2. Paige
Paige
By ten thirty, the children’s section looks as if a pack of glitter-obsessed raccoons broke in and rearranged everything.
I stand in the middle of the damage with a roll of tape looped around my wrist and survey the crooked planets hanging above the summer-reading display. Saturn is missing half its rings, Earth is upside down, and a six-year-old boy has decided Mars needs googly eyes.
I let him attach the second one.
“Perfect,” I tell him. “Very scientific.”
His mother gives me an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. He gets excited.”
“He’s in a library. Excited is the goal.”
The boy grins and reaches for another eye.
“Two is probably enough,” I add.
He considers this, then sticks the third to his own forehead.
Fair compromise.
I straighten the stack of registration forms while his mother guides him toward the picture books.
The summer-reading launch begins after lunch, which gives me two hours to finish the display, set out activity packets, prepare the craft table, and convince the ancient printer in the workroom that paper is part of its job description.
This is my favorite kind of busy. Every task has a purpose, every book has a place, and every child who walks through the doors finds a story that feels like it was written just for them.
Even the children who put googly eyes on planets.
The circulation clerk appears at the edge of the rug carrying a box of juice pouches. “Where do you want these?”
“On the back counter, please. Far enough from the books that I don’t have to explain sticky pages to anyone.”
She carries them over, then glances at the registration list. “There are three Slades signed up already.”
“Should I reinforce the furniture?”
She laughs. “You’ve lived here long enough to know they travel in packs.”
“I’ve also lived here long enough to know half this town mentions them at least once a day.”
“They’re hard to miss.”
“So is the water tower. I don’t rearrange my schedule for it.”
Her smile widens. “Speaking of your schedule, are you still refusing to do anything Friday night?”
“I’m not refusing anything. I have plans.”
“With people?”
“With a hammock and a book.”
“That is exactly what you said last Friday.”
“Because the first Friday went so well.”
She shakes her head and returns to the front desk while I lift the last box of craft supplies onto the table. I spend most of my week surrounded by people, answering questions, solving problems, and convincing children that books without dragons can still be worth reading.
By Friday, I want my cabin, the trail behind it, and several uninterrupted hours in which nobody asks me where the bathroom is while standing directly beneath the sign.
I kneel beside the craft table and separate markers into plastic cups. Two girls abandon the dollhouse to help, which lasts until they discover the metallic markers and begin negotiating ownership of the purple one.
“There are four purple markers,” I tell them.
The older girl holds it up. “This one is the best purple.”
I examine it with appropriate seriousness. “That is a very good purple.”
Her sister snatches another from the cup. “Mine is shinier.”
Crisis resolved.
I finish arranging the table, then check the clock. The room is nearly ready. Parents move between the shelves while children sprawl across beanbags and flip through books. The familiar hum of voices fills the room.
Then a sharp cry cuts through it.
I look toward the entrance.
Josie Slade stands just inside the children’s section with both hands clamped over her ears. Her glittery backpack hangs from one shoulder, and tears shine in her wide eyes as she stares at the crowded room.
A man crouches in front of her, broad enough to block most of the doorway. He holds three books in one hand while pointing toward the activity tables with the other.
“Do you want the horse book or the princess one?” he asks. “We can get the space book too. Or we can go see what they’re making over there.”
Josie squeezes her eyes shut.
He offers her another choice.
Every muscle in his body says he is prepared to fix this. Unfortunately, he is trying to solve the wrong problem.
I set down the tape and walk toward them.
Up close, I recognize him. Aiden Slade. In a town this small, you don’t need a formal introduction to know the Slades, or at least the stories people tell. But the man from the stories doesn’t matter right now. All that matters is the little girl struggling in front of him.
Josie usually claims a spot near the front during story time, answers every question whether I ask her or not, and whispers commentary to whichever stuffed animal she brings with her.
Today, she looks ready to crawl out of her own skin.
“Hi, Josie,” I say.
