9. Finn #2
My jam? What’s next? Jazz hands? My hatred of this man grows every second we’re forced to share air, even though that emotion is completely unfounded. By all accounts, he seems like a decent person.
He’s also who Vivian wants , my mind reminds me like the unhelpful jerk it is.
“Oh?” Vivian straightens, confidence flowing loosely through her limbs as I see that beautiful brain at work. I know what she’s going to do before she opens her mouth. I taught her this exact scenario at bar number two when she was panicked about approaching an attractive Asian man.
Damsel in distress.
A classic.
Men cannot pass up an opportunity to show that they are exactly what a woman needs. Their egos won’t allow it.
On Friday, it’d been a well-timed kick that launched her shoe a few feet away followed by a demure, “Can you help me?” Vivian had fought me for twenty minutes, but I assured her if the idiot didn’t help, I’d grab her ballet flat, and we’d move on.
In the end, the man had not only retrieved the sparkly shoe but given Vivian a slight ankle caress while replacing it—something I hadn’t been pleased about.
Her gorgeous green eyes lock on mine, a surprisingly wolfish smile flirting with the corners of her mouth. Secret knowledge flows between us, and I can’t help the pride radiating from my chest.
“Maybe you can help me sometime? I’m new to the software.” A single shoulder lifts as she blinks innocently.
Brava, Vivian.
In truth, she’s been using Quickbooks for three years but hates every second of it.
She told me the only things making it tolerable are the scent of books and sweet, chewy Skittles.
I’d also learned that Wendy Martin, her mentor in all things fabric, had trained her and then handed the business over.
True to her word to teach me about Wilks Beach, Vivian gave me a rundown of the local businesses.
Other than the brick-and-mortar stores, there were those run out of homes: two rivaling daycares, a massage therapist who gives beachside massages, a dance instructor who teaches beginning ballet and jazz out of her garage, and the stay-at-home dad who bakes all the goodies for Seabreeze Beans.
Most islanders prefer to minimize the number of times they drive into Virginia Beach, so many of them have virtual careers or work for the local businesses.
In the short time I’ve lived here, I’ve found myself avoiding the commute too.
“Uh, sure. Why don’t I get your number?”
While Atticus fumbles in his pocket, I make a swift exit. “Excuse me. Patricia is calling me.”
I don’t head to the circulation desk where Patricia is gabbing with Trudy, the children’s librarian.
I bypass it entirely and use the badge clipped to my pants pocket to enter the book-return area and march straight into the compact storage closet.
Reams of computer paper stare back at me as I try to collect myself.
A mother instructing her child to insert each book one at a time reverberates through the external book drop.
Most people don’t know we can hear them while they return their books.
The two teen volunteers scanning and sorting returns giggle when the child throws a fit about having to return the “poop book.”
I press my eyes closed, taking slow inhales through the nose. When my phone buzzes, I know it’s Vivian.
Vivian
It worked!
Finn
I knew you could do it.
Vivian
Only because I have you. Dating coach extraordinaire.
Finn
Of course, gorgeous. You’ll always have me.
I stare at the words I thoughtlessly sent, realizing how true they are. We met a week ago, but I already know that I’d do anything to help Vivian.
Vivian
Thanks, Coach.
Vivian’s text interrupts my tailspin, reminding me to ignore that stupid twist in my chest.
Finn
Anytime.
I take longer than necessary to survey the inventory in the closet.
It’s not one of my duties, but I want to make sure Vivian is gone when I head back to my office.
Her influence is already setting my life on its side.
I had three whole days to revel in my free time this past weekend.
Time I should have spent back in Virginia Beach, hitting my old haunts with Alec.
My closest friend had begged me to play wingman for him, saying I could crash at his house, but I’d made excuses. Instead, I’d spent my long weekend reading the Wilks Beach history book on my back deck, staring at the library’s budget on my laptop, and trying not to think of Vivian’s hold over me.
The only other time I’d allowed someone to captivate me like this, to get past my lacquered layers, she’d smashed my heart to shards.
After that, I’ve kept my relationships mutually beneficial.
Transactional. Everyone knows what they are getting from the start.
Vivian lacks Katelyn’s ruthless capacity, but I’ve been fooled before.
I grimace when I find an unopened container of Clorox wipes sitting on my desk. At least I haven’t received any wayward book recommendations today.
“Very funny.” I raise the container over my head, searching for the culprit through my glass wall.
A few regulars glance at me before quickly returning to their reading.
I plunk into my chair, surlier than I’ve been in a long while.
Maybe I should forgo tonight’s HIIT class at The Garage Gym and head toward civilization.
I could listen to an audiobook to make the drive to Virginia Beach tolerable.
“Mr. Reynolds?” Letitia, the community engagement librarian, knocks on my open door.
I don’t have it in me to request that she call me Finn again .
I’ve been asking since I arrived, and everyone seems bent on keeping the formality.
At least Letitia is kind about it. Since I’ve arrived, she’s been visibly torn over having to regard me as an outcast. I think that’s more on account of her affable personality than anything to do with me.
“What can I do for you?” I straighten, setting a friendly smile on my face.
She barely steps inside, keeping her left foot firmly on the exterior carpet. My spine sags an inch, but I try not to let it show.
“No one showed up for tonight’s job application class. Since it’s been fifteen minutes, I was wondering if I could go home?”
Letitia is two years older than me but already has a husband, a three-year-old, and a one-year-old to get home to.
I glance at my watch. “Sure.”
Letitia’s shoulders soften, already turning. Before she can escape, my question snags her like a lure. “Why do you think no one attended?”
I’d asked Letitia to organize this class my first week here.
This and free classes on resume/CV building were often overfilled at the Central Library.
Half of the time, the librarian assisting those in Central Library’s media room acted as an unofficial job counselor.
The lack of community support classes provided by the Wilks Beach branch is borderline reckless.
For many people, libraries are the only place to learn these skills.
She pauses, her hesitation as easy to read as a large-print book.
I rub my temples, pain starting to throb behind my left eye. “Just tell me.”
“The community this library serves doesn’t need assistance with job applications.”
The longer I spend here, the more I realize what a different ecosystem this library is to any I’ve ever worked in.
For example, library closures make me incredibly uneasy.
Our free public buildings are a safe haven for so many citizens.
I’ve always tried to connect potentially unhoused individuals with nearby resources during scheduled closings.
This past three-day weekend, I checked around the building twice each day and didn’t see anyone needing help.
“What do they need, then? Let’s give it to them.”
Just like before, every expression plays on Letitia’s face. Shock at my direct tone. Surprise over the question. Something softer—like approval?—remaining after the first two waned.
“Entertainment.”
I lean back in my chair, about to ask for clarification, when Letitia bustles into my office, sits on the edge of my desk, and starts talking.