The Library of Second Chances

Chapter One

T HERE WERE A lot of things Chloe had never thought would happen to her.

One was ending up back in her hometown of Wellbridge, after years of living in the city.

The other thing that she hadn’t expected was to find herself marching alone down a wet cobblestone street on a dark and rainy autumn evening, frustrated, thirty quid down and soaked to the bone.

‘Leave your umbrella at home, they said. It won’t rain, they said,’ she grumbled to herself, her heels clacking on the uneven street, threatening a twisted ankle.

No one had actually said that, of course.

It had been her own na?ve assumption. Her wet hair stuck to her scalp, and it was another mile before she’d reach her house.

Even in the rain, there were no taxis around.

Besides, she didn’t want to go home right now. The thought of stepping into a cold, empty house was depressing. But that was the problem with small, quaint towns like these. Even at nine o’clock on a Friday evening, barely anything was open. Except pubs. Pubs were always open.

She slowed as she reached the Pride after going through various purposes – a courthouse, a hospital – it was finally made into a library in the fifties.

The west wing was home to the non-fiction and the children’s books, but this .

. . this was Chloe’s favourite section. Beyond the oak doors of the east wing were the archives, a large room on two levels separated by a spiral staircase of polished wood.

Shelves stood on either side, the ground floor hosting educational texts, while the upper floor housed fiction books organised by genre and author name.

Simply being here made her feel better – who didn’t enjoy being in the presence of books?

But Chloe still burned with humiliation at the thought of her date earlier tonight.

Dean had seemed pleasant enough when they had chatted on the app.

Their messages hadn’t made her heart skip a beat, exactly, but the red-headed, freckled mechanic from the next town over had seemed nice.

And maybe that was enough for now. Chloe hadn’t had more than two consecutive dates with anyone in over a year, not since she had broken up with her boyfriend in Sheffield, and she thought a meal with someone who might be interested in her would be a good way to spend her free time.

The date, however, had not been nice.

Dean, who looked at least a decade older than his Bumble photo, had arrived twenty minutes late without so much as an apology.

He had looked her up and down, shoved his way into the pub first, then when it was time to pay for their food, he had conveniently ‘forgotten’ his wallet.

Who casually mentions this without even saying sorry?

Who brought up their ex-girlfriend twice during their conversation?

And who rang their mum in the middle of the date to boast that he was out with a ‘fit bird’?

Who the hell even does that?

Chloe stomped up the spiral staircase a little harder than necessary, the thumps echoing off the high-ceilinged room.

Clementine followed her, his long tail brushing her calf before he scurried ahead, the little bell Mrs Cook had attached to his collar jangling as he went.

He disappeared behind a bookshelf, maybe to find somewhere comfortable to snooze.

Up here, Chloe breathed in the scent of paper.

This was what she craved. Shelves and shelves of various fiction genres.

Contemporary romance, fantasy, science-fiction, historical, thrillers, literary, classics.

Even just being in the books’ presence made her calmer.

She rubbed her hands together, blowing into her freezing fingers.

She would have to talk to Mrs Cook about investing in some blankets to match the armchairs that sat below each window.

She loved those. Cosy little reading nooks. Why was she mad again?

Oh yeah. Dean. She scowled, thinking of all the witty comebacks she should have come up with instead of awkwardly sipping her gin and tonic, desperately trying to find a reason to escape.

She’d finally paid the tab and muttered some weak excuse about needing to get home before leaving him alone in the street.

She hadn’t even wanted to share a taxi with Dean.

She’d blocked him as soon as he was out of sight.

Maybe that was mean, but she didn’t think she’d be able to face an awkward post-date exchange.

Cold rain ran down the window in rivulets, the outside world bleak and grey. It was a terrible evening to be wandering around and a perfect evening to be inside with books. It beat sitting at home and worrying about being single for ever, anyway.

Wandering about the library at night was a welcome distraction, and not only from worrying about her current lack of boyfriend.

Chloe was going to sink onto one of the armchairs, then decided against it; she was still drenched.

Instead, she leaned against the banister overlooking the lower floor, relishing the silence and at the same time hating the thoughts that crept into her mind when there wasn’t anything to distract her.