Hidden Hearts

by Olivia Dade

  AN ADMIRER WITH A SECRET . . .

  Mary Higgs could be the poster girl for the buttoned-up librarian. She follows the rules. Stays ʼtil closing. Her kindness and dedication to her patrons are legendary. But those patrons have no idea what she's typing to the mysterious shut-in who emailed the library three months ago . . .

  A year ago, Miles O'Connor was a gleaming, ab-sational star of the small screen. Then came the accident. Now he's a wounded recluse with a pizza habit and fears so unshakable that only the thought of losing Mary to an online date could lure him out of his cabin.

  Soon their email rapport has turned into weekends on the couch, watching tearjerkers and driving each other insane with red-hot makeout sessions. But as their desire grows and their horizons expand, the life that brought them together might not be enough for either of them . . .

  The Lovestruck Librarians series by Olivia Dade

  Broken Resolutions

  My Reckless Valentine

  Mayday

  Ready to Fall

  Driven to Distraction

  Hidden Hearts

  Hidden Hearts

  Olivia Dade

  [Lyrical Shine] logo

  LYRICAL SHINE

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  LYRICAL SHINE BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2017 by Olivia Dade

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  All Kensington titles, imprints, and distributed lines are available at special quantity discounts for bulk purchases for sales promotion, premiums, fund-raising, educational, or institutional use.

  Special book excerpts or customized printings can also be created to fit specific needs. For details, write or phone the office of the Kensington Sales Manager: Kensington Publishing Corp., 119 West 40th Street, New York, NY 10018. Attn. Sales Department. Phone: 1-800-221-2647.

  Lyrical Shine and Lyrical Shine logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  First Electronic Edition: June 2017

  eISBN-13: 978-1-60183-798-1

  eISBN-10: 1-60183-798-4

  First Print Edition: June 2017

  ISBN-13: 978-1-60183-800-1

  ISBN-10: 1-60183-800-X

  Printed in the United States of America

  For my wonderful husband, who graciously helped me determine whether one of my sex scenes was anatomically possible. (Spoiler alert: It definitely was.)

  Here’s hoping that made up for all the days before deadline when I didn’t shower!

  Love you, sweetie.

  Acknowledgments

  My husband, daughter, and mother are all amazing, and I love them dearly. Even when I’m thinking through a plot problem instead of giving them my complete attention.

  I couldn’t have had a better advocate at Kensington/Lyrical than Martin Biro. Thank you for picking up this series and helping it shine. I also owe a big debt of gratitude to everyone else who worked on the Lovestruck Librarians books, especially James, Rebecca, Michelle, and Lauren.

  Mia Sosa, my critique partner and friend, is a goddess, and I don’t know how I would preserve even a few frayed edges of my sanity without her.

  Ana Coqui, Emma Barry, Mia West, and Cecilia Grant all provided thoughtful, insightful feedback on this book, and I can’t thank them enough. Any remaining flaws result solely from my own inability to follow great advice!

  And finally, I am hugely grateful to Kati Gardner, who helped make Miles the best character he could be. I appreciate your time and the care you took with my—and his—story.

  1

  “Quick question, Mary,” Angie called out from the workroom. “Let’s say five movies were playing at Niceville Cinemas, all starring different hotties. Idris Elba, Chris Pratt, John Cho, Oscar Isaac, and Jason Momoa. Which one would appeal to you the most? And would you avoid any of them?”

  Mary glanced up from the circulation desk and swiveled to face her boss. Angie, seated at their lone behind-the-scenes computer, appeared especially wide-eyed and innocent. In Mary’s experience, that wasn’t a good omen. “I’m not entirely sure what you mean.”

  “They’re all so enticing. I don’t think I could choose one over the others.” Angie tapped her chin in thought. “Optimally, I’d want at least two of them. If Grant agreed, of course.”

  “Agreed to what?”

  “To let me see those movies. What else would I mean?”

  That didn’t sound at all like Grant, a steadfast man who adored his wife’s independence and spunk. “You need permission from him to see movies?”

  “Not if they’re on my preapproved freebie list,” Angie said. “Hmm. Happy thoughts.”

  Over her two years at the Battlefield Library, Mary had participated in quite a few confusing conversations with her supervisor. This one, however, was more confusing than most. “I’m sorry?”

  “Nothing.” Straightening in her chair, Angie cleared her throat and refocused. “Anyway, which guy would you choose?”

  A quick shake of her head didn’t clear Mary’s thoughts at all. “Any of them, I guess. As long as their films got decent reviews. Why?”

  “Just curious.” Angie flashed a bright smile. “Maybe we’ll have a girls’ night out at the movies soon.”

  Okaaaaay. Mary turned back to the computer behind the circulation desk, shaking her head again. One thing you could say about working with Angela Burrowes: It was never boring. Bewildering, frequently replete with way too much information about Angie’s sex life, and intermittently terrifying, yes. But never, ever boring.

