“Hi,” Emma greeted her.
“How are these cute girls today?”
Maryn tilted her head to the side. “We’re still cute.”
Britta laughed.
“Thank you, Miss Britta,” Addison said properly. “I love your hair.”
“Well, thank you back, Miss Addison.” Britta smiled back at Emma. “You’re so lucky to have these girls to brighten your day.”
“Yes, I am.” Emma put her arms around her girls and led them to the front of the library.
Britta watched them go, a tendril of longing reaching out toward the little family. Dropping the posters in her office, she straightened and walked along the laminate flooring in the children’s section toward the drinking fountain, not really noticing her surroundings. The water was cool and the fountain kicked on as she drank, making a low hum that added to the murmur of patrons.
“Good morning, Britta.”
She recognized the voice and took one last sip in an attempt to compose herself. Britta raised her head and licked her lips. Milo Geissler stood next to the community bulletin board, clasping a sheaf of papers and business cards. He smiled and the dimple in his left cheek deepened. Britta caught herself staring at the dimple and focused on his eyes, commanding herself not to get lost in the crystal-blue color.
“Milo, how are you today?” Britta stepped away from the water fountain and eyed the bulletin board, where a new page was tacked. “That’s a new flyer. I like the colors.”
“My sister designed it for me,” he replied. “You don’t think it’s too bright?”
“No, the orange and red catch the eye and remind me of autumn,” Britta said. “It’s my favorite season.” Why did I just say that?
Milo took a step forward and handed her a business card, also sporting the new design for “Perfect Pitch Piano Tuning by Milo.”
The very first time Britta’s mother had traveled from Buffalo, New York, to the tiny town of Echo Ridge, she’d canvassed the town for a suitable German husband. As luck would have it, Mother saw one of Milo’s flyers and called him up to tell him all about her beautiful German daughter. Remembering the conversation still brought a flush to her cheeks. Britta ducked her head and pretended to cough.
“I hear you’ve been busy prepping for the big fundraiser,” Milo said. “Everything looks so well organized this year. I think the turnout will be great.”
Britta met those sapphire eyes again. He was several inches taller than her five-foot-four-inch frame, but not too tall— maybe close to six feet. His blond hair brushed the top of his collar and edged over his ears. Every time Britta saw him she had the strange desire to tuck his hair behind his ears; the man needed a good haircut. But he was still far too good-looking.
“We have a lot of new events planned. I just hope it will be enough to cover all the costs of updating the library,” Britta said.
“You do wonderful things for this library,” Milo said. He had the faintest German accent rounding out his words. If Britta hadn’t grown up listening to the beautiful language, she probably wouldn’t have noticed it. “It reminds me of my grandmother. Oma loved books, and I loved visiting her bookshelves. It always feels nice in here.”
“Danke,” she answered.
Milo’s smile deepened. “Gern geschehen.”
It took a moment for Britta to realize that she’d slipped into German to thank him and he had responded. She hadn’t done that for years, ever since her early teen years, when she’d stopped speaking German at home. She had explained to her parents that she wanted to work on her English, and since her mother needed practice, they consented. But just then, listening for the accent on the ends of Milo’s words and the way he spoke of his Oma, Britta became lost in memories of the Klein home. She could almost feel the bear hugs from her own Oma, and that had her slipping into old ways. “Well, I’d better go.”
“Wait, are you busy next Friday night?”
Britta’s heart did a little flip. Milo’s dimple trembled as if he was biting the inside of his cheek. He’d asked her out once before, right after her mother’s meddling, and she’d turned him down flat, embarrassed because of her mom’s matchmaking attempt. But today he tempted her with his low voice and kind eyes.
Milo didn’t look dangerous, but for Britta, he was the catalyst that stirred up painful memories from her past. “No, I can’t. I’ll be prepping for Armand to come into town. We have to pick him up from the airport and get him settled.”
The dimple disappeared as the edges of Milo’s mouth turned down. “Maybe another time?”
Britta glanced at her watch. “Oh dear, I didn’t realize it was so late. Have a good day, Milo.”
“Tschüss.”
Milo’s casual German equivalent of goodbye tickled her ears as she turned and scurried to the front of the library. Her mother would throw a fit if she found out how Britta had just treated Milo, but it could never be. All her life, Britta had worked hard to fit in. She grew up in a boisterous German home bursting with tradition, the melodic language and songs, the delicious breads and meats. Britta was proud of her German heritage, until she moved to a new school in the seventh grade. That was a turning point in her life.
Several of her classmates made fun of Britta’s German accent. Her English was good, but the remnants of the Slavic language appeared on certain words. At first the teasing was innocent, but then it turned nasty when an eighth-grade boy spread a rumor that she was related to Hitler. At the same time, her history teacher had them complete a project about WWII and the heinous crimes of the Germans.
Britta kept her head down and worked hard all through graduation, spoke little, and tried not to call attention to herself. She did everything she could to erase any touches of her German heritage from her outward life to avoid being hurt and degraded. In public, she kept working with her mother to speak English, her gut twisting with anxiety every time she slipped into her native tongue. Britta wanted to protect her family from the pain she’d suffered. She even dyed her light blond hair a dark brown, something that her father didn’t understand or condone.
