There had to be a least fifty of the cardboard containers filed against the walls. A few had the tops open, and I could see they were full of books. “She can’t have meant these to be shelved.” I ventured in a few steps farther and pulled back the flaps of a couple. Some were research volumes—something you might see in a university biology department. Another box was filled with children’s books for elementary-aged kids.
I’d never known there was so much space back there and couldn’t imagine how Mrs. Canard could afford such a large inventory. I didn’t have time to search all the boxes, as I wanted to investigate the other door leading off the break room.
The door by the sink opened outward and led to a stairwell. It took me a minute to find the light switch in the small, dark hall. The stairs were wooden and narrow, and curved to the right. Making my way up, I expected more storage and was thrilled to find a real treasure.
Over the storage area downstairs was a huge loft apartment. It had to be at least a thousand square feet. Here the light was abundant, as the back wall facing the west was a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows. The view of the rough hills was breathtaking.
The small kitchen, painted a soft yellow with red accents, had a dishwasher, an oven, a gas stovetop, and a fridge, all stainless steel. A short, curved wall that didn’t go to the ceiling set apart the dining room. And the back part of the room had a glass block wall where a bedroom had been fashioned.
The living area, in front of the bank of windows, had a small chenille couch and several cushy chairs. A few antique tables were scattered about. While it wasn’t exactly a room one might find in Elle Decor, it had a homey, comfortable feel.
I made my way to the sofa and sat down. I had no idea this space even existed. It explained why it seemed as though Mrs. Canard lived at the library.
Amused and pleased, I was also frightened. Scared out of my wits really. All of this was mine.
* * *
Ten Things Every Home Should Have
Love
Happiness
A forty-inch plasma
Snacks for every occasion
One bathroom for each person living there
The perfect bed
Room-sized clothes closets/tons o’ storage
Books
A space for dancing/yoga/Pilates
A computer with Internet
* * *
Chapter 12
Oh, child, men’s men: gentle or simple, they’re much of a muchness.
DANIEL DERONDA
By Eliot, George, 1819–1880
Call #: F-ELI
Description: xx, 220 p.; 21cm
I watched the low clouds roll by for several minutes. Slipping off my Prada ankle boots, I pulled a patchwork quilt off the back of the couch and wrapped myself in it. It was strange to sit in a living room that smelled of Mrs. Canard—a mixture of spicy tea and baby powder—and to know that this place was mine, at least for now.
Breathe. I had to remind myself to take long, calming breaths. So much had happened the last few days since the librarian’s death. The job offers. The weird letter in Atlanta. The will. It was too much to process, and I decided to give myself a little while to figure things out.
I needed a plan. I would eventually sit down with the pros and cons of each situation and make a decision. But I didn’t have to do it right now. That thought helped me relax. My shoulders dropped and I leaned back against the sofa pillows.
As I drifted, I thought I heard someone say, “Everything will be all right.”
“I hope so,” I whispered.
A half hour later I sat up with a start. I’d drifted off, and it took me a second to realize it was my cell phone ringing that had brought me back to consciousness. I’d left my purse on the table in the downstairs break room. No use running after it; by the time I reached it, whoever it was would have hung up.
I’d only rested for a few minutes, but I felt better than I had in days. I pulled on my boots and folded the quilt. After looking around the room one last time, I made my way back downstairs.
My Prada tote sat on the table where I’d left it and I dug through the bag to find my cell. The red light blinked and I had two missed calls and voice mails. I hit redial, and it didn’t even ring before I heard, “Kira, are you okay?”
Caleb was on the other end and it sounded like he was running.
“I’m fine, why?” I picked up my bag and began making my way to the front door of the library.
“I called twice and you didn’t answer. I was worried,” he huffed.
“Sorry, I didn’t hear the phone. Are you jogging?”
There was a knock and I walked quickly to the door. “When you didn’t answer I ran over from The Bakery to check on you.”
I laughed. “So you would be the man behind the door?”
He coughed. “Yes. A very cold man.”
I found him on the steps, still in his suit, wearing a long black wool coat that looked as though it had been tailor-made for him. The man had excellent taste when it came to clothes. His chiseled cheeks were pink, and his eyes a little watery from the wind outside but filled with concern for me.
I laughed as I pulled him in. “Where did you say you were?”
He shrugged. “The Bakery, but it’s in the teens out there and with the wind…I was grabbing a cup of coffee and it dawned on me that you probably haven’t eaten much today. After seeing how pale you were, I worried you might have fainted. By the way, are you supposed to be here? I know you have the key, but since Mrs. Canard…Well, I wouldn’t want you to get in any trouble.” His eyes scanned my face.
It was sweet of him to be so worried about me. “Everything is fine and I promise to explain later.” The cup of coffee sounded like heaven. I hadn’t eaten anything since early morning. “Would you mind braving the cold again? We can take my car.”
“Sure. Where do you want to go?” He buttoned his coat around him.
“To The Bakery. You mentioned coffee and I could certainly use some.” I dug for the keys and flipped off the lights.
“She’ll be back. I know she will,” I heard a woman say. I sighed as I turned the lock in the door. That was one part of this weird situation I didn’t want to deal with—yet.
