“She doesn’t have a mother,” he clarifies.
The statement stops my heart and forces me to blink in sympathy.
“I mean, Margie … her mother … she doesn’t live here. With us. With Dandelion.” His rambling becomes rather sweet. He’s flustered sharing this information.
“Dandelion? That’s an interesting name,” I offer, lightening my voice to ease his discomfort.
His expression relaxes, his face filling with a growing smile. He’s proud of his little girl. “It’s a nickname.”
“The Dandelion Seed is one of my favorite children’s books,” I say but he stares at me like I’m the one suddenly speaking a different language. I wait for more explanation about the nickname, but Nathan’s eyes flick to the bookshelf.
“So the … um … change. Her mother didn’t explain it.” It’s rude to ask, and I stop myself before I start fishing for answers to questions that I have no right to ask like: is he married? Nathan’s large shoulders fall, and the curve of his lips drop a little.
“Let’s just say I’m both parents.”
I smile softly as if I understand and Nathan’s eyes lower to the floor. I take a deep breath, ignoring the pinch in my chest, and go into superpower mode. I’m a librarian. I can help him find answers.
“Okay, we have several books about the young body and … the changes … it goes through. Eleven seems a little late to discuss these things, though.” I glance up at him, not wanting to judge his parenting, but a young girl should know these things a little earlier in life.
My fingers troll the spines of books like a pianist expertly skimming the keys of a piano.
“I think this is one of the better books for a young woman.” I hold out the book with an illustration of a light pink bloom on the cover. “I Have a Vagina is an excellent read.”
Nathan sputter-coughs, choking on his gum. He bangs at his chest with a fist, and for a moment, I’m worried I’ll have to administer the Heimlich. I’d rather administer mouth-to-mouth.
Nathan rereads the title for himself and his eyes fly upward to mine, then quickly divert. Stay in super librarian mode, I warn myself.
“It includes visuals with age-appropriate vocabulary and an explanation of how to use tamp—I mean, feminine hygiene products.”
Nathan’s eyes roll upward as his head tips back. His cheeks pinken. Is he embarrassed? If he thinks this is awkward for him, what about me? He’s the one who has experience with the fact I do have a vagina. Experience doing wonderful things to my vagina. Which happens to pulse more rapidly than the life-sustaining organ in my chest at the moment.
This cannot be good. I don’t want my vagina to beat to the rhythm of Nathan. I don’t want any body part to hammer at the thought of him. Too late, though. My heart races as my mind fills with memories.
Are you sure about this?
I’ve never wanted anything more.
I was so naïve.
“There’s a companion book as well.” I swallow as I offer Nathan the second book in the collection. At some point, I’ve stepped closer to him and I smell him. Sandalwood and musk. Manly and sharp. And something else. Sawdust. Is he a construction worker? My eyes drift down his broad body.
Only the length of the book separates us. A distance I want to shorten.
“I Have a Penis,” he reads. Instantly, I’m inflamed by his statement. I am a sacrifice to my goddess and I gladly give of myself, if he’ll be the horny god to take me. Horned God, I mean. God with a horn on him. A horn for plundering and …
“Yes, I do,” he adds, his voice low as his twinkling, teasing eyes find mine.
Deep exhale.
Here’s the thing, I’m aware of the appendage on Nathan like he’s familiar with the special spot on me. Unfortunately, the experience was a long time ago, and I’m quite certain he’s forgotten all about my womanly parts especially if he has a daughter.
His eyes widen as he reads the title again and then the corner of his lip curls. I don’t see it at first, but I know it’s under the fuzz on his cheeks. A dimple lurks beneath the silver and Sweet Goddess if it isn’t the sexiest thing I’ve seen in years.
“Naomi?” His questioning tone forces me to realize I’m practically pressed into his chest. Taking a step back, my necklace catches on the zipper of his jacket. The leather tugs at the back of my neck.
Not again. “I’m stuck on you.”
His breath hitches before he speaks. “Is this becoming our thing?” His brows rise, and he chuckles, a rich mixture of rumbles. Then he shakes his head as I struggle to pull myself free, drawing back and jiggling the crystal-zipper combination. Nathan’s hand wraps behind my neck, pausing my jostling. A thick finger swipes up my nape, curling under the leather string, and I shiver at the intimate touch.
“Let’s just take this off,” he whispers with smoke and ash in his voice, as he lifts my hair with his other hand and removes the strap over my head. More shivers slither down my spine, and in another moment, I’m going to be a puddle on the floor. He’s said these words once before to me.
Yes, take it off. Take it all off.
My face heats. It’s suddenly very hot in the library.
I think I’m having another hot flash like the one in the Piggly Wiggly.
Is there a pattern to hot flashes I should be aware of? Hot man. Hot flash. Maybe I should check out a book about things at the other end of the … you know … change cycle.
After he slips the leather from my neck, he unhooks it from his zipper. Dangling it from two thick digits, he holds it up.
“This is cool.”
“Thank you,” I mumble, reaching out my hand for my pendant but he curls his fingers into the leather strap and lifts the accessory over my head. Lowering it to my shoulders, he swipes my hair upward, cupping the massive curls in one hand. His curved fingers stroke down the string, narrowly missing my breast as he straightens the elongated crystal to hang between them. I should consider it forward. Women press charges for this kind of behavior, but all I want to do is press against him. My nipples respond instantly, standing erect and visible through my thin shirt.
“Thank you for the books, Naomi.”
The way he says my name sends another river of shivers washing over my skin, and I decide to risk a question plaguing me. “So you remember me?”
His finger taps on something solid just over my heart and I look down to see my name tag.
Naomi.
“This is your name, right?”
Without answering his question, it’s clear he’s answered mine. Nathan Ryder has no recollection of me. Even though he teased me at the Piggly Wiggly and called me by name, he doesn’t remember me. I must have been wearing my name tag that night, too. My nose prickles and my eyes burn. The hurt of my twenty-one-year-old self returns to my almost forty-year-old heart.
“Will this be all you need?” Suddenly, I want Nathan out of the library, away from me, and out of my memories. I don’t need a reminder of the things we did, the pleasure lingering in my fantasies coupled with the pain of my actions.
I don’t want to think about his backside firm and snug in his jeans.
I don’t want to notice the dimple peeking through his silver scruff.