That was so long ago now— nearly twenty years had passed— but the pain felt raw and angry in her memory. She’d tired of dyeing her hair and let it grow back in blond before she moved to Echo Ridge. She didn’t like pretending to be someone she wasn’t. The hardest part was that Britta still loved her German heritage. She knew the history of WWII that wasn’t taught in the American schools, how her relatives suffered from the evils of a crazed man of power. The devastation left in Europe years after the war changed the German people. Her family survived, coming out of the ashes stronger, but some didn’t.
She wouldn’t allow herself to be in that position again, where someone cursed her because of her ancestry. Britta sighed. All of the old memories and feelings stirred up emotions that she’d rather not dwell on. She pushed those thoughts out of her mind and concentrated on making the Echo Ridge Library fundraiser a success. Milo was off limits.
EVERY DAY OVER THE NEXT WEEK, Britta ran from one appointment to the next, meeting with the business people of Echo Ridge to prepare for the Harvest Hurrah. Shennedy had everything under control for Armand Beaumont’s arrival and had nearly worked herself into a frenzy organizing his schedule to the letter, so Britta shouldn’t have been surprised with the news she received on Wednesday, but it still floored her.
“I have a message for you,” Marian said when Britta walked through the front doors of the library. “And it isn’t good news.”
“Okay?” Britta squinted, as if not looking directly at Marian’s craggy face might help soften the bad news about to come.
“Shennedy called and she is sick. She has to miss the next board meeting for a doctor appointment,” Marian stated matter-of-factly. “And I wouldn’t be surprised if she has to miss more than that.”
“Oh no!” Britta’s hand flew to her mouth.
“It’s the stress,” Marian said. “That woman hardly takes a breath before
she’s on to the next thing.”
Britta slumped into a chair behind the circulation desk. “What am I going to do?” Shennedy was in charge of Armand’s events for the Harvest Hurrah. Britta had allowed herself to relax because she knew Shennedy would keep things running smoothly with their international guest. “I guess I’d better call her.”
“No, she has it under control. She gave me the number of someone who can help you. Her cousin, Lindy Marchant. She’ll be here tomorrow to fill in at the board meeting.” Marian handed Britta a note in her careful cursive writing.
The words blurred before Britta’s eyes. Her shoulders ached with the weight that had just been dropped on them. There was so much to do. She thought of all the tasks that she’d offloaded to everyone, including Shennedy, and the guilt tasted acidic in the back of her throat. What had she done? She was in over her head. A tiny voice whispered that there were plenty of other people on the board who would help, that this was only a tiny glitch, but Britta was too stressed to think in anything but fatalistic terms— like “the sky is falling and I can’t handle one more thing today” terms.
The door opened, and she heard the rustling of plastic bags. “Guten morgen,” Milo said.
The traditional German greeting that Britta had heard every day of her young life touched a soft spot and undid her. Tears welled up and burned the backs of her eyes. The word overwhelmed raced around her orderly mind, toppling her self-control and everything else in its path.
“Britta, do you need some help?” Milo asked. He’d walked around the side of the circulation desk, and Britta could see that he held four grocery sacks of books.
Britta blinked back tears and stared at her hands clasped tightly in her lap. No, she was strong. She’d figure this out. With a sniff, she stood, breathing in through her nose and straightening her shoulders. She pasted on a smile and greeted Milo. “Hello. I’m sorry about that. Just regrouping. What can I do for you?”
Milo tilted his head slightly, studying her. He opened his mouth, closed it, glanced at the sacks in his hands, and lifted them. “These are mostly old music books, but I thought maybe someone could use them.”
Before Britta could answer, Marian marched toward him with her clipboard. “You, you’re that piano man, aren’t you?”
Milo raised his eyebrows and answered tentatively, “Yes.”
“I need you to bring in a copy of Little Women. You have until October thirteenth.”
“Okay?” Milo looked to Britta, and they both turned to Marian.
“Marian, what are you doing?” Britta asked.
“Oh, I almost forgot. Remember my project that I’ve been working on?” She tapped her clipboard. “I’ve put together a list of classic books that our library is lacking. As my part in the book drive, I can guarantee that our library will have the finest collection of classic books in the county.” She smiled and stood straighter.
“Well, that’s a wonderful idea,” Britta said. “But perhaps we should go through the donations people bring in to find those books.”
“Pish-posh. I don’t have time for that. The classics section must be developed,” Marian said. “People are excited about this. I’ve already assigned ten books this morning.”
Britta bit her lip. How many feathers would she have to smooth before Marian’s project was complete? She glanced at Milo, who looked like he was trying not to laugh, and she let out the breath she was holding. “Okay. Why don’t you create a flyer we can post on the outside doors so people will know what you’re looking for?”
“I can do that. But I’ve got to hurry and get these assignments out so we can gather all the books on the list before the Harvest Hurrah. Oh, and your assignment is to bring in a copy of The Book Thief. Try for a hardback if you can.”
