Page 5 of The Library of Second Chances
After a long, hot shower and bed, Chloe could almost believe she had made up the encounter in the library. It made more sense than the alternative. Before she dozed off, she recalled what she had told the man about first impressions and second chances, and wondered if she believed it herself.
Clementine watched the new human leave through the heavy double doors, and the familiar sound of the door locking clicked through the lobby. Chloe, her name was. Well, it seemed she had a lot to learn about working in this library.
He finished his biscuit and lapped up some water from his bowl, listening to the rain, then curled up on his favourite cushion in the non-fiction section. The sound of the drumming rain comforted him and slowly lulled him to sleep.
CHAPTER THREE
‘GOOD MORNING, MRRichardson.’ Chloe waved to her elderly neighbour the next day. His house was opposite hers, and he had lived there for as long as Chloe could remember. When she and Gwen were children, he and his wife had sometimes looked after them and always gave them biscuits. Mrs Richardson had died when Chloe was a teenager, but she was glad the old man still seemed well.
She always waved to him whenever they crossed paths, but so far Chloe had been in too much of a hurry to stop and chat. This morning, however, she decided to say hello to him properly.
‘Chloe, I keep telling you. You’re not a little kid any more, so please call me Joe.’ He shuffled over, using his cane. She couldn’t help grinning back at him as he regarded her with a cheerful smile from beneath his flat cap. ‘How are you?’ The sympathy in his words let her know he meant about her parents.
‘Oh, you know.’ She gave a half-shrug, not wanting to talk about Mum and Dad right before work. ‘Thank you for coming to the funeral. It meant a lot. How’s the gardening?’
She couldn’t see the back garden from the street, but she recalled Mr Richardson loved looking after plants and flowers. He had even grown some of his own vegetables the last time Chloe was in town.
‘I’ve got a little greenhouse now. You should come along and have a look sometime. The leeks are coming on fantastic.’ He looked pleased. Chloe happily let him chatter about his chrysanthemums until he added, ‘I suppose I’m keeping you from going to work?’ He gave an understanding nod. ‘If you everneed anything.’ He tapped his nose with a wink, then shuffled off. Chloe watched him, feeling fond of the old man and hoping he wasn’t too lonely in his house by himself. They were both on their own, now.
She made her way into town. Autumn was Chloe’s favourite time of year. The scent of coffee and baking floated on the wind as she walked down towards the library, making her think of cosy romances as she put her hands into her fur-lined pockets. She had found the coat at a charity shop a few months ago, almost like new, and it would probably get her through the cold winter. At least today it wasn’t raining, and she had swapped her impractical heels for a comfortable pair of loafers.
Chloe shrugged off her coat at five to ten. With the lights on and daylight streaming through the windows, it was almost laughable that she had been here late last night, lamenting a bad date and talking to phantoms. Even so, she couldn’t help glancing in the direction of the upper floors that held the fiction books. It was through another set of doors, separate from the reception area in which they now stood.
The librarian arrived at half past ten. ‘Good morning, Mrs Cook,’ Chloe greeted her. ‘I’ve already given Clementine his breakfast.’
‘Hello, love.’ Mrs Cook was small and old, a delightful stereotype of a kindly librarian, from her gold-rimmed glasses to the way she always spoke softly, as though talking any louder would scare away the books. ‘When you’ve got a minute, there’s a new box of books that came in last week and I haven’t gotten around to sorting them out. They’re all in a jumble, so could you organise them and put them on the shelves for me?’
‘Sure.’ Chloe secretly loved tasks like these. The pleasing rush of dopamine she got from organising and tidying was partly what had prompted her to apply for a job at the library in thefirst place. Not to mention the perk of working with books all day long.
She found the cardboard box Mrs Cook was talking about behind the reception counter. It was indeed a jumble, a donation of random novels. At least they were in good condition and would find many new readers.
Chloe hoped the day ahead would prove to be busy. She had to finish organising some paperwork, refill the cat’s automatic feeder in the afternoon, and firmly resist the temptation to keep an eye out for books that might sport an orange hue.
She had told herself it was a hallucination, her drink at the pub being perhaps stronger than she’d thought. But it had been so vivid, and Chloe wasn’t the type to dream up scenarios so intense and detailed. She still remembered the worry in the stranger’s soft brown eyes, the slight floral scent of his tailcoat. Chloe had a good imagination, but surely not that good. And Clementine had responded to the stranger’s presence as strongly as she had.
She rubbed the bridge of her nose, wondering if she had been pranked after all. At least Mrs Cook didn’t seem to be in on it, and she simply smiled at her when their gazes met.
‘I’ll sort these out now.’ Chloe headed upstairs to the thriller section with the donated books heavy in her arms. Whoever had owned them before had been a huge fan of Dean Koontz and James Patterson, and she wondered why they had donated them. She couldn’t resist glancing at the shelf of classics on her way, but they were all normal. No faint glow to be seen.
She took her time, finding a new home for each donated novel, organising each volume by the author’s surname. She glanced out of the window. There were patches of clouds today, and the streets were still damp from the night’s rain. Was the man from last night out there somewhere, maybe nursing a hangover, his costume draped over a chair? Had he told the girlhe was talking about, the one from his party, that he was sorry about his poor social skills? Had she forgiven him?
Or was he really back at his estate, safely in the pages of his book?
‘Chloe?’ called Mrs Cook from downstairs. For a soft-spoken woman, her voice carried well.
‘Yes?’
‘Have you nearly finished putting away the donations? We’ve got a young man here looking for a book.’
Chloe half ran down the spiral staircase, flushed with embarrassment at sitting around daydreaming when she was at work. Mrs Cook was waiting for her at the doorway of the lower floor archives, her facial expression serene. Chloe hoped she wasn’t annoyed. However, the older woman’s eyes glinted with amusement. ‘Did you find something interesting up there?’
‘What? No. I mean, I’ve finished putting away the books. Sorry, I’ll get to the visitor now,’ she babbled.
An alarming thought came to her. Could this ‘young man’ be the guy from last night? She wondered what Mrs Cook would make of the man’s outfit, from his polished pumps to his sideburns. She hoped he wouldn’t mention meeting her here in the middle of the night. Her palms sweated as she followed the librarian to reception.
But the man waiting in the lobby wasn’t the dark-haired noble. Even though his back was to her, she could tell by his broad shoulders and fair hair it was someone else. He appeared to be admiring the architecture of the library, and although Chloe hadn’t been here long, she felt a surge of pride in its beauty.
‘Good morning,’ she said.
