12. Paige
Paige
Josie arrives for story hour wearing so much glitter it threatens to buckle her name tag.
She holds it against her chest while the rest of the day-camp group files into the children’s library. Purple letters announce OFFICIAL PAGE-TURNER beneath her name, surrounded by three silver stars, a dragon sticker, and one plastic jewel already sliding from its adhesive.
“You said we would negotiate,” she says.
“I remember.”
“I asked Daddy, and he said negotiating means both people give up something.”
“What did you give up?”
“The rainbow.”
I examine the badge with appropriate seriousness. “A difficult sacrifice.”
“I still have six colors.”
“Then we both showed admirable restraint.”
Josie beams and takes her place on the small stool beside my chair.
The reading rug fills with its usual chaos—some children close, chins on their knees, others sprawling with parents and stuffed animals. I let the energy settle, a practiced pause, then hold up today’s book.
“I have an assistant,” I announce. “Josie is responsible for turning the pages and making sure I don’t skip anything.”
“I never skip pages,” she says.
A boy near the front raises his hand. “Why does she get to do it?”
“Because she volunteered first. We’ll choose someone new next week.”
Josie leans toward him. “You have to listen to the whole story.”
“I can do that.”
“You talked during the last one.”
His mother presses her lips together.
“Everyone gets a fresh chance,” I say before this turns into a formal hearing. “Including people with previous talking violations.”
Josie considers this, then nods. “That’s fair.”
I open the book about a dragon searching for a place to keep his treasure. I chose it because seven children voted for dragons on the program survey, though knowing Josie would enjoy it made the decision easier.
She turns the first page with both hands.
By page four, she has perfected the timing. She waits until I finish the final sentence, tilts the book so the children can see the picture, then turns the page without covering the words.
On page nine, the dragon tries hiding his gold beneath a library rug.
“That won’t work,” Josie says.
“Why?”
“Everybody looks under rugs when things go missing.”
A girl beside her shakes her head. “I don’t.”
“You would if you lost gold.”
The girl nods, her expression suddenly serious.
We make it through the story with only two additional dragon-related debates. When I reach the last page, Josie keeps her hand poised over the corner.
“Are you finished?”
“I am.”
“You forgot the end paper.”
“It doesn’t have any words.”
“It has a picture.”
A small, triumphant smile touches her lips as she turns it, revealing the dragon asleep on his pile of library books.
The children immediately begin discussing whether sleeping on books would hurt. Josie climbs down from the stool and carries the story to the display table while I hand out activity sheets.
A smaller boy reaches for the book at the same time she sets it down. His fingers close over the cover, and he looks at her as if he expects an argument.
“You can have it first,” Josie says. “I already saw every page.”
“Even the one at the end?”
“That one is important.”
He hugs the book against his chest and hurries back to the rug.
I nudge Josie’s badge straight where the loose jewel has pulled it sideways. “Excellent work.”
“I told you I was qualified.”
“You were very thorough.”
“Daddy says thorough takes longer.”
“Sometimes it should.”
She looks toward the entrance, probably checking whether he has arrived, then joins two girls coloring their reading maps. They make room without being asked.
I watch Josie select the purple marker, study it, and hand it to the girl beside her.
“This is the best purple,” she explains. “You can use it first.”
Warmth spreads through my chest, sharp and surprising.
I find myself looking for Josie when children gather on the rug, remembering which books she'll request and which purple marker is superior. I want this room to feel like a constant for her, a place that hasn't changed.
It’s a feeling that belongs here. I’m her librarian. She’s my glittery assistant. Our history started with a book, long before her father was anything but an irritated man in my stacks, and it’s something I want to protect.
I turn toward the desk and find Aiden standing beside the picture-book display.
He is early enough that Josie has not noticed him. His attention fixes entirely on me.
Aiden’s stare was a problem before I knew what his mouth could do.
Now it feels dangerous in a children’s library.
He stays beside the display while I gather crayons and answer questions from parents. He doesn’t interrupt or announce himself. He watches me work with the same focused attention he gives everything else, and a familiar heat uncurls, a direct reminder of the last time I had all of it.
