Bookends (14 page)

Now his chest really
was
tight. He ground his cigarette into the ashtray, vowing for the tenth time that week he would quit, then turned the Chevy west on Baymeadows Road, his eyes scanning the available options for lunch.

“How ’bout burgers and a movie, Nate?” He said it aloud, just to amuse himself. Just to hear a human voice cut through the silence.

He pulled into the nearest drive-thru lane. Lunch meant something in a paper bag. The flick? Whatever was showing on HBO. And company? Not likely. Life was too complicated to bring a woman into the picture.

“What’ll you have, sir?” The sweet voice on the restaurant intercom sounded all of sixteen.

“
You,
darlin’.” Nate grinned at the metal box. “I’ll have you.”

“Excuse me?” Decidedly less sweet now. Older too.

“Just kiddin’ around.” Even his come-ons didn’t work anymore. He sighed and pulled out his wallet. “A burger, plain. Small ice water.”
And a side order of luck.
After thirty years, a streak of good fortune was long overdue.

“Run into any other old friends from high school, Emilie?”

Teresa Kauffman, the volunteer behind the desk at the Lititz Public Library, waited expectantly, her soft gray eyes and round features hidden
behind an oversized pair of bifocals.

Emilie shrugged and returned to tallying up her armload of research books. “Really, Teresa, I’ve seen only a few folks from Warwick.” She rattled off their names, watching her former classmate’s head nod at each one. They were the sort—like Teresa—who’d settled down after graduation, found nice husbands and good jobs around town, attended nearby Millersville University.

Women who had no past to escape, nor an aching ambition that demanded satisfaction no matter what the cost.

The lucky ones.

Scanning the nearby computer screen, the cheerful librarian did her best to keep their conversation going. “How does Lititz look to you, after all these years?”

“More than a few years …”

Emilie groaned at the pesky refrain, then tried to turn the sound into a pitiful excuse for a laugh. “Lititz? It looks … wonderful.” And it did. Better, in fact, than when she’d lived there as a child. Gift shop windows overflowed with enticing local treasures, homes and yards were painted and pruned to charming effect, and the landmarks she’d loved had been preserved with great care.

Except for Bingy’s Restaurant, torn down to make a parking lot. Bingy’s conjured a fond memory of her first genuine chocolate malt milkshake—icy silver container on the side, whipped cream on top. She’d shared it on her first and only date with Brian Zeller. Brian wasn’t popular either. Was in truth an awkward, tongue-tied, adolescent mess. But she hadn’t known that. He was a
boy.
Plus, he was intelligent and kind and didn’t make fun of her. Ever.

Unfortunately, as with the few bright, studious types that came along after Brian, no sparks flew across the milkshake glass. Emilie hadn’t spoken with him since … when? Their last National Honor Society meeting, no doubt. In another decade.

“More than a few …”

Enough! It was every bit as annoying as a phrase from some advertising jingle, playing through her head, over and over.

Teresa busied herself straightening up her countertop. “It’ll be interesting to see what they do with this place, now that we’re moving.”

Emilie’s attention snapped to the present. “Moving? The library?” She looked around, half expecting to find a Mayflower truck at the curb, and boxes of books by the door. The old house on Broad Street—no longer a library?

“Haven’t you heard?” The woman proffered a dark green brochure, detailing the new public library under construction. “We’re pleased as punch. The whole town has gotten behind the project, to the tune of a million and a half dollars.” A close-cropped fingernail pointed to the architectural rendering. “The nicest library in the state. Least, that’s what everybody’s saying.”

Emilie studied the information, nodding absently as Teresa continued to bubble about the unique design, the spaciousness, the convenient new location on Kissel Hill Road.

“You should swing by, see what’s been done so far.” Her gray eyes shone. “It opens in June. You’ll never miss this old place, believe me.”

Who was to say what she might miss? Emilie hated change and never apologized for admitting so. “I might do that,” she said, tucking the flyer inside her stack of books. “You’ve been most helpful today, Teresa. Look for your name on the acknowledgments page, won’t you?”