  Mary had understood that fact as a part-time employee at Battlefield. But now that she was working full time, she really, really got it.

  And it was a good thing, given the circumstances.

  She’d never shared the thought with a soul, and she never would. But sometimes the daily work of keeping the library running and well-organized could get a little…well, tedious. Far removed from how she’d pictured her life and professional future as a young woman.

  Luckily, Angie—along with Mary’s other coworkers, Penny and Sarah—ensured their shifts stayed interesting. And goodness knew, Mary couldn’t ask for better friends.

  An occasional longing for more only wasted time and energy, both of which she owed to her patrons. The Nice County Public Library system was paying her to serve the community, not contemplate the inevitable compromises that came with adulthood and a stiff dose of reality.

  Time to get back to work and help someone.

  Before Mary could do more than click on the lone new e-mail in the library inbox, though, Angie spoke again. “If you had to decide between basketball players and horse jockeys, which would you choose?”

  So much for concentrating on work.

  Mary got up from the circulation desk and walked to the workroom doorway. “Angie, what in the world are you talking about?”

  “It’s a simple question.” Angie spread her hands. “Can’t I ask my friend and colleague a few things to get to know her better? Especially if we might attend a sporting event together at some point?”

  “In that case, none of the above. I’m more of a hockey girl.” On television, at least. She still hadn’t made it to a game, since navigating crowded city streets didn’t appeal to her anymor
e.

  “So you like ’em muscular, but not burly. Tall, but not too tall.” Angie jotted something down on a notepad. “Do you consider hand size very important in an athlete? Or do you care more about how he uses his hands?”

  Mary was beginning to have suspicions concerning the true nature of the conversation. Grave suspicions. “What does that have to do with going to a game? Why would I care what the players looked like? And why are you talking about hand size, for heaven’s sake?”

  “Nothing. Forget I asked.” Angie waved Mary back to the circulation desk. “Don’t you have e-mails to answer?”

  Forgetting her supervisor’s questions was easier said than done. Especially since the library was empty, all books had been shelved, and the only new patron e-mail they’d received didn’t require a lot of thought. Yes, Mr. O’Connor could check out e-books without stepping foot in the library—but only after Mary or one of her coworkers had issued him a library card. And getting a card required ID, which meant at least one in-person trip to Battlefield or another Nice County Public Library branch.

  She tapped out her response quickly, making sure she thanked him for his interest and emphasized the branch’s generous opening hours and easy-to-find location. One cursory check for typos, and then…send.

  A quick loop around the library established that no patrons were hiding in a nook somewhere, and the curtained-off, adults-only erotica section—popularly known as Angie’s Smut Room—was gloriously empty. So she didn’t bother to lower her voice when she headed behind the circulation desk and stopped again in the doorway to the workroom.

  “By hand size, are you really talking about”—she faltered for a second—“um, penises?”

  Angie minimized her browser window with one swift click. “What? Of course not.”

  Over the past two years, Mary had found that simply looking at Angie in calm silence often produced answers that loud badgering could not. She’d tried to explain the trick to her coworkers, but no one listened. Not even Sarah, her best friend. Loud badgering was Sarah’s MO, effectiveness be damned.

  Angie’s chair squeaked as she swiveled restlessly under Mary’s gaze. After several awkward seconds, though, she brightened.

  “I was thinking about hand size because I’m buying Grant a baseball glove. Which might prove tricky, since he has absolutely enormous hands.” Her eyes brightened with a lascivious gleam Mary had seen far too often. “Gargantuan. And God, do I love ’em. But not everyone cares about finger length. I know small hands can get the job done too. In sports, I mean. I was wondering what you thought.”

  Mary stared at her supervisor for a few moments, but this time, Angie’s smile remained steady. “I don’t really have an opinion,” Mary finally said. “Although I suppose large hands could prove useful when dealing with balls.”

  Angie choked a little, coughing as she jotted more notes. “Very useful, from what I hear.”

  “Is that everything you wanted to know?” Mary didn’t want to seem impatient, but she should probably straighten up the children’s area before the next wave of patrons arrived. The post-lunch lull wouldn’t last forever.

  “One last thing. I’m considering new greenery for our entrance. What do you think? Should I choose plants that are growers or showers?”

  “I…” Her brows drew together. “I’m lost.”

  “I mean, would you rather buy small plants and watch them grow? Or would you rather buy ones that have already reached their full size at time of purchase?” Angie blinked, her green eyes limpid pools of virtue. “Different people have different preferences, you know. They often find one type of plant more, um, satisfying than the other.”

  This conversation needed to end before Mary’s head exploded. “Growers, I suppose. For the sense of accomplishment. I’d enjoy watching them get big.”

  With a nod of satisfaction, Angie wrote a few more words. “I had a feeling you’d say that.”

