Chapter 6
Tuesday at half past noon, Arnie returned from the local sandwich shop with brown paper sacks. Blobs of grease smeared the
bottom of one bag, looking as though someone with hands coated in oil had carried it for him. He plopped the splotched bag
on the circulation desk, and Stella closed her copy of Beyond the Southern Horizon.
“Lunch is served,” Arnie said, walking around the desk. “I have Vicki’s too. Where is she?”
A smile of surprise curved Stella’s lips. “You bought me lunch? You didn’t have to do that, but thank you.” She pointed to
the second floor. “She’s reshelving titles in adult fiction.”
Arnie’s bushy eyebrows rose. He removed a folded handkerchief from his back pocket and swiped it across his forehead. “Did
you bring something for lunch today?”
It was no secret that Stella’s food choices at home consisted of mostly prepackaged goods, and if anything needed to be cooked, it was microwave friendly.
Ariel joked that Stella could survive on cheese crackers, kids’ cereals, and Hot Pockets without her body rebelling.
Maybe one of these days she’d mature into cooking meals that required the stove or an oven, but then, maybe she wouldn’t.
“Well, no. But I have a box of Lucky Charms in the kitchenette.”
Arnie made a dismissive noise in his throat. “Your diet is atrocious.”
Stella shrugged. “Or adventurous. Who knows what chemicals are in my food. Every day is a risk.”
Arnie opened his paper sack. “I’m not sure that’s anything to brag about.”
Stella pointed toward the greasy bag. “What’s with the overabundance of grease? Did you ask them to empty out the fryer’s
goodness into my bag? I sure hope so,” she teased.
Arnie’s smile emerged, causing the glasses on the bridge of his nose to rise on his cheekbones. “Based on your current eating
habits, I bought the worst thing on the menu for you. Philly cheesesteak with extra goo.”
The scents of melted cheese, cooked steak, and toasted bread wafted out of the bag as soon as she opened it. “Arnie, you’re
my hero.”
“Don’t you know it,” he said. “Take a break. I’ll cover the desk while you eat. Take Vicki’s to the break room, too, please.
I’ll let her know lunch is here.”
The front door opened and a man walked in, bringing rays of light with him like a cape of sunshine attached to his shoulders.
He scanned the high ceilings in the lobby as though he’d never been inside the building before.
When his gaze lowered, his eyes locked on Stella’s.
He strode toward her with purpose, keeping his focus on her.
She took in his features as quickly as possible: average height and a toned, athletic body.
He moved effortlessly, like he was used to being in constant motion, like he enjoyed exercising.
His sun-bleached blond hair and friendly face with Cupid’s bow lips made him look like a model for polo shirts or Nike gear.
As he neared, his mouth lifted into a smile, and small lines crinkled out from the corners of his eyes.
Neon-yellow words, thin and stretched, slipped out of his shorts pocket. Possibility. Welcome. Summer wind.
Stella slid her lunch bag across the counter, leaving a thin grease track. Arnie pulled a tissue from its box and wiped it
across the desk.
“Good afternoon,” Stella said after clearing her throat, aware that Arnie was lingering just over her shoulder. “Can we help
you find anything?”
The man’s boyish grin combined with his laugh lines was utterly charming. “I’m new in town. I just accepted a job at the middle
school for the coming fall, and I’m looking for information on soccer plays for kids and how to coach them. I’ve recklessly
signed up to help lead a bunch of boys for a summer league, and I’ve never been a coach.” He laughed, sounding unsure but
excited. “I know how to play, but I’m not sure how to teach what I know to kids. Make sense?”
Stella pursed her lips in thought. “Why would you sign up for something you don’t know how to do?” The question slipped out
before she could stop it. She’d never agree to do something she wasn’t sure she had the skills for.
He leaned forward over the desk. “Sometimes you have to take a chance, right? It’s a new adventure.”
His intense gaze drew her in like a magnet, so she leaned away. Quick-paced, crowded words skittered out from beneath his
hands on the desk. Come on. Give it a try. Take a chance.
“No,” Stella blurted, and the man’s expression changed to one of confusion. She whirled around to Arnie. “I mean, um, Arnie here is your guy. He knows exactly what you need, don’t you, Arnie? He knows where all the soccer books are kept.”
Arnie tilted his head, and his eyebrows crawled toward the center of his brow. “As do you.”
