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Chapter1
Wren
“Oliver Winslow is a catch,” a woman croons near where I stand out of sight, panting with my arms loaded with returned books.
I couldn’t agree more, but who is she? Before I take a peek, another woman adds seductively, “He can put his boots under my bed any day.”
Tittering follows the suggestive comment. It sounds like there are three, maybe four women standing close to the checkout desk. I should step out from the stacks and make my presence known.
Before I do, another voice, this one more familiar, chides, “All right, ladies, enough of that. The real question is why Dot doesn’t marry the man already? I mean, they’ve changed the wedding date—what…three, four times already?—only drawing out the engagement. Something’s going on there.”
Like a bomb, my heart beats in my ears, counting down to something I’m dreading though I’m not sure what. Is it everyone finding out that Oliver and I are together when he has been seemingly taken by Dot for what feels like forever? Or is it something more pressing, like Oliver’s absence?
The sweat, already gathered at the nape of my neck from running around the library, chills. Of all the conversations I could stumble upon, it has to be about the man I love. And as if to add salt to a wound, they’re talking about his supposed marriage to Dot Malone.
My agitated thoughts freeze when another woman says, “Well, Dot insists they’ll be married in January, come hell or high water.”
Okay, that’s it.
I can’t listen to this any longer. Not when the scorching memories of Oliver and me in the high school gym have consumed every second of my existence since that night. That was the last time I saw or heard him.
No matter how magical and unforgettable our time together was, that was two days ago. Two days of unbearable silence from Oliver Winslow.
As each second ticks by, the questions and doubts continue to pile up. The weight of it all keeps me from sleeping and eating. Since then, like plucking the petals off a flower, I’ve played my own tortured version of he loves me, he loves me not. Did he leave town or not?
Clearing my throat, I emerge from the stacks, arms aching and still loaded down with books. All four women stop their gabbing to stare at me. Of course, among them is Lara Crandall, the voice I recognized, flawless in her red pantsuit, sleek black bob, and makeup that would give Kylie Jenner a run for her money.
Lara plasters on her obligatory smile. “Wren. Why, hello. We wondered where you were.”
“Lara, nice to see you. Ladies.” I grab the top book from the pile I’m carrying and shove it onto a shelf. “I was putting away the last of the returned books.”
Inwardly, I cringe at my knee-jerk need to explain myself to this woman. I run the library, for goodness’ sake, and at thirty-five, she’s only ten years older than I am. The fact that she had been my babysitter when I was seven for one god-awful year doesn’t mean I forever answer to her.
Often, I’d wished that her older sister, who is now the principal of the high school, had babysat me. She’s much kinder and more rational than Lara.
My strained smile tugs awkwardly at my cheeks. “May I help you with anything?”
“No. No. We found what we came in for.” She sniffs, nose in the air, and waves a copy ofThe Grapes of Wrathat me. “Forourbook club.” Her razor-like tone nicks at my chest, most probably intended.
She’s still miffed about the book clubs, activities, and programs I had the audacity to introduce to the town. Before that, Lara was Winslow Grove’s self-appointed organizer of theonlybook club in town, among other things. And to add insult to injury, I never had the decency to consult her before rolling out all these things. Unfortunately, I overheard her say those very words to her posse and anyone else who will listen.
“Great choice.” My lips press together to hold back a snicker. This will be her book club’s fourth attempt at Steinbeck’s Great American Novel. “Well, if you’re all good, I should get back to it. Have a good night, ladies.” I turn and start to walk away, glad to be done with this conversation.
Lara is among a small handful of people in Winslow Grove who feel this istheirtown, and since her husband’s a state trooper, she somehow thinks that makes her the law of our town as well. While Winslow Grove is truly a wonderful place, and the only home I’ve ever known, some of our residents can be insufferable.
“Oh, Wren.” The pointed pitch of my name pokes me in the back and causes me to falter.
I should turn around yet I can’t bring myself to face her. Not when I’m sure she’s gearing up to deliver a final blow. She closes the distance between us, slides into my line of sight, and glares up at me.
Great, this is going to be good.
“You know.” Her lips curl upward in what looks like her version of the Red Queen’s creepy smirk fromAlice in Wonderland. “I’m still waiting on an update about that program of yours. What’s it called again?”
Sharper than a knife, not much gets by Lara. She darn well knows the name, among other things, of the program I’m hoping to launch within the month. Instead of saying so, I bite the inside of my cheek. I need to play nice despite her condescension. The program needs her support, or more importantly, the kids need the program.
“It’s called Bright Horizons.” I clasp my hands together to crush my desire to wring her neck. I’d never do it, although it’s fun to imagine. “Nothing has changed since we last spoke. I’ve been working with the kids on their college applications since the end of their junior year and they’re all submitted. The proposal for the program has been with the city council now for over two weeks. They say it will take about a month before I’ll hear anything. I’m hoping for the green light in a couple of weeks.”
“You know, I could’ve helped Jack with his application.” Her gaze flits to the boy behind the counter, and to his credit, Jack seems riveted by something on the computer. I’m pretty sure he can hear every word. “I was accepted to every college I applied to, and like I’ve said from the beginning, I’d be more than happy to help. You’ve already got your hands full with all this.”