Her eyes open. She peeks around Aiden, and some of the panic leaves her face.
“Miss Paige?”
“That’s me.”
Aiden turns, and I get my first clear look at him.
Broad shoulders stretch a gray T-shirt. His dark hair is rumpled from repeatedly dragging a hand through it, and the stubble along his jaw suggests shaving gave way to more urgent responsibilities this morning. He is tired, tense, and unfairly attractive.
His eyes move over my face, pause briefly on my mouth, then return to mine. A current of hot awareness passes between us, quick and unwelcome.
I push it aside. A crying six-year-old takes priority over her father’s excellent mouth.
“Josie, is it too loud in here?” I ask.
She nods quickly.
Aiden glances toward the door. “I can take her outside. We just need to find the book she wanted.”
“I know.” I keep my attention on Josie. “We’ll find it.”
He holds up the three books in his hand. “She said it had a horse, but this one isn’t right. Then she said maybe it was a princess, and now she won’t tell me which one.”
Josie presses her palms harder against her ears.
“Could we stop asking her questions for a minute?”
His gaze snaps to mine. “Listen, lady…”
“No.”
His eyebrows lift.
“You don’t get to start a sentence with me like that. I don’t accept lip from children, and I certainly won’t from a grown man.”
A muscle shifts along his jaw. “I’m trying to help my daughter.”
“So am I.”
“I know what she needs.”
“I’m sure you usually do. Right now, she needs fewer words and less pressure.”
His eyes narrow. He looks accustomed to people following his instructions, which probably works well for him when the other person isn’t me.
“You’ve offered her books, crafts, and an escape route in under a minute,” I continue. “She can’t handle another choice right now.”
“I wasn’t pressuring her.”
“You were trying to fix everything at once.”
“I’m her father.”
“And I’m the librarian. I know which book she’s asking for.”
That gets his attention.
I lower my voice. “Take off her backpack. Sit beside her instead of blocking what she can see, and give her a quiet minute.”
He stares at me.
I meet his stare. “You can be irritated with me later. She can hear us.”
His focus shifts to Josie, and his shoulders drop, the argument surrendered. He places the books on the floor, carefully slips the glittery backpack from her shoulder, then sits with his back against the nearest shelf.
“Come here, Jo.”
Josie crawls into his lap without hesitation. He wraps one arm around her and says nothing else.
Good.
I move the beanbag in the reading nook tucked behind the picture-book shelves, making room beneath the fabric canopy. The noise from the rest of the children’s section is softer there, muffled by two bookcases.
When I return, I crouch a few feet from Josie.
“I remember the book you told me about. The horse has a crown, right?”
She gives me a tiny nod.
“And there’s a moon on the cover?”
Another nod.
“It came back yesterday. I put it aside, thinking you might ask for it again.”
“You saved it for me?” Her hands slip away from her ears.
“I did.”
“Can I have it?”
“That depends. Do you still have your library card?”
Josie looks up at her father.
Aiden glances at the backpack but leaves his arm around her. “It’s in the front pocket.”
Her breathing is already evening out.
I lead them into the quieter nook, then return to my desk for the book I saved. Josie settles against his side while I hand it to her.
“That’s it!” She hugs it against her chest. “Daddy, that’s the one.”
“I see that.” His voice is lower now, the defensive edge gone. “You want to look at it here?”
She nods and opens the cover.
Aiden watches her turn the first page, his hand moving slowly over her hair. The tension drains from his shoulders as she tells him everything she remembers about the story.
When he finally looks up at me, the irritation has disappeared.
Interest takes its place.
He keeps his eyes on mine while Josie chatters between us, and the quiet reassessment in his expression makes something low and warm uncurl in my stomach.
Apparently, Aiden Slade has decided I might know what I’m doing.
Josie stays in the reading nook until she finishes the first chapter, then races toward the checkout desk to announce the development to everyone within hearing distance.