I pushed the button to remotely start the car. One of the things I loved about the Lexus was by the time I had backed away from the library, the warm air already flowed from the vents.
Caleb adjusted the seat on the passenger side so his knees were no longer in his chest. The drive to The Bakery took all of a minute. It was only a block off the main square. Like the rest of the town, the outside of the store was dressed in a gothic design. Displayed in the large arched window sat a wedding cake with amazing details. Flowers trailed from the top down to the bottom layer.
Mr. Owen, the shop owner, usually closed at three each day, but for the past few months he’d been staying open until seven on Friday and Saturday nights. He offered a variety of flavored coffees and teas and an incredible array of baked goods.
The pastries at The Bakery were melt-in-your-mouth delicious and calorie-laden. My mouth watered at the very thought of one of his cream puffs.
Caleb stood at my car door ready to open it before I even realized I’d parked. I’d been in the middle of my pastry reverie.
Reaching out his hand, he helped me out, and I think I fell hard for him in that moment. Part of it was the heat from his hand on mine. A surge of energy ran through me at the point of contact.
It was also such a gentlemanly act, but it meant more because I could tell it was a part of his nature. He’d been raised this way. I love Southern men. Then it dawned on me: I didn’t even really know if he was from the South. He’d said earlier that he’d lived all over the world, but I didn’t know much about him at all.
He put his hand on my back and guided me into the store.
Mr. Owen had moved to Sweet from South Africa more than twenty years ago. I’d always been fascinated by his heavy accent and hi
s deep chocolate skin. He was also tall, and when I was ten I’d imagined he came from someplace where giants grew. He had to be at least six foot seven, but his soft voice made him more like a large teddy bear.
Today he was behind the counter, tossing powdered sugar on some kind of cookie bars. The three small tables, all the bakery could accommodate, were full.
Mr. O looked up when he saw me and wiped his hands on the front of his pristine white apron. “The little Kira has grown into a beautiful woman.” He reached over the glass shelf showcasing his wares and took my hand in both of his. “It is good you are home.”
I smiled. “Hi, Mr. Owen. It smells wonderful in here.”
After giving my hand a squeeze, he moved to the sink to wash his. “I have something special for you.” He moved through the archway and into the kitchen.
“You two must be old friends.” Caleb stood beside me.
“Oh, yes. He looked out for me when I was a kid. My mom would never let me have sugar. Between Mr. Owen and the gang at Lulu’s, I developed a strong love for the stuff. In fact, I’m in love with his—Oh, wow!”
Mr. Owen had walked out with some of his cream puffs. They were so big only four would fit in a bakery box.
“I love these. I can’t believe you remembered.”
The baker’s smile increased. “Would you like some coffee?”
I rolled my eyes. “Of course.” Turning to Caleb I confessed. “It was Mr. Owen who served me my first cup, and I’ve been hooked ever since. He was the one who helped me stay awake for all of those AP tests in high school.”
The baker waved a hand. “I take no responsibility. You begged and begged. I only gave it to you to shush you. I worried it might stunt your growth.” He poured the golden brown liquid into two large to-go cups.
For the record, I’m a healthy five foot eight, but I knew that was relatively small to him.
“She wouldn’t listen. Smart, this one,” he said as he put the plastic lids on the cups. “From the time she was eleven she could argue almost anyone and win. Of course, she barely took her nose out of the books to see the world around her. But if she wanted something, she would do whatever it took to get it.” His eyes moved from the cups to me. “I hear the reading paid off. You are a big attorney in Atlanta.”
Was. I nodded. There was no way I could tell him the truth. Not yet. Lifting the lid off my coffee, I poured in three packets of sugar. I noticed he had some sandwiches in the case. “Can I have two of those tomato and mozzarella sandwiches?” I pointed.
Mr. Owen reached in and pulled them out. “And for you, sir?”
Caleb shrugged. “I’ll take the turkey pesto.”
Putting the sandwiches in a large white bag, he handed them to Caleb, who took out his money clip.
“Hey, I’m going to pay.” I reached for my wallet. “I invited you.”
“Yes, you did, but I’ll get it this time. Thanks just the same.” Caleb gave me the tone. It’s a thing Southern guys do. They never let you pay for anything, which is incredibly sweet and annoying at the same time. Maybe he really was from the South or had lived here long enough to learn the ways of the true gentleman.
I started to argue, but I looked at Mr. Owen’s face. He was expecting a good row.
I laughed. “Fine. This time.”
Since the tables were full and it was freezing outside, I headed for the car, not really sure what to do next. I turned on the heat again, along with the seat warmers, and Caleb climbed into the passenger side.
“Um, it’s kind of crowded in there. I can take you to your car if you want.” I wasn’t sure what to say.
“Oh,” he looked disappointed. “I thought maybe we could hang out. Unless you have plans.”
Officially we weren’t supposed to have a “date” until tomorrow and I hadn’t really readied myself. Still, I didn’t want to be alone.
“I’m good with that. Any ideas on where we could go?”
