It’s Not Like It’s Meant To Be (It Must Be Love #5)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

STELLA

Caleb Caldwell has entered the building.

I do a mini freakout (silently) from where I sit at the library’s information desk as his eyes catch mine across the library.

He lifts his chin in greeting, but then he takes a detour to the hold shelves to grab a book before walking in my direction.

It’s more of a swagger than a walk, and I am here for it.

My smile stretches my cheeks to their limit. Gah, he is cute. I love his wild, dish-water blonde hair, deep brown eyes, and lop-sided grin, especially when it’s focused on me.

Calm down. Telling myself to be calm does not make me calm. At least this is a good kind of anxiety. It only hits when I’m about to talk to the man I have a serious crush on.

“Stella,” he says when he reaches the desk. “I wasn’t sure if you worked today.”

“I’m here five days a week.” I’m a bit breathless at his proximity, and doubly so that he thought about me being here before he entered the building.

“What are you holding?” I point to his hand, then feel stupid because it’s obviously a book.

I wish ideas came out of my mouth as clearly as I think them.

“What I mean is,” I say quickly. “Which book?”

He holds it up, almost regretfully, so I can see the cover.

Hockey My Heart. It’s the romance I mentioned to him last time he was in the library.

I’m obsessed with the book and have reread the story five times in the last six months.

It’s become my comfort read. I even convinced my roommate and BFF Mallory to give it a try.

She’s a self-proclaimed non-reader, but she loves it just as much as I do.

“You’re reading a romance?” My surprise is warranted. He only ever checks out nonfiction books about finance, real estate, and house flipping. But that sounds rude and judgy, so I temper my enthusiasm. “Not that you can’t read romance. I’m just, uh, surprised.”

I’d like to say the inane things that come out of my mouth are abnormal, but that isn’t true. I describe myself as socially awkward which is only magnified when I’m nervous. It’s a miracle Caleb still talks to me after all the stupid things I’ve said in his presence.

He ducks his head. His cheeks pink to match the heat in mine. “Yeah, it was recommended to me by someone.”

By me.

I remember our conversation perfectly. He asked what I was currently reading.

I told him a contemporary romance about a hockey player falling for his nanny.

He said it sounded like an entertaining story.

I told him it was “swoony.” He laughed. Hopefully with me and not at me. I’m a wordsmith in his presence.

I recommend books to people every day, but Caleb reading my favorite romance novel feels different. It gives me hope that my crush isn't one-sided. But if he likes me, why won’t he ask me out? He’s not shy.

“How’s the real estate world this week?” I ask.

He gives me the rundown on a house that has three offers and an owner who now wants more money. I’m hypnotized by his voice.

I met Caleb in January at a fundraiser for the food bank. People from all over the community volunteered their time, and we were both assigned to the hot cocoa booth. I was nervous and whenever we didn’t have any customers, I word vomited all over him.

All he had to ask was, “So, you get paid to read all day?”

It’s a pet peeve of mine when people assume librarians read at work. False news. And I told him so.

Who curates the books in the library? Who plans story times and wholesome programs for families?

Who stays up to date on technology and research techniques so they can help patrons find needed information?

Who manages budgets and purchases library supplies?

Who helps elderly patrons print important documents?

Who recommends books to reluctant readers?

And busy moms? And retired folks who are bored being at home all day?

Librarians!

Librarianship is something I’m passionate about. To a scary level at times. But through all my rambling, Caleb had a smile on his face as if he enjoyed my rant.

I left with a serious crush.

I didn’t think I’d ever see him again, but the next week he walked into the library and applied for a card. He keeps coming back. My crush has only solidified with time, especially because he talks with me every time he comes to the library.

He finishes his house story just as my coworker, Clementine, comes out to relieve me from the information desk. She raises her eyebrows when she sees who I’m talking to. He’s been a topic of conversation between us for months. Thankfully, she doesn’t say a word.

I walk with Caleb toward the checkout desk.

“Where are you off to now?” I ask.

“Lunch back at the office.”

Please ask me to go out to lunch with you.

“Cool,” I say. “Got anything good to eat?”

He gives me what I think is a flirtatious smile. “Why? Are you looking to mooch?”

I laugh but am unable to think of a flirty comeback. It’s not an outright invitation, but maybe a veiled one? The moment passes.

