Chapter 12
Monday dawned with no room for distractions, though Ethan’s good luck text had lodged itself in her brain like a bookmark—distinct enough to keep pulling her attention toward it yet easy enough to pause and leave it where it belonged.
The library board would gather in less than an hour, and every word she’d practiced with Minka had to count.
Unlike Ethan, they weren’t likely to be charmed by a cocky smile.
Max batted at her shoelaces as she dressed for the board meeting, purring like nothing could go wrong. She wished she had his confidence. She buttoned her cardigan, smoothed out her skirt, and headed for the library.
Her palms sweated as she gripped the UV light in front of the five-member board.
But her voice was steady while giving her speech.
She knew their personalities well already—the naysayer, the ally, the swing voter, and the Board Chair, who’d often stay quiet throughout meetings only to deliver one ego-crushing question at the end.
Between that and Minka’s ridiculous role-playing yesterday, Cali was more than prepared.
The naysayer cleared his throat, smug. “Why not stick to classics we can all agree on? Little House on the Prairie never offended anyone.”
Cali steadied her breath. “Even Little House has been challenged for its portrayals of Native Americans. The point isn’t avoiding offense, it’s showing people how complicated history and literature really are.”
A few raised brows. A murmur. She pressed on, demonstrating how patrons would need to check out the UV lights to read the descriptions. When the ally said, “Frankly, I admire the creativity here. This makes the display more engaging,” she felt the tide turn in her favor.
Then the Board Chair leaned forward, hands folded. “My concern, Ms. Jacobs, is this: If we approve your event once, what’s to stop the library from becoming a battleground for every cause? Why should we risk that precedent?”
Cali swallowed hard. “You’re right, Chairman Hargrove.
Precedent matters—and I love this library as much as you do.
That’s why I’m not asking for a permanent change or even a policy.
I’m asking for one week. Banned Books Week is nationally recognized, and this display is about awareness, not division.
If it doesn’t educate, I’ll be the first to admit it failed. And I’ll never propose it again.”
Silence stretched. The naysayer huffed. The others exchanged glances.
“All in favor?” Hargrove asked.
Four hands rose.
Cali nearly sagged with relief. She’d won. And with all the work she’d put into the demonstration, it would be easy to set up the game. All she had to do now was explain it to the staff, so they were prepared for Banned Books Week next week.
A thrill pulsed through her as she thanked the board and scurried toward her office. She grabbed her phone and texted The Nine.
The board said yes! Banned Books Week is a go!
The Nine drowned her screen in emojis, gifs, and congrats. Minka even promised to update the café menu board with a new latte dubbed Library Hero.
She was grinning from the chaos when another message buzzed through, quiet and separate.
Knew you’d nail it. Want to celebrate?—Ethan.
She pressed her lips together, willing herself not to grin. Sounds like you’ve got a thing for celebrating. Which do you like more: Celebrations or the color gray? she texted back.
He thought about it for a while, those triple dots appearing then disappearing.
Celebrating in gray with you sounds just about perfect. Your place tonight? I’ll cook.
Heat licked up her neck, blooming beneath her collar. Cook what? Cali texted.
Coq au vin, of course.
She ran a hand along her collarbone as Minka’s words ran through her head. Maybe she could, against her better judgment, keep things casual with Ethan.
Something caught her eye, and when she turned to her window, she caught him leaning against a tree, hard hat dangling from his hand, his head bent over his phone. She could watch him unseen, and for a second, she let herself.
She typed before she could stop herself: But that would make it a date.
Across the lot, his smile spread like a man who’d just won a bet.
Yes, it would.—Ethan.
“Cross! Break time’s over. Get moving!” the foreman barked. Ethan jolted, tucked his phone away, and hurried off.
She giggled and pulled the blinds shut.
A few minutes later, her phone buzzed again. What time’s good for you? Any food aversions? Red or white wine? Do you have a pot with a lid? A ladle?
When she teased him—Neediest chef I’ve ever met—he only replied: Worth it.