  Before her supervisor could come up with any further bizarre questions, Mary returned to the circulation desk, opened a search-engine window, and typed “growers and showers” into the search box. Just in case Angie’s inquiries weren’t quite as innocent as she claimed. But before Mary could hit enter, she saw that the library had received another e-mail.

  Patrons took precedence over personal concerns. Even concerns that might possibly involve growing—or showing—manbits.

  Mr. O’Connor had written back, his e-mail brief and pleading.

  Dear Ms. Higgs: Can’t get to the library. If you issue me a card, I promise never to check out a physical item. No possibility of late/lost/damaged library property. Please.

  Her mental image of Mr. O’Connor took shape. Homebound. Probably elderly. Polite. Savvy enough about technology to communicate via e-mail, so a good candidate for e-books.

  Dear Mr. O’Connor: I completely understand. Since you can’t make it to the library, I’d be happy to talk to the Bookmobile manager, Constance Chen, and ask her to drop by your residence. She can issue you a card during her visit. If you’re comfortable giving me your address and other contact information, I’ll pass it along to her.

  Right after she sent the message, another new e-mail arrived, this one from the head of HR about upcoming staff training. She was halfway done reading Winona’s lengthy missive when Mr. O’Connor responded.

  Please, he wrote again. No visit.

  Mary sat back in her chair and rubbed her face with both hands.

  Well, shoot. When the library’s rules conflicted with a patron’s needs and she got caught in the middle, her stomach always hurt. At least a little.

  That’s the price you pay for being both a rule-follower and a people-pleaser, she told herself. You should pick one or the other, Mary Louise.

  Her first instinct was to have Angie deal with the situation. She knew her supervisor would give him a card without hesitation. Problem solved. Except that if this man ended up owing thousands of dollars to the library and she’d issued him a card against regulations, Angie’s oft-tenuous employment might come to an abrupt end.

  So maybe Mary should simply tell him no. But how could she deny library access to a lonely old man mired in his home? Couldn’t she simply keep track of his account and check that he’d kept his promise and wasn’t borrowing physical books or movies?

  She reached for a sticky note, wrote his name on it, and stuck it to the side of her usual monitor at the circulation desk. There. That should be enough of a reminder. Then she wrote another e-mail:

  Dear Mr. O’Connor: I’ll need your address, birth date, and phone number. Obviously, I already have your e-mail address. Once I receive your additional contact information, I’ll assign you a library card number. If you find yourself able to schedule a Bookmobile visit, or if you can come in person to the library, however, please do. We’re supposed to check your ID. But I think we can bend the rules a bit, just this once.

  Once the message had been sent and she’d greeted a few patrons, she clicked back to the search engine window she’d opened minutes before. As she’d expected, the top results for “growers and showers” did not involve greenery.

  Suspicions confirmed, she returned to the workroom, keeping her voice to a whisper. “Angie, if you’re doing what I think you’re doing, please stop.”

  “Oh, hi, Mary.” Once again, Angie minimized her browser window in one smooth movement. “I have no idea what you mean.”

  “You want to find me a boyfriend, so you’re attempting to figure out what sort of man I’d prefer. His race. His height. His…um, other qualifications. Since you know I’d object, you’re going about it in a really roundabout and confusing way. And since you’re you, many of your questions have involved”—Mary lowered her voice from a whisper to a mere thread of sound—“personal endowments.”

  “Personal endowments?” Angie kept her voice low, too. “That’s the most genteel euphemism for penises I’ve ever heard.”

  With an effort,
Mary resisted sharing the other terms she’d used for that area in the past. Such as, well, “that area.” Or “privates.” Or “man parts.”

  “I’m not looking for anyone. And if I change my mind, I can conduct the search myself.” Pleased with both her restraint and her uncharacteristic assertiveness, she smiled at her boss. “But thank you for thinking of me.”

  Angie’s eyes widened in appeal. “Come on, Mary. As far as I know, you haven’t been on a second date in months. Maybe a year.”

  “Umm…” She shifted from foot to foot. “Two years.”

  “And I know you. You’re not a one-night-stand sort of woman, so that means you’re experiencing an epic dry spell. Under the circumstances, what could a little online dating hurt?”

  An involuntary flinch drew Mary up against the doorway. “Online dating? No. No online dating. I’ve heard so many horror stories, Angie, I can’t even tell you.”

  “You’re a sensible woman. And I’d be happy to vet any contenders before you met them. So would all of our friends.” Angie clicked to maximize a window, and a colorful, half-completed form suddenly appeared. “Besides, it would be so easy. You already have a profile.”

  Mary covered her face again and spoke through her fingers. “Angie. Please tell me you didn’t.”

  “I thought you needed a little nudge.” A gentle hand patted her arm. “And I was delighted to be the bearer of good nudges. Especially since you’re the sweetest woman I know. You deserve an amazing man in your bed. Or an amazing woman, I suppose.”

  “Man,” she mumbled.

  “Oh, good.” Angie sounded pleased. “That’s what I chose for the profile.”