Chapter Two #2
It was hard to argue with that logic, though in my opinion, they could be less aggressive in delivering the messages.
I wasn’t the only one who thought so. Evanthe had warned the pair against harassing the patrons—or else.
So they’d taken to doing it slyly, out of Evanthe’s sight—because they didn’t see their method as harassment at all.
They saw it only as a gift, their sharing of these shiny pearls of wisdom.
Before Evanthe caught wind of this ensnarement and fired the pair of them, I sprang into action, whipping the cart around the bookshelf.
The room opened wide, revealing the center of the library, which held a spacious reading zone with a variety of seating areas.
It had couches, chairs, beanbags, tables, and even a long counter with bar stool seating, where two teenagers were currently reading video game magazines.
The cart’s wheel squeaked as I said in my cheeriest voice, “Hey, y’all, what’s going on?”
Isabel grabbed my arm. “Tallulah Byrd.”
I liked that she sometimes still used my first and middle names. She’d been a friend of my mamaw’s and had known me since I was just a little bitty thing. Nettie, too.
“What better removes bloodstains?” Isabel asked. Demanded, really. “Baking soda and vinegar or hydrogen peroxide?”
For such a small woman, barely five feet tall and thin as a whittled twig, she was surprisingly strong.
Her silver hair was slicked back and coiled into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, not a single strand daring to spring free.
Fire burned in black eyes rimmed with delicate wrinkles.
No one was more competitive. Katy had recently played a game of checkers with her, and the older woman had shown absolutely no mercy.
I glanced at Nettie, who was rolling her eyes. Then I faced their target, who was practically pinned against the shelf and nearly took a step back.
He absolutely did not look like a man who needed rescuing.
He had to be at least six foot two. Lean.
Muscled. Tattooed. Short dark hair. Warm, light brown eyes.
Sharp cheekbones. Stubble that didn’t quite hide the dimple in his strong chin.
He had on a tight white T-shirt, blue jeans, and tennis shoes.
He looked to be in his mid-to-late thirties, and I definitely didn’t recognize him.
Because, mercy, I’d have remembered his face and the intelligence shimmering in his eyes.
I was a sucker for intelligence.
Isabel snapped her fingers. “Tallulah.”
I blinked and found her staring at me.
“Well?” she asked, waiting for an answer to a question I couldn’t remember.
Immediately, my cheeks started to heat, and I looked away, feeling silly, caught off guard. It had been a long time since I’d been struck dumb by a man. It was a strange feeling, uncomfortable yet … hopeful. As if my heart was saying, What if him? He might be the one.
What if no, I told it.
Besides the fact that it was a ridiculous question, given that he was a complete stranger, there were limits to me stepping outside my comfort zone. Dating was one of them. I just wasn’t ready yet—and wasn’t sure I ever would be again.
Nettie chuckled and said, “Seems Tallulah’s a mite distracted.”
I shot her a grim look.
She wiggled dark eyebrows and grinned, unoffended. “Must be the sight of the blood. Right, Lu?”
As her words sank in, I stiffened. Blood?
It was only then I noticed the man had a tissue pressed against one of his fingers, and that his shirt was dotted with a few bright red spots. “Oh!” I exclaimed. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he said, his voice deep, rich. “The blood makes it look more dramatic than it really is.”
“Got himself a good little slice,” Nettie said, tutting. “Fingertips bleed like the dickens.”
There was a puppy-training book tucked under his arm, and I stepped forward and pulled the book free, trying to keep it safe from blood-borne pathogens. “Let me put that aside for you.” I set it on the cart. “What did you cut your finger on?”
Vaguely, he gestured with his chin toward the shelf behind him. “A burr, I think. On the end there.”
It took a moment of searching, but I finally spotted a tiny metal spike—a defect in the shelf itself. It was a small miracle someone hadn’t been injured before now.
Nettie, dressed in a short-sleeve blouse and flowy wide-legged pants, crossed dark arms over an ample chest. “You might need a tetanus shot, young man.”
“You might also be eligible for compensation from the library,” Isabel added. “For pain and suffering.”
She obviously hadn’t gotten all the lawyering out of her system.
I glanced at her. “Really, Miss Isabel? You work here.”
She shrugged and adjusted a thin cardigan—she always had some sort of sweater on, even in the summer. “Old ways die hard.”
“I’m not in pain or suffering,” the man assured. His voice had lost some of its bewilderment and now held a hint of amusement. “I’m also up to date on my tetanus booster. But thanks.”
Nettie said, “All right, then. I’ll grab a Band-Aid for you. Be right back.”
