“Well, that’s all that matters, isn’t it, dear?” Betty nods sagely and turns back to Stacks.
The pussy gets more belly rubs, plus a bunch of compliments about his thick, shiny coat. When everyone looks like they’re just about done lavishing him with attention, I slowly get to my feet.
“Let’s go back inside, Stacks,” I tell the tabby. He doesn’t pay me any attention. Luckily, the seniors do and start shuffling past me.
“Is your hip paining you today, Violet?” Betty asks as she uses my walker to propel herself back to her feet.
“No more than usual,” I tell the older lady, handing back her books.
Technically, I’m the older lady, I remind myself. My body is ten years Betty’s senior, even if she is actually fifty years older than I am. Not that any of that matters when it comes to our friendship. These days, almost everyone in my life has gray hair—or in Betty’s case, gray with one fading pink stripe.
“Weren’t you going to get your hair done today, Betty, dear?”—Five points—I ask as we head inside. Stacks takes off, tail wagging, and races ahead of us. The seniors follow—though at a much more leisurely pace—chuckling when the tabby starts chasing his tail.
Betty pats her shag—which is what she insists on calling her short, messy haircut—and smiles. “Liam’s giving me a lift. He should be here at noon.”
“You have the sweetest grandson,” I tell her. She hasn’t had a chance to introduce us yet, but from what she said, he’s been doing everything from grocery shopping to cooking and cleaning so she wouldn’t have to—plus driving her all the way to Scarborough just to get her hair cut. “I’m so glad he decided to move back to Silver Springs, Betty.”
“So am I.” She smiles wistfully. “He reminds me so much of his grandfather.”
“Does he?” I ask, wondering if Liam took after Betty or her late husband. I try to picture the sweet, five foot nothing old lady married to a troll—or giving birth to a troll—and shake the mental image away.
“Martin used to work for the police force, too, you know,” Betty adds. Which might mean her grandson is human after all, and they just have similar personalities.
I wait, hoping she’ll elaborate, because it’s not like I can outright ask if her grandson is a troll. She doesn’t.
“Betty, dear, did you say Liam is picking you up at noon?” I ask, pretending to have forgotten already. Fifteen points—five for the ‘dear’ and another ten for the memory loss.
Betty nods.
“Well then, that should give you plenty of time to find something new to read.”
“Oh my, yes!” She perks up, hugging her large-print romance novels more tightly against her chest.
We make our way to the front desk where seniors are dropping off library materials of all shapes and sizes: paperbacks, large-print books, audiobooks, magazines, DVDs, you name it. The regulars know to leave their items on the counter for me, instead of using the book drop, which Nole won’t be emptying until he eventually shows up for his shift. That could be anytime between now and lunch—not that I mind, since he always stays late to make up for it.
“Come along, Stacks!” I call out, patting the top of the counter. Handkerchief used to curl up there every morning, keeping me company, but Stacks looks at me like I’m crazy. Then he takes off toward the romance section. Library cat, indeed.
“He’s got good taste in books,” Betty says.
“That he does.” I nod. “Now, where are my reading glasses?” Ten points.
“Around your neck, dear,” Betty says. I mentally give her five points as I perch the cat-eye frames on my nose and start scanning in the returns.
I have to wait for the computer to beep after each item’s done, which is crazy inefficient. At my college campus, you could check in large stacks of books all at once, but Spell is a small-town library with an even smaller budget. Plus, checking in the returns gives me a chance to chat with Betty.
She’s in the process of telling me about yet another book she read—a romantic comedy set in a small town—when shoes squeak loudly against the library floor.
Betty and I both turn in time to watch Nole saunter in. The tall, broad-shouldered bear shifter looks like he stepped out of a magazine—or a girl’s wet dream—gone wrong. Or maybe entirely too right.
His large body is stuffed into a suit that’s several sizes too small. His pants end just below his knees and cup him in a way that can’t possibly be decent.
Can’t possibly be decent. I almost chuckle. If I’d said that out loud, that would have been a solid twenty points. Should I still count it, when I’m starting to think like a senior? Well, minus the way I’m drooling over Nole.
My eyes drift down to his huge feet. They’re stuffed into white flip-flops that bring out his tan and somehow only make him look hotter.
“Sorry I’m late, Violet,” Nole says huskily, his breath coming out in pants.
My eyes snap up, and his quickly rising and falling chest nearly makes my heart stop. Nole’s white dress shirt stretches around his muscular frame, emphasizing strong biceps and pecs. The seams look ready to burst, and I hold my breath as I wait to see if any of the buttons will pop. To my disappointment—and relief—they don’t.
But they might... my hopeful twenty-year-old brain argues. Look how heavily he’s breathing! Did he run all the way to work dressed like that? Holy hell.
My cheeks flush, and for a split second, I feel my magic flare to life. Do not shift, Violet! You are in control!
I take a deep breath and try to slow my racing heart. It’s not healthy at my age—or my body’s age—never mind that it’s completely inappropriate. Imagine if one of the seniors saw their gray-haired, old lady librarian lusting after a twenty-year-old. Never mind that he’s a bear shifter and hot as hell. He’s practically a kid in their eyes... and I look sixty years his senior.
“Suit like that needs to be dry cleaned, Nole. You can’t just put it in the wash,” Betty reprimands him. At least one of us is acting her age, though I’m not sure why she’s bringing up how to do laundry.
I glance at her, but her eyes are glued to Nole’s chest, and suddenly I’m right back to drooling over him.
“I didn’t put it in the wash, ma’am.” Nole looks confused.
And his use of the word ‘ma’am’ is a stark reminder that no matter how close we’ve grown over the past year, I’m just another little old lady as far as he’s concerned.
“The suit didn’t shrink,” Nole adds, and it finally hits me why Betty mentioned dry cleaning.
Then the bear shifter glances down at himself, and my brain short-circuits. With the morning light streaming through the windows, I can almost make out his hard abs beneath the fabric of his dress shirt. A shirt that stretches around him with each word.
“I borrowed this from my older brother.”
It takes a second for his words to sink in, and my eyes widen in surprise. “Wes is home? I thought he moved in with Amber? Are they fighting?”
I know I’m not supposed to care, since Amber and I are strangers in everyone’s eyes, but I can’t help it. I need to know!