Chapter 7
MILES
I was still thinking about Seth interrupting me and Booker in the bar to talk details for his fortieth birthday party—and the fact that Booker had just called me pretty—when something incredible happened in the library.
Something incredible that wasn’t related to a toddler trying to eat a book, even.
Miles:
Ryder White just walked into the library
Evie:
who??
oh is that your movie boyfriend?
he’s not my boyfriend, I just think he’s a good actor
I’m allowed to think that
“Hi,” Ryder White said, flashing his brilliant movie-star smile at me, holding a stack of books so tall he was resting his chin on it.
“Umm,” I said, intelligently. “I… Hello. Welcome, uh. To the library?”
“Thanks.” His smile broadened so that the corners of his eyes crinkled. “Can I check these out? I’d do it myself but I don’t actually have a library card.”
“Oh, well. I can definitely set you up with one of those,” I said, turning to the desk computer. “I’m supposed to be meeting a quota that looks impossible from here so I’m glad you’ve come along. Uh, unless you’d rather have a paper form?”
Ryder White, the Ryder White, laughed. “I think I’ll trust you to fill it out.”
“Well, I know your name,” I admitted. “So we’re halfway there.”
“I didn’t know Ward described me in such detail that you’d know who I was.”
I blinked up at him. “You’re Ward’s husband?”
This time, the smile he broke into was different. Softer, warmer. So sincere it made me fall a little in love with Ward because I could see how much love was behind it.
I stood by my position that he was a good actor, but I’d never seen him smile like that on screen.
“Oh.” Ryder blinked back at me. “So you know me because, umm…” He scratched the back of his neck.
“Of your previous work, yeah,” I admitted. “I promise not to be weird about it. Well. I promise to be as minimally weird about it as I’m capable of being. For the record, I think you’re great.”
“Really?” Ryder asked, brows rising toward his perfect hairline. Not fishing for compliments. Genuinely surprised.
I shrugged. “Well, yeah. I’m not a great film connoisseur or anything, but I dunno. I just always felt like I connected to your characters. Anyway. It’ll never come up again. Promise.”
“It’s fine,” Ryder said, smile back in place. “That library card?”
“Oh, right.” Heat rose to my face as I turned back to the computer and pulled up the form. It was short, just a couple of questions, and Ryder answered them for me clearly and without hesitation. With the confidence of an actor, I supposed.
“Ward said you were writing romance novels?” I asked as I looked over his stack of books, handing him the card the little printer—thankfully operational today—had spit out.
Romance novels made all the sense in the world.
He’d played the lead in enough romantic dramas and comedies to know them inside and out.
“Write what you know, right?” He grinned at me.
“Put me down to read it,” I said.
“Seriously?” he asked. “You… read romance novels?”
“Secret Austen fan,” I admitted. It wasn’t something I normally told people—not because I was ashamed, but because they never seemed to know what to do with that information—but I thought Ryder would appreciate it. “I mean, I just… love books, y’know?”
Ryder looked around the library with a wry smile. “Something about you made me think you probably did,” he said. “Well, congratulations on volunteering. Can I drop the first few chapters by later? I’d actually love a second opinion from someone who isn’t, y’know. Married to me.”
Wow. Had I just made another friend?
Was it that easy? All my life I’d never felt like anyone particularly wanted to be around me unless Evie was there. Evie wasn’t here now, and people… seemed to want to be around me.
“Uh. Sure, obviously,” I said. “I think that’s what librarians are for?”
Ryder laughed. “I think you’re just supposed to stop the books from escaping? But I’m not going to say no to the help.”
I wanted to say something else but out of the corner of my eye I could see a preschooler tugging on a bookshelf that was wobbling more than I thought was safe.
“I, uh…” I began, gesturing over at the developing situation.
“Go,” Ryder said while I practically vaulted over the desk, heading for the Young Adult shelving with my heart in my throat. “Thank you!”
“What happened to you?” Booker asked as he appeared from the back room while I was halfway through a bowl of chili-garlic noodles Andre had called a panacea. I was currently inclined to agree.
“Is there still glue in my hair?” I asked, shooting a look at Andre. Okay, he had all the Southern charm in the world and he was obviously a talented cook, but he could have told me.
