Page 9 of Firefly Nights

"I thought you were too practical for wishes."

"Maybe you're teaching me to appreciate a little magic." I roll onto my side to face her fully. "Besides, shooting stars are just space debris burning up in the atmosphere. Totally scientific."

Her laugh is soft but real. "You really can't help yourself, can you?"

"Nope. But I can do both—appreciate the science and still make a wish." I watch her profile in the starlight. "Same way I'm learning that maybe someone can love stories and still be brave enough to live on her own."

Grace's quiet for a long moment. Then, "I never said I made a wish."

"Didn't have to. You've got that look you get when you're about to start a new book—like you're on the edge of something possible."

"Very poetic for a man who measures in millimeters."

"What can I say? You're rubbing off on me." I lie back, her hand still in mine. "Though if you tell anyone I'm getting sentimental, I'll deny it. Got a reputation to maintain."

"Your secret's safe with me." She shifts closer, just slightly. "Though I might need some renovation work in the poetry section next week."

"Anything for my favorite librarian." I pause. "Even if she does dog-ear her pages."

Chapter Five

Grace

"He built you awhat?" Mrs. Peterson's voice carries across the library's main floor, now transformed for our annual Evening with the Arts fundraiser.

"A reading corner for story time," I explain, adjusting a centerpiece. "With built-in seating and this clever little stage that?—"

"And stars carved into the backdrop that catch the morning light," Nathan finishes, appearing at my elbow with a tray of empty wine glasses. "Though Grace's the real genius behind it. She designed the whole layout."

I didn't, actually. I'd merely mentioned how the children had to crane their necks to see the pictures during story time. Two days later, Nathan had shown up with detailed sketches and a glimmer in his eyes.

"Always so modest," he continues, shooting me a knowing look. "You should see her plans for the new reading room. Pure brilliance."

Mrs. Peterson practically glows. "Nathan, dear, you simply must join our board. We need someone with your vision. And your skill with a hammer doesn't hurt."

I hide my smile behind my event checklist. Nathan's only been here an hour, and he's already charmed half the library's biggest donors, fixed the temperamental sound system, and somehow convinced the notoriously frugal Mr. Richardson to double his annual contribution.

"Just doing my part to support the cause." Nathan's voice carries that easy warmth that makes everyone feel like an old friend. "Though I can't take credit for tonight. This is all Grace's show."

He gestures to the space around us, and I follow his gaze. The library has been transformed into something from a dream—soft lighting casting gentle shadows through the stacks, elegant displays highlighting our most treasured volumes, intimate seating areas tucked between the shelves where patrons gather in evening wear, discussing books and sipping wine.

"Hardly," I murmur. "I just organized the details."

"Details like turning the local history section into a perfect backdrop for the string quartet? Or timing the lighting to shift with the sunset?" He leans closer, voice dropping. "Face it, Book Whisperer—you've got magic in your organizational skills."

Heat creeps up my neck. Before I can respond, a minor commotion breaks out near the auction tables.

"Speaking of organization," Nathan says, already moving toward the noise, "I think someone's about to accidentally reorganize that display. Back in a flash."

I watch him wade into the cluster of our most strong-minded patrons, somehow managing to redirect their enthusiasm while making them all laugh. He catches my eye across the room and winks.

"That young man," Hazel says, materializing beside me with her usual perfect timing, "has a gift for making the practical feel magical. Rather like someone else I know, though she usually finds her magic in books."

"I don't know what you mean," I lie, straightening an already-straight place card.

"Don't you?" She watches as Nathan guides Mrs. Richardson away from gesturing too close to a treasured early edition. "He builds bridges between worlds. Rather like your favorite stories."

"He builds actual bridges. And shelves. And apparently custom storytime stages."

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