“But that’s not a classic; that book isn’t even twenty years old,” Britta replied, thinking of the strange book that everyone raved about a few years ago that had now been made into a movie. She’d picked it up in a bookstore, intending to buy it. The line had been long, so she had started reading it, but when she realized that it took place in Germany during World War Two, she shut the book, set it on the chocolate display near the checkout, and left the store empty-handed.
Marian lifted her chin. “The Book Thief is on my list.”
Britta heard the unspoken challenge in Marian’s words. If the book is on my list, then it’s a classic. She couldn’t help but smile. “Okay, okay. I’ll get it, but what happened to our copy? I know I’ve seen that one here.” Britta gestured to the fiction stacks in front of them.
“Damaged beyond repair.” Marian sniffed, hugged her clipboard to her chest, and hurried after another patron who was browsing the new books display.
“Oh dear,” Britta whispered.
Milo chuckled. “It is a good idea, ya?”
“Ya, it is. She just comes across as a little forceful. I don’t want her to scare away the patrons.”
Milo put his hand to the side of his mouth and stage-whispered, “I’m pretty sure most people know about Marian the librarian.”
Britta laughed. “She means well.”
“I don’t know that book, though,” Milo said.
“Don’t tell me you haven’t read Little Women?” Britta said with mock severity.
“I don’t read a lot, just a bit of nonfiction. A lot of that other stuff doesn’t hold my attention,” Milo said. He must have seen the surprise on Britta’s face, because he added, “But sometimes I think I just haven’t found the right book.”
“I love reading. I can’t imagine life without books,” she said.
“Which is why you are a librarian and I’m a musician,” Milo replied.
“Do you play more than the piano?” she asked. Britta realized that Milo knew a lot more about her than she did about him. She chided herself for being rude. He had always been sincere in asking about her, but she’d been so busy brushing him off, she’d never stopped to get to know the man behind the accent.
“Piano was the beginning, then violin, viola, and of course the accordion.” Milo brightened as he spoke. “Me and my brothers used to be in a band, but that was a long time ago.”
“I’m sure you were great,” Britta said, noting that it couldn’t have been that long ago. She figured Milo was close to her age, maybe a few years older.
“We traveled to folk festivals all over. It got to be too much, and we decided we wanted to settle down with our families. My brothers tease me now. They ask me when I’m going to quit going solo.”
Britta smiled at him, understanding the same pressure she heard from her own family. “How many brothers?”
“Four, and one sister,” Milo said. “They’re all married with a few kids each, and everyone lives within an hour of here. Family get-togethers are like a rock concert.” He put his hands over his ears and smiled.
Britta laughed. “That’s great to have family nearby. I needed a little distance from mine.” She cleared her throat. “You met my mother. You probably understand.”
Milo chuckled. “She loves you. That is what mothers do.”
“Ya and she does make the best kartoffelsuppe— er— potato stew, I’ve ever tasted.” Britta had slipped and spoken German again. She was struck with a sudden homesickness for her mother’s cooking and her father’s table-pounding conversations.
“Hey, that reminds me of one of my favorite places that always has great soups,” Milo said. “Have you ever been to Fay’s Café?”
“Well, I live in Echo Ridge, so yes. I love the atmosphere of that place,” Britta said.
“I thought you might. Any chance you’d like to grab dinner tonight with me?” Milo asked.
Britta hesitated, recalling how Milo had asked her out last week and she’d turned him down. How could she say no to him again? Maybe he was planning on that, and— especially after seeing her falling apart when he’d entered the library— he probably thought her defenses were down.
She reached out a hand and touched Milo
’s arm to soften the blow of her rejection. When she touched his skin, a frequency traveled along her arm and she gasped. For a moment, she thought she heard a mournful ballad play. Britta swallowed and shook her head. “I would love to, actually, but I have meetings nearly every day with businesses and vendors working on the Harvest Hurrah. I don’t think I’d be very good company.”
Milo looked away and swallowed. “I understand.”
The phone started ringing. “I’d better get that. Nice to chat with you. And thanks again for bringing in those books. Tschüss.”
Milo lifted two fingers in a wave as she picked up the phone.
It wasn’t until after Milo left that Britta realized she’d told him goodbye in German. What was it about Milo that unearthed the little German girl from her past?
MILO HELD ONTO THE STRAND of hope he’d heard when talking to Britta. She had turned him down again, but for one beat she’d almost said yes, and that was enough to keep Milo going. There had been a connection. When Britta touched him, he’d heard the rising of a new melody, and he was certain she’d heard it too. There was no way he could give up on the librarian now.
Nearly every time he walked Vannakin Street, he saw her through the window of the library working at the circulation desk. It was easy to pick out her light blond hair pulled back into a tight bun. He’d never seen her wear it down, but he’d only seen her outside of the library once or twice since he’d moved to Echo Ridge.
Britta always stood straight and moved with purpose, like she was heading somewhere important. He supposed that as the head librarian she was very busy, with little time to relax, but he wondered how much of her work was self-imposed. When he watched Britta, it seemed as if she was running from something or some part of herself. He understood, because he’d done the same thing for many years until he’d figured out how to be comfortable with himself.
Kisses Between the Lines: An Echo Ridge Anthology (Echo Ridge Romance Book 2) Page 2
