Page 2 of Healing Hearts
It's a delicate balance—this double life I lead—and while I might be treading a tightrope between the two, I wouldn't change a thing.
Just as I’m about to start my morning routine, the squeak ofsneakers on linoleum floors catches my attention. I look up to see a small girl peering over my desk, her wide eyes a little hesitant. I recognize her instantly—Madeline, one of the shyest first-graders I know, always hiding behind her frizzy hair and oversized glasses.
"Good morning, Madeline," I say gently, kneeling to meet her gaze. "Can I help you with something?"
She bites her bottom lip and fiddles with the hem of her sweater before stepping forward. “I-I was wondering if I could borrow a book,” she says, her voice barely louder than a whisper. “The one about the dragon princess...”
My heart softens. “Of course! I just got a new copy of it yesterday. Let’s go find it together.”
We walk hand-in-hand to the fantasy section, and I can’t help but smile at her enthusiasm as she pulls the book from the shelf with a shy grin. Moments like these make the craziness of this job worth it—the genuine excitement in a child’s eyes when they discover a story that speaks to them. It's a reminder that books, whether for young or old, have a way of pulling us out of reality and into something magical. And who doesn’t need some magic in their lives?
Once Madeline leaves, clutching her book to her chest like a sacred artifact, I return to my desk and flip open my planner, jotting down notes and reminders for the day ahead. I glance at the clock and realize there are only a few minutes before my first group arrives—Mrs. Carter’s third-grade class for their weekly reading hour.
My thoughts are already drifting, drawn back to the last chapter I wrote as Sophie Quinn. My fingers itch to add more to the story—a steamy scene that's been simmering in my mind for days. If only I had the time. There’s a thrill to knowing that beneath this well-organized, tidy facade, my mind is always halfway in another world—a world of secret kisses, clandestine meetings, and the undeniable pull of desire.
I turn my attention back to my planner, flipping to the section I’ve labeled with a discrete gold sticker—the part where I scribble my ideas for Sophie’s next novel since I never know when an idea will strike. In the margins, I’ve jotted down some notes about the next chapter, the kind of scene that would make a reader’s pulse quicken and cheeks flush. When I get through the day, I’ll have time to escape into that world tonight, but until then, I need to be Miss Edwards. I close my planner and slip it into the drawer. My secret is safe.
The chime of the intercom interrupts my thoughts, and Mrs. Carter’s voice comes through, clear and cheery. “Miss Edwards, ready or not, here we come!”
“Bring on the controlled chaos. I’m ready,” I murmur, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips as the sound of small footsteps echo in the hall.
As I lead a pigtailed girl to an aisle filled with glittering covers of princess stories, I catch Kyle in the corner of my eye, already sitting cross-legged with a huge dinosaur book splayed open across his lap. He's so absorbed in the illustrations of roaring T-rexes that he doesn’t even notice the next class filing in. I can’t help but smile at his focus. It's moments like these that make the life of a librarian worth it.
I crouch down to the lower shelf to help the girl pull out a brightly illustrated book with a castle on the cover. She grabs it eagerly, eyes wide with excitement, and skips off to show her friends. As I watch her go, I can feel a rush of warmth in my chest seeing the children’s joy as they dive into the stories around them, and it never gets old.
The room is a swirl of activity, with kids eagerly grabbing books, flipping pages, and excitedly, and loudly, whispering to one another. One of the teachers catches my eye from thereading corner, mouthing a silent 'thank you' as she ushers a few rowdy students toward the fairy tale section. I give her a quick nod before turning my attention back to the towering cart of returned books I need to shelve.
As I move down the rows, my fingers trailing over the spines, I can't stop my mind from drifting to the novel that’s waiting for me on my laptop at home. The last scene I wrote, an intense moment between my heroine and a dark, brooding stranger, lingers in my thoughts like an unfinished melody. I have practically memorized the dialogue, each line replaying in my mind, and the urge to pull out my notepad and jot down a few ideas is almost irresistible.
But then another voice interrupts my reverie.
"Miss Edwards," one of the boys, Jake, calls out. He's holding up a dog-eared comic book with a hopeful look. “Can I take this one, too, even if it’s not about history?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Of course, Jake. Reading for fun is the best kind of reading. Just make sure you read your history book, too. Okay?”
He nods and beams, hugging the comic to his chest as if it's a treasure. I watch him dart over to the checkout desk, feeling a small twinge of pride. It's strange this balance between the simple joy of helping kids discover new worlds and my own need to write them, but somehow, they’re connected. Every time a child’s eyes light up with a story, I feel the same spark of inspiration that fuels my need to write.
The day settles into a rhythmic hum, and soon, the teachers gather their classes for storytime. They settle into the oversized beanbags and the carpeted reading nook, and I choose a book from the display table, a new picture book with vibrant illustrations that practically begs to be read aloud.
As I begin, my voice carrying the words through space, the children fall into a rapt silence. I read with all the animation I can muster, making silly voices for the characters andwatching the delighted reactions from the little audience. It’s a scene I’ve played out countless times, yet it never loses its charm.
Midway through the story, my phone vibrates in my pocket, a sharp buzz against my hip. I ignore it, but my mind races. It's got to be from my editor, who has been anxiously waiting for the next chapter of my latest novel. A thrill of excitement mingles with a hint of anxiety. Or maybe it's the message I’ve been hoping for, telling me how much they love the twist I added in the last draft?
"Miss Edwards, what happens next?" a little boy asks, his voice pulling me back to the present. I realize I’ve paused, caught in my own thoughts, and I quickly resume reading, giving him a reassuring smile.
By the time the story ends, the children are buzzing with excitement, their hands shooting up to ask for more books like the one I just read. I laugh and set the book down, promising to find them similar books for their next visit. The teachers begin to gather their classes, thanking me profusely as they shepherd them toward the exit door.
The library falls quiet once again, the flurry of tiny voices fading as the door clicks shut behind them. I let out a long breath, feeling the strange mixture of energy and exhaustion that always follows storytime. It's then that I remember the phone buzzing in my pocket from earlier.
I pull it out and see a new message notification glowing on the screen—a text from my editor. My heart skips a beat. With a quick glance around to make sure I’m alone, I swipe the screen open and read the message.
Brooke, that last scene was incredible! We need more like that—edgy, intense, emotional…twisty. Keep them coming!
A rush of relief and exhilaration washes over me, and I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. My fingers hover over my phone keyboard, eager to type out a response, but then I catch sight of the pile of books that still need shelving, and I think better of it. Duty calls.
With a soft sigh, I slip my phone back into my pocket and return to my work. There will be time to respond tonight when I get home. Once the world quiets down, I’ll dive back into Sophie Quinn’s universe, where love is fierce, passion burns brightly, and happily-ever-afters are earned through struggle and heartache. But for now, I'm content to be Miss Edwards, just a librarian sharing the magic of stories, one excited child at a time.
I force myself to focus on the mundane task of reading emails, replying to a request for extra copies ofCharlotte's Webfor Mrs. Hernandez’s second-grade class and confirming the delivery of new audiobooks for the resource room. And those books aren’t going to shelve themselves.