Minutes later, Emilie found herself in the turning lane for Second Avenue. The temperature had hovered around freezing for days, leaving the streets icy and the sidewalks treacherous. Only a crazy person would head for a stark building site on such an inhospitable morning.
Which makes you certifiable, Emilie Getz.
She turned east, toward a library that was probably little more than a hole in the frozen ground.

The lifelong student in her couldn’t resist. Libraries and bookstores made her positively giddy.

Winding her way through neighborhoods filled with neat-as-a-pin homes built in the forties, she was surprised to find newer houses springing up on streets she didn’t remember even existing. Bearing left on Sixth with a bewildered stare at the construction on both sides of the street, she pointed her car toward the supposed site for the library, fearful of what she might find.

What she found, parked in the area carved out for a driveway, was a familiar black Explorer.

With temporary tags.

But no Jonas.
Thank goodness.

What was his vehicle doing there, anyway? Abandoned in the midst of a building site for a … 
Oh my.
Her eyes took in the bulldozers, the stakes in the ground, and the sign proclaiming, A Great Town Deserves a Great New Library, with the small notation beneath it, Jonas Fielding, Developer and Project Manager.

He said he played with dirt.

He never said he built
libraries.

Well!
Her regard for the man took a marked turn upward. A library, no less, in a field full of corn that would never be missed. Not a landmark torn down, not a slice of history lost, and he’d annexed township land to do it.

Jonas Fielding was building a library!

What else didn’t she know about him? Was he everything Beth claimed he was—trustworthy, loyal, hardworking, respectable? Had she misjudged him terribly? Jumped to conclusions? For a woman who prided herself on thorough research, she’d apparently done a poor job investigating Mr. Fielding—something she intended to remedy immediately.

Emilie peered through his car window, checking for anything of interest. Building plans, perhaps—the tiny sketch in the brochure
had
been quite promising—or anything else that might catch her researcher’s eye.

Squinting through the tinted glass, she soon spotted her first bit of valuable data. In the backseat, where that slobbering yellow dog usually sat, rested an impressive scale model of the building. Very traditional, very classy. The man had taste after all.
One point for Mr. Fielding.

The piles of periodicals and sketches suggested that, however sloppy, the man was thorough.
Another point in his favor.
Her gaze traveled to the front seat, where she spied a large manila folder on the passenger side, with a name printed in large block letters.

Wait a minute. That—

“That vehicle is private property,” a deep voice boomed directly behind her.

“Oh!” Emilie gasped and jumped back a full foot. It was several seconds before she could breathe properly and turn to face her accuser, now only inches away.

Jonas. The library builder.

“It’s against the law to look inside a person’s car,” he growled, circling around her with exaggerated steps. “Did you know that?”

“I did not.” She squared her shoulders, narrow though they were, and stuck out her chin. “Inform the authorities of my actions at once.”

His dark eyes sparked. “My, aren’t we cheeky, for a trespasser?”

“This is public land, destined to be a public library,” she reminded him, using her classroom voice for effect.
Is he getting closer on purpose?
“I have every right to be here … Mr. Fielding.”

“It’s also a construction site,
Dr.
Getz,” he snapped back, though it was more crackle than snap. “A dangerous place.”

The only thing that looked dangerous was Jonas.

“By law, it’s not open to the public. Not yet.” He paused in front of her, inches from the end of her nose. Despite his combative tone, his eyes bore a mischievous twinkle.

“And how do you propose to remove me from the premises?” She let her eyebrows create an especially engaging capital V.

Goodness. Were they flirting?
Hmmm.
It felt like they might be.

Which meant this charmingly aggravating, bird-watching, scarf-unwinding man was
toying
with her! And she was teasing him back! The whole thing was ridiculous.

His eyebrows lowered dramatically. “If necessary, miss, I will remove you from the premises myself. Bodily.”

Emilie abruptly turned, hoping he hadn’t seen the heat that flew into her cheeks, and pressed a defiant nose against the smoky glass. “I’ll leave the minute I get what belongs to me.”