Josie spots him while carrying a stack of reading maps.
“Daddy!”
Aiden catches the papers she nearly drops and crouches as she throws her arms around his neck.
“I turned every page,” she tells him. “Even the end paper.”
“Of course. You’re the official page-turner.”
“And I gave Henry the dragon book first because I already saw it.”
“That was generous.”
“He might forget the end paper, though.”
“We’ll hope Miss Paige’s training stays with him.”
His eyes meet mine over Josie’s shoulder. The warmth there turns personal even with twelve children between us.
Josie pulls away and points to her crooked name tag. “The jewel is falling off.”
Aiden examines it. “Do you want me to fix it or take it off?”
“Fix it.”
He presses the jewel back into place without suggesting the glitter has already exceeded safe limits. Josie stands patiently between his knees, talking through the entire story while he gives dragon treasure his full concentration.
When she finishes, she slips her hand into his and leans against his shoulder.
She doesn’t hesitate. She expects him to be there, to listen, and trusts he will handle a loose jewel with the seriousness it deserves.
The rancher version of Aiden was already easy to want. Watching him with Josie makes the word ‘casual’ feel flimsy.
The final families leave with their activity sheets and promises to return next week. I carry the marker bin toward the supply cabinet while Aiden remains near the rug.
“Are you waiting for an assignment?” I ask.
“I’m waiting to find out what you need.”
I pause with the marker bin against my hip. He isn’t trying to take over; he’s waiting for direction. The difference is so sharp it catches me off guard.
“You can stack the blue chairs against the wall. Leave the yellow ones at the tables.”
“Any reason?”
“The yellow ones wobble when stacked.”
He nods and gets to work without rearranging my system or suggesting a better one.
Josie begins sorting markers beside me. “These have good lids. These have bad lids. This one has no lid, so it has to live alone.”
“A tragic but necessary classification,” I tell her.
Aiden carries four chairs at once, his shirtsleeves pulling across his arms. “Anything else?”
“The books beside the dragon display go on the cart.”
He glances toward it. “The one marked returns?”
“You followed the label. Very attractive.”
He smiles. “Careful.”
I take an empty activity bin behind the freestanding display. Aiden follows with the books balanced on one forearm, shielding us from Josie’s view.
He sets them inside. “You remembered everything she likes.”
“I remember what most of my regulars like.”
“I watched you with all of them.” His voice lowers. “You gave her exactly enough responsibility to make her proud without making the day about her.”
He noticed the exact balance I was trying to protect, and the praise lands, too accurate to brush aside.
“She earned the job.”
“I know.”
His palm finds my waist. His thumb slips beneath the back of my blouse, brushing warm skin.
“You’re touching library staff during working hours,” I whisper.
“I asked what you needed.”
“I don’t remember requesting this.”
“Tell me to stop.”
I lean into his touch, shifting until his palm rests fully against my lower back. “Your version of ‘helpful’ is getting suspicious.”
“You didn’t object to it Friday.”
“Friday didn’t include twelve children and a dragon display.”
His attention shifts to my mouth. “We had fewer rules on Friday.”
A sharp coil of heat tightens low in my belly. “You should go back to the chairs.”
“Is that what you need?”
“No. It’s what would keep me employed.”
His thumb makes one slow pass over my skin before he releases me.
When we step out from behind the display, Josie is arranging her markers in a careful row. Aiden returns to the chairs, but the look he sends me is a clear promise he hasn’t forgotten where his hand was.
I am still flushed when the library doors open.
Axel and Adrienne Slade walk in carrying two overflowing bags of children’s books.
Adrienne’s gaze moves from Aiden to me. Axel follows it. Then both of them smile.
Axel and Adrienne remain suspiciously silent while I check in their books and clear the last returns. They make it all the way to the library steps before Adrienne looks at Aiden.
She lets Josie skip ahead before she speaks. “Do you know your face changes when you stare at her?”
