Chapter 3 Dammit, Janet
Dammit, Janet
? Somethin’ Bout You - Mickey Guyton
Callie
This has been the week from hell, and just when I think I’ve hit rock bottom, someone hands me a shovel.
My vibrator stopped vibing before I could finish, there’s a run in my last decent pair of stockings, the coffee maker in the break room took a shit, and there’s another apartment rejection waiting in my email.
Not even my daily words of affirmation in the full-length mirror at the gym have helped. I’m starting to think the whole manifestation thing is bullshit.
“Wish I could manifest a hot cowboy right about now,” I murmur.
I’m hiding in the quiet alcove at the back of the library as I thumb through the latest cowboy romance. It’s not my typical genre of choice, but it’s satisfying a craving I’ve had for the better part of a week.
For no reason in particular.
The grumpy cowboy is about to go down on his best friend’s little sister as a pair of boots steps into my peripheral vision.
“Doing some research, Callie baby?”
My cheeks heat as I lock eyes with none other than Jaxon Hayes. He’s wearing that sly grin and looking every bit the cocky cowboy I know him to be.
Jaxon’s gaze zeroes in on the little pink star covering the pimple equivalent to Mount Everest that popped up on my forehead this morning. A fresh wave of embarrassment washes over me. I doubt it’s possible to become one with the furniture, but it doesn’t stop me from trying.
When that doesn’t work, I pull my side bangs over to cover the sticker and plaster on a smile. “Can I help you with something?”
He slides his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “Might be a long shot, but I’m looking for books about bourbon and bourbon distillation.”
“Adult non-fiction,” I say dismissively.
Jaxon doesn’t take the hint, lingering while I flip to the next page.
“Right.” He does a half turn one way, then the other, pointing with both hands. “That’s…”
I let out a resigned sigh, close my book, and stand. No wonder men can’t find the clit—they can scarcely navigate through a library with signage posted everywhere. “It’s in the six hundreds. Follow me.”
Jaxon trails so close behind me, I can feel the tiny hairs on my neck standing on end. “You know, you could’ve asked Janet when you walked in.”
“Janet? Is that the grey-haired lady who’s passed out behind the desk?”
I glance toward the entry to find Janet in the midst of her mid-afternoon nap, with her glasses falling off her nose and her mouth hanging open.
I roll my eyes. “Not again.”
“I noticed she does that a lot. Is she ok?”
“She’s fine. She just refuses to retire.” Spinning to face Jaxon, I slip my glasses to the tip of my nose and put on my best southern accent. “People in hell want ice water, but that don’t mean they get it.”
Jaxon lets out a throaty chuckle. “What the hell does that mean?”
“As far as I can tell, it means she’s never retiring, and I’m stuck helping you on my day off.” I put my glasses back in place and keep walking.
Jax follows in step beside me this time, and I’m struggling to ignore the way my body tingles with awareness every time his elbow brushes mine.
“You spend your days off at work?” he asks.
I can’t spend them in my cramped car, and it’s too cold outside to do much of anything.
Small towns aren’t exactly rife with entertainment.
That pretty much leaves work and books. I’m more than happy to disappear into a fictional world until the real one comes calling, but I can’t tell Jaxon any of that.
I shrug. “Sometimes.”
“You must really love your job.”
He’s right. I do love my job. This library is my happy place—the one thing I can always count on to bring me joy.
A smile forms on my lips. “Don’t you?”
“It’s a job.”
He doesn’t elaborate, and I don’t ask. I know better than to pry into someone else’s life when I’m not exactly an open book myself.
We come to a stop in front of a giant sign that reads adult non-fiction. “You should find what you need here, but I can also check the system for any eBooks that we might not carry.”
He scans the shelves, running the tips of his fingers along the spines. I can’t help the filthy thoughts that spring to mind.
In my defense, I’m still keyed up from my unfinished orgasm, and I’ve always had a thing for hands. Self-care hasn’t been the same since I let my Pleasure Peak subscription lapse so I could afford food.
Priorities and all that.
“If you’re good here, I should go check on Janet.”
“Thanks, Callie.”
When I get to the desk, Janet is finished with her cat nap, and she’s talking to Shelly, the mom in charge of Tuesday story time.
“Well, shit fire and save matches,” Janet says. “You’re really leavin’ us?”
Shelly’s eyes widen, and she speaks through gritted teeth. “Language, Janet.”
“I’m sorry. I just don’t know what we’re gonna do without you.”
Shelly catches sight of me and waves me over. “Why don’t you have Callie take over? She’s great with kids.”
Janet turns her attention to me. “Would you mind, doll? Just until we can find someone to fill the spot permanently.”
“I don’t mind. Do you need me to start today?”
Shelly's expression turns somber. “I’m gonna finish out the day and say my goodbyes. You can start next week.”
I give her a sympathetic smile. It’s gonna be hard to follow in Shelly’s footsteps. She’s like a ray of sunshine; those kids adore her. She does all of the voices for every book, and sometimes she’ll even use puppets and let the kids play along.
A long-ago memory resurfaces of two little girls perched on their daddy’s lap with a storybook in the middle. It’s one of my only good memories from my childhood, and it shaped my life in many ways.
I blink myself back to the present. “They’re really going to miss you. You sure you can’t stay?”
“Wish I could. My husband got a job in Woodstone Falls.”
It’s a struggle to keep the grimace off my face. I heard their crime rate is astronomical, but I don’t say that aloud. I wouldn’t want to put a damper on the move.
