Page 9 of Summer Reading

We stood awkwardly watching the patrons bustle around the building. I tried to remember the last time we’d hung out. It had to have been during the holidays when she came to Boston to do some shopping. We’d had a blast stuffing our faces at the food stalls in Quincy Market and then having a nightcap at Durty Nelly’s pub. Why were things so weird now?

Had something happened since we’d seen each other? Was she mad at me? I did a mental check that I’d been good about keeping in touch. I mean, we were both busy, but we managed to video chat at least once a month. Had we chatted last month? I couldn’t remember. I’d been involved in a lot of work drama.

Self-involved much? Yes, but that wasn’t new, and I still didn’t understand why this conversation was the verbal equivalent of putting on jeans that were two sizes too small.

I glanced at my friend, but Em wasn’t looking atme. Instead, she was staring past me, and her eyes were wide. I turned to see why her expression was one of high alert.

My jaw hit the ground, which, for the record, is never a good look. Leaning on the bookcase behind me, with a twinkle in his blue-gray eyes, was hot reader guy from the ferry. And here I was with no makeup on, my hair in a ball on top of my head, wearing my dingiest jean shorts and a baggy T-shirt with a faded unicorn on it. Clearly, the universe really did hate me, probably because of the book now polluting the ocean or some other offense of which I was unaware. Couldn’t really blame it.

Now, a normal person might have been embarrassed to see the man whose property they had destroyed, but not me. Being shoved into the special needs class in high school when I could no longer fool everyone about my reading issues and the residual teasing that came with it had hardened me to humiliation. Seriously, I had a hide like a rhinoceros.

“Don’t tell me, let me guess,” I said. “You’re here to replace the copy of the book that I accidentally sent to sleep with the fishes.”

I heard Em gasp behind me but I didn’t explain. Too complicated.

Reader guy laughed and held up a paperback book. “I got the last one on the shelf.”

“But I ruined your personal copy. I still feel awfulabout that. Are you sure I can’t buy you a replacement?” I asked. My dad had thankfully left me a chunk of money to pay for our essentials this summer, and I figured replacing a damaged book would definitely be considered an essential.

“No need,” he said. “But I appreciate the offer.” He was wearing a pale blue dress shirt and a dark blue tie over beige slacks, all of which looked excellent on his muscular frame, so I assumed he must have come to the library from work. I tried to guess what he might do for a living. Banker? No. Salesman? No. Lawyer? No, none of those felt right. Hmm.

“So, you’re just here to check out a book?” I asked. Yes, I was fishing, with all the subtlety of shooting trout in a barrel, but fishing nonetheless.

“Among other things,” he said. He exchanged a knowing smile with Emily, and I had a panicked thought that he might be her boyfriend. Oh, sweet chili peppers on a biscuit! Had I been checking out my friend’s boyfriend? The horror!

“Actually, Ben is my new boss,” Em said. She stepped forward and glanced between us. “Samantha Gale, this is Bennett Reynolds, interim library director.”

“Library director?” I almost choked on my own spit.

“No need to be so formal. Call me Ben,” he teased. He held out his hand.

I gave a half-hearted chuckle. So hot reader guy was actually hot librarian guy. I had knocked alibrarian’s book into the ocean. The universe certainly loved irony, didn’t it?

I shook his hand. His grip was firm but not aggressively so. Meanwhile the shock I was sustaining made my hand sweaty and limp. Argh! I firmed up my grip and he winced.

“Sorry,” I said. I let go. I wondered if he’d noted the calluses, scars, and burns that marred my chef’s hands. If he did, he didn’t mention it.

“No problem.” He smiled as if he understood that I was a freak. Of course he did. After our puke-infused book drowning of a first meeting, what else could he think of me?

“How do you two know each other?” Ben asked.

Relieved to have the subject changed so that I could process the fact that hot reader guy was even cuter the second time around, I turned to Em and said, “I’ll let you explain.”

Em looked momentarily taken aback. Yes, I had ambushed her by inviting her do the talking. She rallied to the assignment, however. She smiled at me and said, “Sam and I go way back.”

“To diapers,” I confirmed. Em gave me a look, and I asked, “Inappropriate?”

“He’s my boss,” she said.

“Oh, right.” I glanced at Ben. “Scratch that. We really met in jail.”

Em burst out laughing and Ben looked alarmed.

“Not literal jail,” Em said. “We were toddlers, and some boys playing cops and robbers on the playground locked us up in their pretend jail. We staged a breakout, and Jimmy Basinski had a complete meltdown tantrum.”

“Truly, the stuff of playground legends,” I said. “We weren’t allowed to play with the boys anymore after that.”

“It sounds like you two have long histories on the island,” Ben said.

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