He looked out the window. “I’d invite you to my place, but it doesn’t seem appropriate. Besides, I’m renting one of the cabins on Lake Calabas and it’s pretty stark. I don’t have much furniture.” That made sense. He was a carpenter here to do a job for a friend, and he was probably trying to save cash.
My parents’ compound was full of people, as was Lulu’s, and I didn’t feel like grabbing the attention of the town gossips. Besides, as much as Ms. Johnnie and Ms. Helen loved Mr. Owen, they didn’t appreciate anyone bringing in food from the outside.
Then it dawned on me. “I have an idea.” I put the car in reverse.
Caleb looked surprised.
“There’s something I want to show you,” I added.
This time he almost choked on his coffee. “Kira Smythe, are you asking me to your place?”
I rolled my eyes, but smiled. “Not exactly.”
“I’m intrigued,” he whispered.
Me too.
* * *
Favorite Pastries
Cream puffs
Chocolate éclairs
Chocolate-filled croissants
Chocolate-filled doughnuts
Boston cream kolaches
Cherry turnovers
Blueberry turnovers
Apple turnovers
Cinnamon twists
Chocolate macadamia coconut tarts
* * *
Chapter 13
The sound of a kiss is not so loud as that of a cannon, but its echo lasts a deal longer.
THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST TABLE
By Holmes, Oliver Wendell, 1809–1894
Call #: F-HOL
Description: xxxviii, 457 p.; 24cm
As we made our way up the stairs from the break room at the library, I shivered, more out of nervousness than anything. I’d just invited a man up to my place—at least my temporary place—and I worried what he might think.
When we made it to the top of the stairs, I flipped on the switch and the room was flooded with light.
“Wow. This is cool,” Caleb said behind me. “I bet the view during the day is amazing.”
I nodded. “I just discovered it today. All the years I spent here, and I never knew this loft existed.” The last part came out as a whisper. I still couldn’t believe I’d found this lovely little haven.
Caleb put the packages on the table. “So how did you end up with a key to the library?”
I stared at him for a few seconds, judging what I should say, and decided to tell him the truth. “It was willed to me.” I paused. “The key, the library, the books, and all of this.” Oh, and the dead people. I wasn’t going to share that bit of information until I’d explored it further.
He sat down and pulled one of the sandwiches out of the bag. “But doesn’t the library belong to the town?”
I handed him a white china plate I’d found in the cabinet near the sink. “That’s what I thought. Turns out Mrs. Canard owned everything, including the building. It’s a privately owned collection she shared with the town.”
He sat back in his chair. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.” He shook his head. “I mean there are many privately owned libraries, but few are shared with the public like this one. That’s incredible. I mean, every book I ever asked for she was able to provide. If she didn’t have it that day, she’d have it the next. I thought she was tied in to the state network.”
I handed him a paper towel and took one for myself to use as a napkin. I’d seen linen napkins in another drawer, but I didn’t want to dirty them. I still felt like an intruder. “Me too. Trust me, no one was more surprised than me when Mr. Pierce showed me the will. I loved her. She was like family to me, but I never thought…”
He glanced up and gave me a look. “What? There’s more, right?”
He was too intuitive for his own good.
I bit my lip. “If I don’t take over the library, the whole thing is going to be sold at auction. Can you imagine? Leaving the town without a library?”
“Huh.”
“I
know, right? It’s crazy. I mean, I have—well, had—a successful job in Atlanta. She knew that. I just can’t understand why she would do this.”
“Did she leave you some kind of note?”
I didn’t want to lie, but I also didn’t want to disclose the contents. “Yes. She told me it was my decision and that she knew it was a difficult one.” I looked down at my food, not wanting to meet his eyes. I couldn’t tell him about the being special part of the document.
“Damn, that’s quite a load to put on someone, especially since you don’t even live here anymore. So when will you put it up for auction?”
I took a bite of sandwich so I didn’t have to answer right away. I shrugged my shoulders.
We ate in silence for a few minutes, both of us lost in thought.
“Could you hire someone to run it for you? Keep ownership of the place, but just have someone to help out?”
I shook my head. “She says I have to run the library. There are provisions for volunteers, but not an employee.” I waved a hand. “I honestly don’t have a plan yet. I have some time to make a decision, and I’m going to take that time. I never like to rush into anything.”
Something crossed Caleb’s face and I couldn’t tell if it was disappointment or amusement. Taking a sip of coffee, I tried to make myself relax.
“Have you always been a carpenter?”
He looked up. “I’ve always worked with my hands. It’s my way of getting rid of stress.”
“Oh. And you said you were working on a friend’s house?”
“Yeah. Bronwyn. Her brother, Brett, is my best friend. She bought a house here earlier in the month and I’ve been helping her get it fixed up. The place wasn’t in such bad shape. Needs a bit of work here and there, but the conservatory where she’s planting her herbs and stuff is a mess. We’ve had to replace the majority of the glass and find some way to get ventilation in there to protect the plants against the heat this summer. Bronwyn’s had some great ideas. I think she’d been planning this garden room for a long time. She’s lived all over the place but this is the first time she’s really settled somewhere.”
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