Page 11 of Where You're Planted

“What,” Jack whispered, reaching for and then abruptly stopping himself from tugging the back of her sweater, “are you doing?”

She turned and flashed him a big smile. “Introducing myself.”

His gaze dropped to the gas station receipt where he had writtenIntroduction. Boundaries. Question.Only now did he realize he’d left thesoffQuestions, but that was just as well. He was on a tight schedule.

Pitching his voice low, he said, “I’mintroducing you.”

“Are you?” she whispered, squinting skeptically.

He showed her his list.

She moved in closer, and he resisted the impulse to retreat to higher ground on the second step. The group was watching, albeit with only half interest, and he wasn’t about to concede an inch.

“Before just now,” she said, casting big doe eyes and a sugary-sweet smile at him, “didyoueven know my name?”

The truth was, she’d said it a minute ago and he’d already forgotten it. Her whole schtick, with the bright clothes and the glistening, berry-red lips and her demanding energy, was destabilizing. She was a kick to an anthill, stirring up chaos.

“Collectively,” he said, circling his index finger over the list. “As a group.”

She panned a hand like some game show host, conceding the floor, but now he was rattled and static filled his brain. Even on a good day, his thoughts sailed past him likefast-moving clouds, and he was lucky to grasp one or two to wrangle out loud. Especially when another person’s emotions were coming at him like a bull down a chute. And despite her placid smile and calm demeanor, that was what he felt—a force radiating from her, like she’d come already prepared to lock horns with him.

“As I was saying…librarians.” He sliced his hand toward their small group and then to the right, where the punctual portion of the interns slouched in their chairs. “Interns.” He was about to point to the maintenance crew when Tansy reached out without warning and squeezed his forearm. His brain went dormant on the spot, just completely blank.

“Do any of them have names?” she whispered. She seemed aware enough not to challenge him loudly, in front of his staff, but she had to realize the constant interruptions and convening between them made him look like a jackass. Not to mention that she still hadn’t budged from her place in front of him. He needed to move, if only because hecouldn’t.

Jack knew the interns as Chatty Girls One and Two, Mullet, Red Bull, and Hugger, for reasons that were pretty straightforward. Aside from Hugger, who was a middle-aged empty nester in need of a hobby, the rest of the interns were college students who weren’t even interested in horticulture or botanic garden management but needed to fulfill a volunteer service requirement. The only staff member Jack tolerated was Ian, who had been his right hand for the last few years and would move into Jack’s current position when he took Greta’s. Ian was rising now, making room for a late arrival. The commando librarian squeezed past, limping on the leg that was now bandaged.

Distracted, Jack mumbled, “Why do you need to know names?”

Tansy removed her hand from his arm and pressed it to her chest, affronted. “We’re sharing this space. We should know each other’s names. For instance—” She turned back to the group, placing her hands on her hips. “Like I said, I’m Tansy Perkins. I’m the person to come to with any library-related issues or questions. My pronouns are she/her. I love coffee, crosswords, and cozy myster—”

“Christ,” Jack muttered.

She turned slowly, eyes wide and her lips rolled between her teeth in a tight line.

He leaned into her space just to see if she’d give an inch. She didn’t.

“This is a ten-minute meeting. Otherwise, it’ll cut into lunch,” he said. “We don’t have time for everybody’s quirky personality traits.”

She threw a good-natured laugh over her shoulder as if to assure everyone this disturbance was being handled, even thoughshewas the disturbance. And what kind of name was Tansy Perkins? Although it matched her cartoonish, technicolor clothes—the highlighter pink coat she’d worn at the reopening, today’s green skirt that was dangerously susceptible to a modest breeze, and the electric blue slipper things she’d gotten muddy in the back property.

She patted him firmly on the shoulder, a gesture that looked friendly but packed surprising force, and toed up to hiss into his ear, “Quirky personality traits?” Her chest nearly brushed against his, and she couldsmellher. Rosemary and mint. Surprising for someone who looked more inclined to douse herself in synthetic perfume that smelled like cookies or some pumpkin spice nonsense.

“Yeah. Dating profile stuff.”

“Can we talk privately for a minute?” She nodded at thestorage room that helped support the second story of the admin building.

“What for?” His itinerary did not include a side meeting. He crossed his arms, accidentally brushing her breast. She hadn’t been wearing a bra at the library during the storm. She was more than covered now in a bright yellow sweater, but for self-preservation reasons, he shifted his gaze to the ceiling fan turning lazily overhead.

She crossed her own arms. “To get on the same page, before you say something offensive.”

“You realize this ismymeeting, notours,” he said, blowing right past thatoffensiveremark because who knewwhatthis woman was talking about?

She raised her hands as if in surrender, although nothing else about her posture and fierce glare got that memo. “It’s a simple courtesy to let people share their preferred name and pronouns. Unless, of course, you have a problem with gender inclusivity.”

“I—no.” Jack shifted from one foot to the other, scraping his ankle on the step behind him. He didn’t have an issue with gender inclusivity. His issue was with people sharinganything. But he doubted the distinction would impress her. “Fine. Names, pronouns, whatever. But none of this ‘long walks on the beach’ crap.”

“How about an icebreaker?”

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