“But you know where the best ones are. I’ll just take a quick lunch break while you help out Mr. Soccer Coach here.” Stella turned
back toward the man. Why did he look disappointed? “Seriously, Arnie is your guy. Good luck,” she said, grabbing her book
and the lunch bags, then scurrying toward the library’s kitchenette.
When she glanced over her shoulder, wispy, bright blue words followed her like an airplane’s condensation trail. Adventure. Carefree. Risk. Stella glared at the words before taking one last look at Arnie speaking with the man, and then she disappeared around the
corner.
Fifteen minutes later, as Stella folded the sandwich paper around the other half of her cheesesteak, Arnie stepped into the
doorway of the kitchenette. She stood, opened the ’70s gold refrigerator door, and shoved her sandwich inside.
“Hey, kiddo,” Arnie said. “How’re you feeling?”
Stella stared at the contents of the refrigerator for a long pause before closing the door. He wasn’t asking about her changing
life path or the strange ways words were showing up. So she responded with, “The headache is finally gone, and now my stomach
is full, thanks to you.”
Arnie stepped into the kitchenette. “Want to tell me what that was about?”
Stella stared at the aging black-and-white tile floor and processed her choices: play dumb or admit the truth. She brought
her gaze up to meet his. “To what are you referring?” she asked innocently.
Arnie’s exasperation was evident in his knowing stare.
Stella heaved a sigh that could have lifted kites into the sky.
She dropped back onto one of the vintage chrome and red vinyl chairs that had been donated years ago by the local diner when they remodeled.
When she leaned back, air whooshed out of a crack in the vinyl.
Stella laced her fingers together in her lap. “I’m no good with guys.”
Arnie walked to a cabinet and pulled down a tall, decorative tin full of loose-leaf green tea. “Certainly not if you scurry
away like a mouse every time one of them shows any interest.”
Stella fought the urge to roll her eyes. “He wasn’t showing interest. He was looking for a book.”
Arnie filled the electric kettle with hot water and plugged it in. Then he sat down at the diner table across from her. He
folded his hands together on the black laminate tabletop. “I saw the way he was looking at you, all googly-eyed. I believe
he would have taken a book and you out to dinner. I think he’d prefer the latter more than the book, but you snuffed him out without giving him a chance.”
Stella’s chest tightened at the idea of going out with a man again. The image of Mr. Soccer Coach, all sunshine and ease,
coasted through her mind. Then she saw an image of herself beating those thoughts of him with a fly swatter until they were
scattered pieces blowing away. “I don’t want to give him a chance.”
“Or any man.”
Stella’s temples started to throb, and she clenched her jaw.
“I don’t need a man,” she said, knowing she sounded like a brat.
But she truly didn’t. Especially not until she figured out how to stop holding on to the memories of Wade.
She didn’t even have any good examples in her life of what a healthy, loving relationship looked like.
Her parents had crashed and burned. Arnie had been single for as long as she’d known him.
Percy dated like it was part of his profession.
Ariel was waiting for a guy to realize she was a dream catch and ask her out.
“Maybe the perfect guy for me doesn’t exist,” she said. Her throat squeezed as though protesting the words.
“You don’t believe that,” Arnie said.
Stella stood abruptly from the table, wanting to end the conversation before it became sentimental and hopeful, before some
shred of romance tried to wheedle its way into her heart, which was currently a confusing mesh of Love is a train wreck and Happily ever after exists.
When she tried to walk past Arnie, he reached out and grabbed her arm in a relaxed grip. “Hey.” His voice was gentle enough
to cause her throat to close up. “You don’t need a man. You’re right about that. I’m not implying you do. I just think you
might eventually like to have a partner, someone fun to hang out with and enjoy similar activities with. Not every man will
be like Wade.”
“What about the half dozen other guys I’ve tried dating? They all ended the same way. Failures.” She picked up her copy of
Beyond the Southern Horizon. “Don’t suppose you have a clone of Jack Mathis somewhere, do you?”
Arnie shifted in his seat, and his gaze drifted toward the doorway. “Jack Mathis?”
Stella sighed. “He checks all the boxes for me.” Then she rolled her eyes. “But alas, he’s fictional. And even if he were here, I’m not ready.”
Arnie said, “You’ll know when you are.”
The kettle whistled, sounding like a voice of mourning. Arnie’s sigh followed her out of the kitchenette, pushing against
her back like a rush of understanding.