He checks out his book and we walk to the exit together.

“I’ll see you tomorrow at karaoke, right?” he asks.

I giggle. “It’s at my apartment. I’ll be there.”

My roommate Mallory and I host a karaoke night once a month. I invited Caleb to come in March, and he hasn’t missed one since.

He looks down and fiddles with the corner of the book. “I thought I’d play a song on my guitar. Do you mind?”

He’s a musician? Now he’s even more attractive than thirty seconds ago. I have a thing for guys with guitars.

“Of course I don’t mind,” I say. “I didn’t know you played.”

“I’m learning.” He glances out the door, then back at me. “What do you have planned for food?”

It’s nice of him to ask since that’s my specialty.

Mallory is the one who sings and dances and gets everyone else to join her.

The literal life of the party. I’m the one who plans, prepares, and serves the food.

I spend most of the night in the kitchen.

Though depending on the crowd, I will sing a song or two.

“Nachos,” I say.

“I love nachos. See you tomorrow.” He strides out of the door, pulling sunglasses from the front pocket of his blue button-down shirt.

I stare after him until he disappears around a corner to the parking lot, then shake my head with amusement. Could I be any more obvious about my feelings? I send a text to Mallory before I step away from the door.

STELLA: Caleb stopped by the library and picked up my favorite book to read! Can you believe it?!? He’ll be at karaoke tomorrow. He’s bringing his guitar!!!

There was a time when Mallory would respond immediately. That hasn’t happened for a while.

I turn toward my office. Temporary office.

It feels more like a temporary prison. I’m filling in for our library manager who is out for five months after back surgery.

Instead of doing what I love—programming and book-buying—I’m stuck doing paperwork, budgeting, attending tedious meetings, and dealing with inappropriate patron behavior.

I’m counting down the days until my release.

Seventy work days down, thirty more to go.

I took the temporary position because I’ve been feeling restless and unfulfilled for a while now. Like my skin is itchy and no matter what I try, it just gets worse. I hoped the new responsibilities would shake things up. Instead, I’m more restless than ever.

Before I make it to my office, story time ends in our large meeting room. Twenty children with their adults following behind rush into the library like a tornado. Before taking my temporary role, I did Friday morning story time, and most of the kids know who I am. A number of them run to me.

“Miss Stella!”

“Miss Stella!”

I feel like I’m cosplaying as a beloved cartoon character at a kiddie concert. I’m shown a dozen crafts, a few books, even a skinned knee. I say “hi” to each child and many of the parents on their way to the children’s area.

My sister Roe is the last to leave with her fifteen-month old son, Little Joel. He wiggles in her arms, wanting his freedom. The only time I’ve ever seen him still is when he’s sleeping.

“Well,” she says slowly as she wags her eyebrows, keeping a tight hold on him even as he whines and grunts. “How was the date last night?”

I am not talking about my dating life in front of coworkers and the public.

“Come with me to my office,” I say.

“Oooh, that makes you sound important.”

Unfortunately. “I don’t want to sound important.”

Once inside, I shut the door and flick on the space heater next to my desk.

The air conditioner makes the office feel like a walk-in refrigerator.

I kick off my heels and slip on the slippers I keep next to my chair.

I also have a lap blanket and thick sweater for when the temperature gets really unmanageable.

Roe lets Little Joel down and he instantly crawls under the desk. Hopefully he doesn’t start eating dust bunnies, but I wouldn’t put it past him.

“So. The date,” she says.

I collapse into my chair.

At Roe’s encouragement, last year on my thirty-fourth birthday, I set a goal to go on twenty-six dates in fifty-two weeks.

With the help of a few dating apps, I’ve been working my way through the single, thirty-something aged men of the greater Tucson, Arizona area.

I only have three more dates to go on in the next four weeks.

The whole idea of volume over quality is not for me, but I do love to check off a goal.

If nothing else, I’ve gotten a lot of practice talking to strangers, specifically men.

Though once this is over, I plan to take a sabbatical from dating.

They’re exhausting. I stress about every single one, then regret half the things I said for the entire next week.

I fiddle with a pen. “He was nice, but we didn’t have much in common.”

“Joel and I didn’t have much in common at first. Maybe you need a second date to be sure.”