“You’ll get what’s coming to you, all right,” he muttered behind her back. “Five mornings in a duck blind—”

“That—” she interrupted, pointing inside the passenger side window, keenly aware of him hovering over her—“that folder is what I want. The one that has my name printed on it, bold as you please.”

“Bold as you please?” He chuckled, leaning ever so slightly against her shoulders. “Fine. I can be bold, Emilie.” His voice dropped another note. “If you please.”

She froze.

The first thing she noticed were his hands, one resting on each arm. And his scratchy chin against her hair. Both were so faint, so tentative, she might have imagined them had she not eased back to see if the sensations went away.

They did not!

He was definitely there and not moving.

Now what?

Emilie had never flirted, intentionally, in her entire life. Especially not with a man like this one. He … he
built
things. Played with dirt. Destroyed historic buildings. He was the
enemy.
Wasn’t he?

“Emilie,” he whispered against her hair. “I am not the enemy.”

Heavens.
The man not only built libraries, he read minds.

Her knees began shaking, imperceptibly at first, but then with a more pronounced wobble.

“You’re trembling.” He seemed surprised, backing up enough to turn her around. With his hands. On her shoulders. “Are you cold?”

“Yes!” A perfect excuse. She tried to make her teeth chatter and succeeded only in biting her tongue. “I need to—”

“Right,” he agreed, yanking open the car door behind her. “Your folder, as instructed.”

“Right,” she echoed, lifting it off the seat in slow motion, then letting her wobbly knees carry her the few feet to her ancient BMW. Her fingers were also shaking, Emilie discovered when she attempted to slide the key in the door.

She heard him walking toward her across the frozen gravel. “Did you lock it?” he asked, clearly amazed. “In Lititz?”

Apparently she hadn’t, since turning the key made no difference whatsoever. She opened the door with as much grace as she could muster and plopped into the driver’s seat.

He held the door open, leaning in. “Any chance you’d like to … do tea sometime soon?”

“One doesn’t
do
tea.” She kept her eyes on the steering wheel, her mind fighting one skirmish while her senses mounted a strong defense elsewhere—against his irresistible eyes, his masculine chin, his wide shoulders, his strong hands. The same hands that had pressed against her mere seconds ago.

Taking a deep breath, she forged into battle. “One brews tea, pours tea, sips tea. One does not
do
tea.”

“Emilie, I don’t even drink the stuff. I was just trying to see if …”

Looking up, her eyes widened. “If what?”

“If you … read my letter.”

It cost him to say the words, she could see that. Emilie swallowed her quick comeback and cautiously said what was really on her heart. “Your letter? I was … hoping you might send me one.”

He exhaled, clearly frustrated. “I did. A week ago, in your bird book. Page ninety-eight?”

Ohh.
“I shelved the book without even looking at it,” she admitted, genuinely sorry. “The minute I get home, I’ll find your letter and read it.”
Immediately. Wearing my coat and gloves.

“Before you go, I’ve got one question for you.” His top lip vanished in a boyish grin. “Make that two. For starters, what are you doing here?”

He thinks I was looking for him.

“I stopped by the public library this morning and they suggested I visit the site.” Attempting to sound nonchalant, she added, “I
do
love a good library.”

“You do, huh?” He waved at the bare, snowy field around them, the ground shoved into mysterious forms and shapes of things to come. “It’ll look better by June, I promise.” His gaze fixed on hers. “The second thing is more of a request.”

She sniffed and pivoted her chin back toward the front dash. “Are you referring to the ah, night heron … incident?”

Silence. One beat, then two. “No, I wasn’t, actually. But since you brought it up, let me say in person, Emilie, how sorry I am.”

He sounds sincere.
She sneaked a sideways glance.
Looks sincere too. Repentant, even.
It was enough for her.

With a dramatic sigh, she leaned back against the headrest, careful not to turn his way. No need to embarrass the man further. “It so happens, I’m willing to forgive you. This time.” And she was. It felt good to admit it, to get past it. “Suppose we consider that situation … ah, resolved.”

“Thanks, Emilie.”

She liked the way he said her name, like a three-note song in a bass key. Still staring at the dashboard, she reminded him, “You mentioned something about a request?”