to answer.
