Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
MOLLY
I throw my hands in the air with dramatic flair. "And the three little pigs lived happily ever after, while the big bad wolf went hungry!"
"Again, Ms. Harper! Again!" The chorus of tiny voices makes me laugh as I close the oversized picture book.
"We've read this one three times already, munchkins." I adjust my position on the colorful reading carpet, my knees protesting slightly. "How about we save some stories for next time?"
Little Emma Winters, a four-year-old with perpetually untied shoelaces and the biggest blue eyes I've ever seen, crawls into my lap without invitation. "But you do the best wolf voice."
I ruffle her curls. "That's because I practice my huffing and puffing when I blow out birthday candles."
The children giggle, and I feel that familiar warm glow that makes every early morning worth it. Storytime at Maplewood Public Library might not change the world, but for these twenty-five minutes, we create magic together.
"Alright, everyone!" I clap my hands in our signature rhythm, and twenty pairs of small hands clap back. "Time for our craft! Today we're making?—"
"PUPPETS!" they shout, already scrambling toward the activity tables where my carefully prepared paper bags and craft supplies wait.
As organized chaos erupts around the craft tables, I move between groups, helping tiny hands with scissors and offering encouragement. "That's a fantastic wolf ear, Jackson! Sophia, your pig has the cutest snout I've ever seen!"
"Ms. Harper?" A small voice tugs at my cardigan. It's Liam, our newest storytime regular, still shy after three weeks.
I kneel down to his level. "What's up, buddy?"
"I made my pig pink and purple." His voice drops to a whisper. "Bobby said boys can't use purple."
I sit back on my heels, making sure my voice carries just enough. "Well, that's silly. Purple is an excellent color for everyone. In fact—" I pull out my phone and quickly Google an image. "Look! The Minnesota Vikings football players wear purple, and they're some of the toughest guys around."
Liam's face brightens. "Really?"
"Really really. And your pig looks amazing." I give him a conspiratorial wink. "I think it's the best one at the table."
By the time we finish our puppets and perform an impromptu Three Little Pigs sequel (featuring a reformed wolf who becomes a vegetarian), my voice is hoarse and glitter somehow covers every surface within a ten-foot radius.
But the children's faces—flushed with creativity and joy—make it all worthwhile.
"Same time Thursday, book worms!" I call as parents collect craft projects and sleepy toddlers .
"Thank you, Ms. Harper!" they chorus back, a few running over for quick hugs before departing.
As the room empties, I begin the familiar cleanup routine, humming under my breath. Paper scraps, glue stick caps, forgotten hair clips—all the evidence of a morning well spent.
"Need help with the glitter apocalypse?"
I look up to see Diana, our reference librarian, leaning against the doorframe.
"I've accepted that glitter is just part of my DNA now," I laugh, brushing sparkles from my skirt. "I found some in my cereal this morning from last week's fairy tale session."
Diana grabs a broom. "Hazard of being the favorite librarian. Kids would follow you home if they could."
"They just love stories." I wipe tables, collecting stray googly eyes.
"No, they love you," Diana corrects, sweeping. "You bring books alive without bribes or threats."
I blush. "It's my favorite part—when a child connects with a story."
"About your magic touch," Diana says, "Elaine wants you on the children's nook renovation committee. Requested you specifically."
My heart skips. "Really? I thought that was just for department heads and board members."
"She said, and I quote, 'Molly knows what makes a space special for children better than anyone else here.'" Diana grins. "Plus, I think she's hoping you'll charm potential contractors into giving us discounts."
"Ha! My powers of persuasion only work on people under four feet tall." I dump a handful of paper scraps into the recycling bin, mind already racing with possibilities. "But I'd love to help. That back corner has so much potential—it just needs the right touch. "
"The first meeting is next Friday. They're reviewing artisan submissions for the custom furniture."
"Custom furniture?" My excitement bubbles over. "Like built-in reading nooks? Maybe a storytelling throne? Oh! What about little hidey-holes where the quiet kids can tuck away with books?"
Diana laughs. "This is exactly why Elaine wants you there. Most people see empty space—you see possibilities."
After finishing cleanup and grabbing lunch at my desk (while simultaneously answering emails and planning next week's ocean-themed storytime), I spend the afternoon helping patrons and reshelving the picture book section.
By closing time, my feet ache pleasantly, and my mind buzzes with ideas for the renovation.
The drive home to my little craftsman bungalow takes just twelve minutes—one of the perks of small-town living. Inside, I'm greeted by Winston, my orange tabby, who meows indignantly about his dinner being four minutes late.
"Yes, Your Majesty, right away," I tell him, dropping my tote bag overflowing with books by the door. "Heaven forbid you starve after only having breakfast and lunch."
While Winston crunches his kibble, I change into leggings and my favorite oversized sweater, the soft blue one with thumb holes that my sister says makes me look like I'm "drowning in fabric" but feels like wearing a hug. Comfort over style wins every time when I'm home alone.
After heating up leftover lasagna, I curl up on my window seat with my journal—a habit I've maintained since childhood. The leather-bound book feels substantial in my hands as I flip to a fresh page.
Tuesday, October 12th
Big news! Joining the selection committee for the children's area renovation. Finally, a chance to create my dream reading space for our little ones! Thinking warm woods, secret nooks, maybe a canopy? Something magical that transports kids into their favorite stories.
Storytime was wonderful today. Emma requested "Three Little Pigs" three times, and Liam's finally emerging from his shell. His parents mentioned moving here after a difficult year - seeing him smile during puppet-making nearly made me cry.
This is why I love my job. Creating safe spaces where children feel seen and stories come alive. If only...
My pen hovers over the page. I take a deep breath and continue.
If only I could find someone who sees me the same way. Someone who doesn't think my enthusiasm, curves, or book-filled apartment is "a bit much." I'm tired of shrinking myself for others.
Matt texted again. Wants to "catch up." Translation: He's between girlfriends and remembers I was convenient. No thanks. Rather be alone than someone's comfortable option.
I want someone who sees me like the kids do during storytime - like I'm exactly enough. Is that asking too much?
Maybe it is. Mom says I live in storybooks. But I've seen real love: with my sister and James, and with my storytime parents. That quiet certainty.
Anyway. Committee meets Friday. Should prepare ideas, sketch concepts. Focus on what I can control .
Winston jumps onto the window seat, headbutting my journal and demanding attention. I set aside my writing to scratch behind his ears.
"What do you think, Winston? Am I being ridiculous waiting for someone who appreciates all of..." I gesture vaguely at myself, my overstuffed bookshelves, the mismatched vintage teacups displayed on open shelving, "...this?"
Winston purrs loudly, kneading my thigh.
"You're right. I'm a catch. Someday, someone will realize that." I scratch under his chin. "In the meantime, I have twenty-seven preschoolers who think I hang the moon, a renovation to help design, and the best cat in the universe. That's not nothing."
As darkness falls outside my window, I find myself sketching reading nook ideas in the margins of my journal—a tree-shaped bookcase, cushioned window seats, a miniature lighthouse with reading space inside. Places where children can feel both adventurous and safe.
Maybe that's what I'm looking for too. Someone who makes me feel both adventurous and safe. Someone who sees the magic in everyday things the way I do.
I close my journal and tuck it away. Tomorrow brings another day of stories, another chance to create little moments of wonder. For now, that has to be enough.
But as I get ready for bed, arranging my outfit for tomorrow (a teal dress with tiny embroidered bookmarks along the hem—the kids love finding them during storytime), I can't help but wonder if somewhere out there, someone is looking for exactly what I have to offer.
Someone who wouldn't find me too much at all, but just exactly right.