She sniffles and blots her damp cheeks with a tissue. “I should go set up. Will you be here when I’m done? I want to say goodbye before I go.”
I huff out a breath. “You know me. I practically live here.”
Jaxon
I’ve visited the library every day for the last week.
It’s not just to see Callie, although that is one of the perks.
It’s also for research. Last year, we bought some land at auction, and it came with a fully functioning distillery.
The original plan was to demo the whole thing and build stables for Griffin’s sanctuary in its place.
I think we can do both successfully, but I don’t want to bring the idea to my brothers until I have a viable plan to present.
I glance across the aisle from my spot in one of the armchairs tucked beside the library’s arched windows encased in weathered brick.
Callie’s in the children’s section, setting up various colorful chairs in a semi-circle.
I’m drawn to her like a magnet. There’s an ease to the way she moves around the space. It’s clear she’s in her element here.
A woman approaches with a small child hanging off her arm, kicking his leg and swinging so violently it looks like he might pop her shoulder out of its socket. He can’t be much older than Emmy by the looks of him.
“Storytime starts soon,” Callie says sympathetically. “You’re welcome to have a seat now, if you like.”
The woman sighs and mutters a quiet thank you.
Callie disappears around the corner and returns with a coloring book and some crayons. With a kind smile, she offers it to the kid and sets him up at a small round table. The woman looks like she might cry with relief as she sinks into one of the nearby armchairs.
I recognize a mother’s exhaustion from those early days after Gracie was born.
We supported Olivia the best we could, but she insisted on doing everything herself until she physically collapsed from exhaustion.
Wilder forced her to rest while we made a schedule to look after the girls.
It was a group effort, days and nights filled with dirty diapers and freezer meals.
We’re lucky to have a close-knit family willing to jump in whenever they’re needed.
The kid whispers something in Callie’s ear, and she points to the coloring page and laughs. The sound is music to my goddamn ears. I could sit here all day and watch her, my beautiful distraction.
Soon, a crowd of parents and children fills the space, and Callie sits in a rocking chair with a book resting on her lap.
“Welcome, everyone! I’m glad to see so many smiling faces today. My name is Callie. First, we’re going to sing a welcome song to get our wiggles out. Are you ready?”
They sing and clap, and after the song, Callie reads them the story with different voices for each character.
They raise their hands to ask questions, and she holds the book out to show off the illustrations.
The kids aren’t the only ones captivated.
By the time the half hour is up, I still haven’t read a single word about distilling bourbon.
Later that evening, as I’m seated across from Liv at family dinner, I ask, “Have you ever taken the kids to story time at the library?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
“They do it every Tuesday. I was there earlier picking up a book, and it looked like the kids were having a great time. I thought I might take Emmy and Gracie next week.”
I try to act casual about the whole thing, but Mama’s nothing if not perceptive.
“You’re spending an awful lot of time in Willow Valley,” Mama says. “Is there something going on?”
Griffin smirks. “Jaxy’s got a crush on the cute librarian.”
“Janet? She’s gotta be like eighty-something years old by now,” Wilder says. “I’m not one to judge, but that’s beyond cougar territory.”
“Not Janet, dipshit. Callie.” It’s out before I can stop myself, and I realize I played right into Griffin’s hand.
Luckily, Emmy’s not around with her swear jar to upcharge me for the flagrant use of the word dipshit. The girls disappeared into the playroom with Pops a while ago.
“Callie?” Mama says. “Callie Cooper?”
“You know her?” I run my hand over my beard. I wish I hadn’t instigated the conversation in the first place. I should’ve known it would set off an inquisition. This family is too damn nosy.
“She’s in our book club,” Liv says.
Wilder violently spears a piece of steak and glares at me from across the dining table. “Let me get this straight. You want to use my daughters as your wingmen to get some girl interested in you?”
Liv elbows him in the ribs. “Isn’t that what you did?” She steals his hat and plays up her best Wilder Hayes baritone. “Hi, Olivia. This is Wilder. Wilder Hayes. The hot cowboy you met on the airplane. Could you help me plan my daughter’s birthday party?”
Griffin snorts. “That wasn’t bad but try to be more surly next time.”
Wilder plucks a roll from the basket and tosses it at his head. He catches it, takes a generous bite, and grins.
Wilder leans closer to Liv. “Careful, Cupcake. I might just have to remind you what happens when you antagonize this hot cowboy.”
For a moment, it’s like they’ve forgotten where they are. She gives him a sultry look. “Promises, promises.”
I cough to clear my throat, suddenly feeling like an interloper. They startle apart, and Wilder shifts in his chair. I know the look of a man trying to hide an inconvenient boner when I see one.
Olivia: one. Wilder: zero.
I stifle a smile behind my napkin. “So. Next Tuesday?”
“I don’t see why not,” Liv says. “I’m sure the girls would love it.”
The rest of the dinner is unremarkable, and I excuse myself from the evening by saying I have some paperwork to finish. Anticipation thrums in my veins all the way back to the house, but when I step inside the dark entry and deposit my keys on the table, a familiar hollow ache settles in my chest.
There’s no one here to greet me—not much to show for my life at all.
My body moves on autopilot through the main living space and up to my office, where I sink behind my desk and stare at the gold frame tucked away on my shelf.
It’s hard to look at the photograph and not remember those two kids with big plans for the future, oblivious to the fact that one of them would be gone a week later, and the other would lose himself in the aftermath.