Chapter 17
Days pass with a normality I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced.
Lazy nights previously spent reading with Lark turn into a family affair with the Larsons.
My favorite part is when Arlo gets so angry at a book, he places it down gently before stomping through the house to get out his aggression.
After the first time he threw a book and I chastised him for it, he quickly refrained from doing so again.
Wednesday morning came far too fast, and with it, the buzz of nerves in my veins. Even my coffee turned to bitter ash on my tongue.
“What’s wrong with you?” Lark questions on our walk to school and the library, the source of my nerves.
“Nothing.” I tug at my knit cap, supplied by Saffron, who instead of reading last night whipped out a black hat for me to wear.
Since I’m always cold.
“You’re lying, Mom. You can tell me anything.” Jostling her book bag on her shoulder, she peers up at me. The emerald green beanie on her head makes her look like a winter princess.
“I’m just nervous.” We hop up on the sidewalk, and with a quick glance to my right, I see Bloom walking out of the woods and onto a dirt road that runs parallel to the creek, holding a package in her arms that I’m sure is honey from her bees.
After the other day, when I showed interest in her bees, we sat and talked for hours until she had to run to open up her store.
In those moments, a friendship blossomed, and I’ve never been more thankful for those hours.
Every tree I see reminds me of how hard she worked to make this town sustainable. I truly misjudged her.
I give her a gentle wave as we pass her shop.
“The book reading?” Lark prompts, drawing me back to the moment and why I was so nervous in the first place. She isn’t wrong, and that’s what gets me more than anything.
The book reading.
“It wouldn’t be so bad if Seraphina didn’t set up the entire kindergarten class to come over and Paris didn’t scream it to the rooftops.” Though Paris running through town with a sign about today’s story time at eleven will forever remain embedded in my head.
“She is an interesting character,” Lark mutters as she sips her hot cocoa.
“Definitely main character vibes.” I adore her for it, even though I know she is going to drop off her kid, run to the refreshment table, and then find one of the several armchairs I convinced Ms. Aberdeen to purchase. She will nap there until the end of story time.
I don’t mind, I’ve been in her shoes. She can nap all she wants, and I’ll play with her little guy. Though from what I hear, he is a handful.
I think he just might need a friend.
“You like them,” Lark states as we pass through the town square and the giant maple tree that stands sentinel over the town.
“I do,” I reply hesitantly, because I have a feeling I know where this conversation is about to go.
“You’ve made friends.”
“I have.”
“And you like Arlo.” Lark turns to me, wagging her red brows at me. “Like, like him.”
Despite myself, a blush blossoms across my face. “Oh, look, there’s Deputy…” I snap my fingers, unable to recall his name. There’s just so many people here to remember. Okay, I think like five hundred and something, but aside from my social media accounts, I can’t remember everyone’s names.
“Davis,” Lark supplies. “You are deflecting.”
“Make any friends?” Of course I’m deflecting. I don’t want to talk about Arlo and the easy camaraderie we share, and how he just fills me with peace, even in silence. I’ve already decided not to rush to Maine when Robin leaves. Isn’t that enough for now?
“Torrie,” Lark answers as we pause to cross the empty street. “A few other kids as well.”
“How many are in your class?” I wish I’d thought to ask her the question earlier. In a small town like this, there can’t be that many people in her grade.
“Nine.” Her little face contorts. “Including Torrie and me.”
“So what about the other seven kids?”
Quicker than I thought possible, she places a finger against my lips. “I’m not six. W e don’t schedule play dates at twelve. I will be a teenager next month,” she hisses, glancing around before she drops her finger and shudders a bit.
“Okay, so no play dates,” I tease her, sipping my coffee. “What about the Friday night movie?”
“It’s so cold.”
“Ah, there’s your southern blood.”
“Torrie keeps telling me it’s warm,” she grumbles. “It isn’t warm, but I’m anticipating my first Wonderland, and of course the possibility of a blizzard in January.”
“What?” My arm drops, splashing coffee out of my cup. “Blizzard?”
“Blizzard.” She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, and perhaps that word is what finally breaks me. “You know, like lots and lots of snow.”
“How much snow are we talking about?”
“Enough snow that they use snowmobiles to get to school.”
“They don’t close the school?” I remember the one time it snowed in Georgia and they shut down the entire state. We just aren’t built that way.
