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I roll my eyes. “Fine. Since your great-great-grandfather gifted part of his book collection along with several hundred dollars and space on Main Street in a building he owned. When he died, the building went into a trust held for the library. So, we at least don’t have to pay rent. But we do have utilities, electronics, new books, and such. In a small town, it’s hard to keep it going. We do an annual fundraiser, but it usually is just enough for us to get by, not for all the things I’d love to do,” I explain.
“Such as?” he prods.
“I’d love more community spaces, free classes, reading help for kids, more computers, and activities for the kids on the weekend and during the summer,” I say before taking another bite of my dinner.
“And you can’t do all that now?”
I shake my head. “Sometimes, I can offer a free class and we did get gifted a computer from…” I trail off as I realize he won’t like what I have to say.
“Jace?” he asks.
I blush and nod slowly. “As I said, he’s a good patron of the library.”
“Hmmm…” Adam says.
“Oh, come on, you can’t be threatened by him, he’s just…Jace,” I say as if he’s some little old man who stops to read mysteries on Tuesdays, which we do have.
“What about your parents?” he asks.
I pause. “I love them, they are great people, but I would never ask them for money. It would be…like I failed,” I admit.
“Now, that, I can understand.”
“I mean, I let them buy raffle prizes at our booth at the annual winter festival, but I don’t let on to them about how financially tough it is,” I explain.
“But you’ll tell me?”
Shrugging, I take the last bite on my plate. I consider his question while I chew. “Well, I already asked you for the books, so you know I need a grant. And…” I want to say that I trust him, but do I?
“And?”
“And…you’re a businessman, so you get it,” I say, chickening out.
I watch Adam give each dog a small piece of meat before shooing them off to sit by the fireplace.
“You’re good with animals,” I say.
He pauses and looks at me. “I was an only child. My pets were like my siblings. We played together. Hell, Apollo and I grew up together.”
I grin. “You’re a closet softy, aren’t you?”
“No,” he says sharply, which only makes me giggle.
“That’s what a grumpy sunshine character would say,” I tease.
“A what?”
“You know, in a romance story where the male character appears grumpy, but he’s not really grumpy.”
“I don’t read romance,” he says deadpan.
“That’s what people who read romance always say,” I quip as I break off a piece of baguette and lather it with brie.
“You’re impossible,” he grumbles as he grabs a piece of bread for himself.
“Whatever you say, Mr. Grumpy Sunshine,” I say with a wink.
Isaac comes over and sits by Adam again.
