Page 33 of The Overdue Kiss

“Rocosa gets most of their profits from tourism. Without the old-time charm, this would just be another small city in the mountains.”

“It doesn’t make my job any easier. Okay, I’ll fill out the form once I do a survey to see what’s needed. Can you give me a tour?”

Mr. Sherman takes me from corner to dusty corner. My pen is scribbling as fast as my fingers can go: replace lights, add a new thermostat, create a children’s corner, install speakers for announcements, plumbing concerns in downstairs bathroom, fix loose boards on the stairs, set up internet & Wi-Fi, and new computers. Each new entry makes the cha-ching noise in my head... which I don’t have the funding to cover.

He pats his hand on one of the pillars. “Structure-wise, this place is a rock. Decor is dated, but it’s all original.”

“It definitely has a vintage smell.”

“History comes at a price. If you are looking for anything Golden has sent our way, you’ll find a corner stacked with unopened boxes.”

“If we start sorting through things now, we can see what else we have on hand to be better prepared. Moving the inventory from the card catalog to the online system will be a beast on its own. I might have to come in after hours to complete it.”

He sinks back into his chair, eyeing me carefully. “You were not what I was expecting when they said they were sending someone with a bus.”

“Is it my earrings?” I flick one of my dangling books, which earns me a smile. “Am I not professional enough?”

“It’s just rare to see someone so young have such a love for books. I fear that with each generation that comes through my doors, the crowd becomes less and less. Who wants to read boring words on the page when there are flashy video games, movies, and even virtual reality for goodness’ sake. I don’t want this library to close simply because I didn’t give it my all.”

“I’m not making any promises, Mr. Sherman, but I’ll definitely try my best. The most important thing is getting people back into the library. We have to show that this place is essential to the community.”

“You really think we can do that? We don’t even have internet.”

“Yet. Perhaps you know someone?” I pause, wondering if I’m biting off more than I can chew.

“I can call in a favor with my friend Birdie.”

“Is she the one in charge of the neighborhood watch? Speaking of them, someone named Kitty says hi.”

A rosy color rushes up his neck to his cheeks. “Is that so?”

“It is.” I wink. “Now you make some phone calls about any of these renovations while I dig through the boxes upstairs.”

The daunting tower of boxes greets me on the second floor. Stacks and stacks of them, and I’m almost too overwhelmed to start. I crack open the first box of “new releases” and groan that they are dated from seven years ago. But at least they are from this era, unlike what’s sitting on the shelves. Sliding my earbuds into place, I tap play on my current audiobook and start sorting.

This library is going to require more than hard work—it’s going to take a miracle.

Chapter Nine

Igrimace as I enter the library. The stale smell catches me off guard and bombards me with repressed memories of hiding in here on the days when I didn’t want to go home. Then like a ripple effect, more memories burst from the dark and forgotten nooks of my mind, ones I thought I buried away long ago. But unfortunately, they don’t stay put. Memories of not fitting in, embarrassment over my mother’s drunken antics, and eating handouts upstairs at one of the corner tables of the library flicker through my mind in a cringe-worthy reel.

Just when I thought I moved past those awkward moments of my adolescence, they spring forth to remind me that no matter how much I try, I can never change my past. Not even a decent job, a newly remodeled house, or a cool motorcycle... nothing can make me forget.

I’ll always be the geeky boy with the growling stomach who prefers numbers over friends.

Ugh. This is why I don’t come in here.Closing my eyes, I suck in a long breath and slowly release it as I remember I’m here to help Maya, not take a trip down the cracked streets of memory lane.

Mr. Sherman clears his throat and pulls me from my thoughts. His bushy eyebrows rise in surprise at my unexpected visit before he sends me a silent nod of greeting. I return it as I always do, thankful he still isn’t the talkative type.

Returning to the task at hand, I scan the surrounding aisles only to find them disappointingly empty. Mr. Sherman waves to catch my attention before pointing discreetly to the creaking wooden ceiling above us.

I offer a quick smile of thanks before taking the stairs two at a time, in a rush for some reason. The second floor is just as quiet as the first, with the fluorescent lights humming above me. The study area is dusty and forgotten in the middle of the room. Bookcases are evenly spaced around the perimeter in neat rows, displaying numbers on golden plaques.

A burst of excitement hits me as soon as I see Maya cross-legged on the floor. I rub my chest, the feeling similar to when I solve a complex equation. But then, like usual with her, my brain begins to scramble and only focuses on her. In a trance, I head over to where she’s sandwiched between two shelves. With her back to me, I catch glimpses of her side profile as she works.

Once again, I have no idea what to say, but the need to say something—anything—to get her attention overwhelms me.

“Maya,” I whisper-shout. The quiet rules of the library are forever engrained in my DNA.

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