“Not unless it’s over three feet.” Why do her eyes sparkle when she says that?
“No, no. This can’t be real.” I am not buying a snowmobile.
Reading my thoughts, Lark quickly pushes forward. “Don’t worry, Saffron has four snowmobiles.”
“That doesn’t make the situation any better.” I stumble over to a park bench and flop down, the iron chilling me to the bone.
“Usually when that happens, Seraphina, Arlo, Autumn, and even Willow come home to the B&B, and they all hunker down for the blizzard.” Lark sits beside me as Davis gives us a dirty look for backtracking to the bench.
“You mean they willingly come home for a blizzard?” I glance around the town, trying to imagine it covered in snow. Feet of snow. They don’t measure snow in inches here but feet. How is that normal?
“Well, yeah, but it’s only for a few weeks until the snow gets plowed and they get ready for the next storm.” Lark’s face drops below my eye level, concern flashing across those beautiful eyes of hers. “You okay?”
“Between storms?”
“Mom, did you not look up the weather in Maine? It’s even snowier there.” She shakes her head. “You rushed on to the north, not realizing the amount of snow.”
The bell rings, and with a dry mouth, I brush a kiss across her temple. “You’re right, I dove right in without thinking.” I mean, I thought I had all of this planned out. I knew the resort created snow year-round until it was too hot and then they had other things. But…
So much snow. I can’t determine if this is a deal breaker, and why is a part of me glad we didn’t end up farther north?
“Okay, I’ll see you after school. Good luck today,” she calls over her shoulder as she finally crosses the street and heads into the building.
Not wanting to incur anymore of Davis’ wrath, I walk to the other end of the block and cross over.
The firehouse is across the street, bookending the local police department with the municipal building on the end.
I know on the other side is the bank, the pharmacy, another store, and the post office, each of which I dutifully stopped at last week to open an account, drop off my insurance, and pick up stamps.
As I rush across the street, my gaze lands on smaller homes that look more like little apartment cottages resting in front of the creek.
Some people stand on ladders, working on their lights, while others brave the cold and sit in rockers on their porch, sipping steaming liquid.
They smile and wave as I pass and head toward the front doors of the library.
Pushing all thoughts of blizzards from my mind, I head up the steps and use my key to get in. All tension drains from me as the tantalizing scent of paper wrapped in leather swirls around me.
My flats clack along the floor until they hit the rug of the children’s library.
I run my fingers along the wall, flicking the lights on.
Not a single fluorescent bulb lights up the room.
Instead, Ms. Aberdeen chose skylights and windows that line the entire building, as well as floor lamps in the shapes of specially ordered trees.
I have only hours to get everything ready, but in this moment, I inhale the peace and tranquility of the building, enjoying the scents and fantasy that hovers in the air, just waiting for a child to come along and settle into a new book.
The power of this room tugs at my heart, and I wander through to the books I pulled out for today. A simple kids’ book, a mid-grade, and a chapter book. I couldn’t decide between the three, because I didn’t actually know how many kids would show up and what ages.
I hope this room fills with kids, that their little fingers fall in love with the books, and I hope, more than this, that story time becomes something so much more.
Not just story time, but lessons for kids, young and old.
That the school incorporates the library back into its curriculum and that I can be there when they need a particular book.
I’ve gone through every shelf, re-cataloged every book, and memorized each placement here and in the other room.
That’s when it hits me.
I’ve dedicated myself to this place. It’s only been two weeks, and I’ve fallen in love with a library.
“Now look what you’ve gone and done, Birdie,” I grumble, realizing I called myself by Arlo’s nickname.
I want to hate this town for yanking me in and offering me not just a place to stay but the thought of home, yet I can’t and I never will.
My pocket buzzes with a text message. It’s probably only one of the very few people who have my number—although Arlo now has it. With a patter of my heart, I yank it out and flip the home screen away, hoping Arlo texted me.
Oh, you are falling, Wren. Free falling.
It isn’t Arlo, and a small part of me sighs in disappointment. It is, however, that unknown number.
Unknown: Are you getting my messages?
Me: Is this about my car’s warranty?
Bubbles pop up, and I make my way over to the refreshment table to make sure it’s ready for coffee, pastries, and finger sandwiches Autumn declared we had to have.