“My face is fine.”
Axel shifts one of the empty book bags beneath his arm. “It was obvious before we walked in.”
“You both came to return books,” Aiden says. “Stick to the books.”
“We returned them,” Adrienne replies. “Now we’re focusing on this.”
I lock the library door and test the handle. “Do all triplets get this involved in each other’s personal lives?”
“No,” Axel says. “That’s specific to our family.”
Aiden reaches for the canvas bag hanging from my shoulder. I let him take it, mostly because I enjoy the brief look of surprise he gives me.
Adrienne notices that too.
Her smile widens. “Mom is having everyone over Sunday. One o’clock.”
“How many people is everyone?” I ask.
“Thirty if they all come,” Axel says.
“Twenty-seven,” Aiden says.
Adrienne glances at him. “You counted?”
“I know who was invited.”
“Of course you do.”
Aiden ignores her and looks at me. “Come with me.”
“Thirty people is not a date.”
“I know.”
I study his expression, waiting for the argument we had the first time he tried to fit me into a Slade gathering. It never comes.
“I want you there,” he says. “I’m also aware it’s a family barbecue.”
“And I’m still saying no.”
“Okay.”
His easy acceptance makes my prepared arguments feel useless.
Adrienne looks between us. “That was disappointingly reasonable.”
“He’s improving,” I say.
“I’m standing right here,” Aiden says.
“We know,” Axel says. “You’re hard to miss.”
Josie stops beside Adrienne’s SUV and presses the loose jewel on her name tag again. “Can I ride with Aunt Adrienne?”
“If your dad says yes,” Adrienne tells her.
Aiden checks the time, then looks back at his sister. “Take her to Mom and Dad’s. I’ll be right behind you.”
Josie runs back to wrap both arms around his waist before hurrying to Adrienne’s car. Aiden checks that she is buckled while Axel gives me an amused wave and heads toward his truck.
Adrienne lowers her window. “We’ll save you a plate Sunday, Paige.”
“She said no,” Aiden says.
“I heard her. Food can remain available without becoming a trap.”
“That sounds suspiciously like personal growth,” I call out.
Adrienne laughs and pulls away from the curb.
Aiden returns to the steps with my bag still over his shoulder. “What would you accept?”
“I accepted dinner at my cabin.”
“You made me earn that.”
“You arrived with pasta and were on your best behavior.”
His eyes dip to my mouth. “My intentions changed before dessert.”
“I noticed.”
“What would make you say yes to seeing the ranch?”
He doesn’t pitch the thirty Slades. He just asks what I want.
“A ride,” I say. “Food. No family ambush.”
“What type of ride?”
“I meant in a vehicle.”
“I have horses.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Aiden steps closer. “Come out Saturday morning. I’ll pick you up, take you riding, and feed you breakfast on my porch.”
“Just us?”
“Just us.”
“What about Josie?”
“She has plans with my parents until lunch. You and I will be done before she comes home.”
I narrow my eyes. “Done with the date?”
“With breakfast.” His voice drops. “I’m willing to negotiate everything after that.”
A slow heat curls through me. “And if we run into twenty-seven relatives?”
“We won’t. I know their schedules.”
“Of course you do.”
“The ranch is quiet early. You’ll see where I work, meet the horses, and eat without anyone asking when you plan to become part of the family.”
“That was extremely specific.”
“I know my family.”
I take my bag from his shoulder, though I stay close enough that it brushes his arm. “What time?”
“Six.”
“You complained when I made you meet me at five thirty.”
“I’m letting you sleep in.”
“How generous.”
“I can pick you up at the cabin, or you can drive yourself and leave whenever you want.”
He’s offering an exit, a choice, without me having to ask for it.
I slide the strap onto my shoulder. “Pick me up.”
Aiden’s attention sharpens. “Is that a yes?”
“Yes.”
Aiden smiles, warm and unguarded. A sharp, private satisfaction settles in my chest. He'd asked what I wanted and actually listened.
Saturday is four days away, and I resent every one of them.