“Is it glue?” Booker asked, bending over the bar to get a look at me. “There’s a bruise there, you look like you got into a fight.”
“I did,” I said wryly. “With a preschooler. And she won.”
Booker stared at me.
I shrugged. “I told you, I’m not cut out for public librarianship. This was a mistake. I applied for eight more jobs this afternoon and now I’m here eating my own weight in carbs—which are amazing by the way—because…”
Because this place feels safe, I didn’t say.
I supposed it was because it was a gay bar, and gay bars were meant to be havens.
Not necessarily for me, but I only ever went out with Evie and her friends.
That was always to, if not actual gay bars, queer-friendly places.
I always felt like it didn’t matter who I was or what I was like in them.
They were the only places that ever felt that way.
Faith felt familiar.
And Booker was my friend. One of only a tentative two I had here.
“We’ll get you cleaned up when you’re done eating,” he said after a pause, looking me over. “That some kind of… library report?” he asked.
“Oh, no,” I said, taking my reading glasses off and holding the stack of papers I’d been reading before he came in up.
“No, umm. This is the first ten chapters of Ryder’s romance novel.
Which I think I should have intuited would be gay on account of him being married to the beautiful carpenter?
But for whatever reason, I was surprised.
It’s good, though. And I guess I have to get back into the habit of reading contemporary fiction. ”
Booker blinked at me again.
“Problem?” I asked, maybe a tiny bit defensive after a long day.
“No,” he said, breaking into a soft smile. “No, you just keep surprising me. What’s the heat level like?” he asked, peering at the printed stack of pages upside-down.
“Heat level?” I asked.
“You know, how much smut is there? Have they gotten naked yet?” Booker asked.
I told myself the tips of my ears felt like they were on fire because of the chili in the noodles.
“I hadn’t considered the possibility that they would,” I admitted. “They’re doing a lot of thinking about it, though. Like, a lot. They just had to pretend to make out for the paparazzi and they were both more into it than they thought they should have been. I’m learning a lot.”
Booker chuckled. “You don’t read a lot of romance novels, do you?”
“Not from this century,” I said. “Do you?”
He smiled the broadest smile I’d ever seen on his face, eyes twinkling. “I’ll have to show you my collection sometime.”
“Well, now I’m curious.” I raised a brow. “You didn’t seem the type.”
“You’re really not a public librarian,” Booker said, but he was still smiling. “But that’s fine. We can turn you into one.”
I groaned involuntarily.
“Would it really be that bad?” Booker asked, serious and quiet again. I hoped one day, when I grew up, I’d have a presence like that. Solid, calming. Not that he was so much older than me, but sometimes I felt like I barely knew anything about myself at all.
Booker seemed so goddamn comfortable in his skin that I wanted to crawl in there with him.
No. Wait. That was weird. Beyond the threshold of endearing-weird and straight into serial killer territory.
Luckily, I hadn’t said it out loud.
“I… I just don’t think I can do it,” I admitted, sounding pathetically defeated even to my own ears.
“I’m supposed to be boosting card holder numbers and organizing events and I don’t know how to do either of those things.
I don’t have the experience for this. What kind of idiot would hire me for this job? ”
Booker snorted. “That idiot you’re talking about is my brother-in-law.”
Oh. Well. That explained some things.
“And don’t ever tell him I said this, but he’s a lot smarter than he looks,” Booker added, genuine affection in his voice. “He knows people. He wouldn’t have hired you if he didn’t think you could do it.”
I wanted that to be true. I felt so helpless, so out of my depth that I always half-wanted to get in the car, drive back to Portland, knock on Evie’s door, and beg to be allowed to stay on her couch while I figured out what the hell to do next.
She’d let me. She’d give me the sympathetic eyebrows and tell me it was all fine. But it wouldn’t be fine. She’d already helped dig me out of the mess I was in more than I deserved. More than I should have needed.
“But, for the record, it would be okay if you needed to ask for help,” Booker continued, as though he’d read my mind. Maybe he had. I wouldn’t have been all that surprised.
I looked up at him and he laughed again. Which was good, because I’d given him what I thought was a pretty venomous look without being able to stop myself. Apparently it’d just bounced off him.
I was willing to bet he’d weathered worse.
“Okay, well, what about we start with help getting the glue out of your hair? We can see how you feel about community participation after that.”