When Isabel was called away by a patron ready to check out a stack of books, I fought the urge to fill the sudden silence by asking the man questions like his name, how long he’d been in town, and if his car had broken down when he arrived.
Forget-Me-Not wasn’t just any old quaint Southern town.
It happened to be a haven for the lost. The emotionally lost. Whether that be the heartbroken, the confused, the angry, the hurt, the misguided.
Those needing a little extra help to mend their broken spirit were often led here.
And then were forced to stay by their car suddenly breaking down.
Only when they found the right path forward, toward healing, did the town turn them loose again. Very few stayed.
I was saved from the growing awkwardness by a cool wind whistling through the room. Slowly, I turned. Evanthe Kilburn stood watching us, her thin lips pressed tightly together. Deckle sat at her feet, his fluffy black tail curled around his front paws.
“Is there a problem?” Evanthe asked in a chilly tone, looking positively regal draped in layers of cream-toned linen.
“Nope,” I said, overly bright, wondering what was taking Nettie so long. “No problem at all.”
Evanthe pursed her lips, which lifted high cheekbones. “Is that so?”
At eighty years old, she still stood tall, nearly five foot ten.
A silvery white braid hung to her waist, but the end of the braid remained midnight black, as if the ends of her hair had been dipped in a pot of India ink.
She was statuesque and lithe, active and fit.
In fair weather, she often rode her red bike to work, which was a sight to behold, with Deckle sitting in the basket on the front and books strapped to the rack behind the seat.
“It is,” I said, trying not to fidget.
“Interesting. How does one then explain the blood?” she asked, eyeing the drops on the man’s shirt. “Are you in need of medical attention, Jake?”
Jake? She knew him? My gaze swung his way.
“It’s just a scratch, Aunt Ev,” he said. “No need to worry.”
Wait. Evanthe had a nephew? One who called her Ev? She, who despised nicknames?
“Splendid.” She narrowed her gaze on me. “I don’t believe the books on the cart are going to shelve themselves, Tallulah.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, then winced. “I mean, no, ma’am.”
Then she turned and walked away, taking the coolness with her.
Deckle stayed behind, hopping onto a shelf near my shoulder. Eye level. I did my best to ignore him.
“I didn’t know Evanthe had a nephew,” I said to Jake. I blurted it, really. It was the shock speaking.
He smiled. “I’m not surprised. She’s not exactly an open book, is she?”
No. She wasn’t.
Jake glanced over his shoulder, in the direction Nettie had gone, then shifted from foot to foot.
“My finger’s fine, really. I should get going.
I have a puppy at home who shouldn’t be left alone for too long.
She’s quickly developing a taste for couch cushions.
” His gaze landed on mine and stayed there a long second. “It was nice meeting you.”
“You, too,” I murmured. Being polite. That’s all.
With a nod, he turned and walked away, saying goodbye to Isabel as he passed by the circ desk.
“Wait,” I exclaimed, calling after him as I snagged the puppy-training book from the cart. “Your book!”
“I’ll come back for it some other time,” he said over his shoulder. Then he was through the doors and out of sight.
When Nettie finally returned, a Band-Aid in hand, I was fully expecting an interrogation on where the man had gone. But she was distracted by Deckle, who strolled purposefully along the shelf. In a blink, he pawed a book, sending it flying onto the floor.
We peered downward.
The Joy of Cooking stared back at us.
With a happy squeal, Nettie made a grab for the book.
With glimmering eyes, she opened it, letting the pages fall at will.
Then she lifted the book to her nose. Her eyes drifted closed in concentration as she breathed in the book’s scent.
A moment later, she blinked, then frowned.
“I didn’t remember a darn thing. It must be meant for you, Tallulah. ”
She handed the book to me.
I promptly put it back on the shelf. “No, thank you.”
As determination shined in Deckle’s eyes, I grabbed him and set him on the floor. “Off with you now.”
He hissed, then strutted away, his tail in the air.
Nettie gasped in dismay.
I smiled at her and said, “I need to get a move on. It’s almost quitting time.”
As I walked away, pushing the book cart, she was still shaking her head and tutting in outrage that I’d turn down such a gift.
I didn’t take her disapproval to heart. Not many understood why I’d decline a chance to retrieve a long-lost memory. But I knew. That’s all that mattered.
Fifteen minutes later, I was almost done with shelving when I caught sight of Evanthe looking out one of the floor-to-ceiling windows that faced the back garden. Her hands were clasped behind her. Her back was ramrod straight. Her chin was lifted high. Sunlight glinted off the silver in her hair.
Once, she’d been my mamaw’s closest friend in the whole world.
In fact, she was my mama’s godmother.
But as I watched her now, I couldn’t help but wonder why she was practically a stranger to me.