“The horse can talk, but only to the princess.” She clutches the book against her chest. “Her dad thinks she made him up.”
“That seems inconvenient.”
“It’s very inconvenient,” she agrees.
Aiden follows at a slower pace with her backpack hanging from two fingers and the discarded books tucked beneath his arm. He's more relaxed now, though his eyes remain fixed on Josie as she climbs onto the stool in front of the counter.
His gaze tracks her every move. Her feet swinging beneath the stool. The backpack strap dragging near the floor. She keeps one hand pressed over the horse on the cover, as if someone might take it from her.
That attentiveness makes it harder to hold on to my irritation.
“Library card, please,” I say.
Josie beams as she hands it over. “Daddy didn’t remember which pocket.”
“I remembered eventually,” Aiden says.
“I told you.”
“You told me it was in the backpack. That only narrowed it down to twelve pockets.”
She looks at me. “He forgets things.”
I laugh despite myself. “I noticed.”
Aiden places the other books beside my keyboard, then rests one large hand on the counter. His fingers are long, his knuckles scraped, and a pale line crosses the heel of his palm. They are strong working hands, and my gaze lingers until I turn to the computer screen to keep him from catching me.
I scan the book and slide it back to Josie. “Three weeks, though I suspect you’ll finish it before then.”
“I’m going to finish it tonight.”
Aiden leans against the counter. “That is why bedtime exists.”
“Bedtime is for sleeping.”
His mouth twitches. “Thank you for clarifying.”
Josie hops down and moves toward a display of bookmarks. Aiden watches until she is a few feet away, then turns back to me.
“I owe you an apology.”
His voice is lower when he is speaking only to me. Rougher too, though that may be my imagination getting unnecessarily involved.
“For which part?”
“The part where I was rude to you while you were helping my daughter.”
“Excellent choice. I had others in mind.”
“I figured.” His gaze holds mine. “I was worried about her, but that doesn’t excuse it.”
He offers no defense and makes no attempt to charm his way around it. He owns what he did, and the honesty is annoyingly effective.
“Apology accepted.”
“That easy?”
“Were you hoping to grovel?”
“I can if you require it, but I should warn you, I’m not practiced at it.”
“I suspected as much.”
His smile arrives slowly, changing his entire face. I understand why women in town lower their voices when they discuss the Slade men. It would be easy to mistake that smile for an invitation.
The circulation clerk glances toward us from the return cart. Her attention moves from Aiden to me before she becomes intensely interested in shelving a stack of mysteries.
Virginia Dale will turn two minutes of eye contact into a relationship announcement if given enough time. I refuse to help.
I nod toward Josie. “You handled the quiet part well once you stopped trying to negotiate with her.”
“Once you ordered me to stop.”
“I offered practical guidance.”
“Your ‘practical guidance’ was to sit down and be quiet.”
“And it worked.”
His eyes drift to my mouth again. “It did.”
The look coils low and tight in my stomach, which irritates me. This man was argumentative ten minutes ago. An apology and a well-timed smile should not make him more appealing.
Josie returns with three bookmarks fanned between her fingers. “Miss Paige, which one should I get?”
“You may take all three.”
She looks delighted. “Really?”
“Librarian privilege.”
Aiden takes them when she hands them over, examines each, then slips them carefully into the front pocket of her backpack. He handles the flimsy paper carefully because it matters to her.
That gentleness is more appealing than his smile, which feels deeply unfair.
“Are you working tomorrow?” he asks.
My gaze lifts to his. “Does the horse book require professional supervision?”
“Josie reads fast. She might need another recommendation.”
“She has been here often enough to know where the books live.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“No, it wasn’t.” I fold my hands on the counter. “I’ll be here tomorrow morning.”
He holds my gaze long enough that I feel the beat of my own pulse in my throat.
He holds my gaze a moment longer. “Good to know.”
Curiosity is harmless. It does not explain why I am already wondering whether Aiden Slade plans to use that information.