Page 1 of Courted By the Grumpy Dragon (Monsters of Saltford Bay #2)

Chapter One

Nina

There's something unsettling about a library that's too quiet.

I know, I know—libraries are supposed to be quiet.

But there's a difference between the comfortable hush of people reading and the hollow emptiness of a building holding its breath.

Right now, the Saltford Bay Public Library feels like the latter, all creaky floorboards and dust motes dancing in October sunlight, waiting for something to happen.

Or maybe that's just me projecting.

I adjust another paper bat dangling from fishing line, its wings fluttering in the draft from the ancient heating system. The oak shelves stand like sentinels around me, and I swear they're watching. Judging my decorating choices, perhaps. Or maybe they're just worried about me.

Maybe they should. After all, I’ve barely slept for the past week.

"I'm fine, totally fine," I whisper to no one in particular, my voice echoing slightly in the empty reading room. "Reading Harold’s will is only a formality. He already told me everything I need to know."

My stomach immediately contracts into a knot. Harold Greaves is gone, and I’m going to have to learn to stand on my own two feet.

Starting with the legacy he entrusted to me in his will.

I glance at my watch. I still have three hours before I need to be at his house for the reading. Three hours not to think about Harold being gone.

The main door creaks open, and I plaster on my best Friendly Librarian smile, the one that says I'm approachable but still professional and definitely not having an existential crisis about the meaning of my life now that the only father figure I’ve ever had is gone .

"Miss Nina?" A small voice pipes up, followed by the shuffle of feet that haven't quite grown into themselves.

Bramley Kett peers around a bookshelf, his mottled gray skin almost matching the stone column beside him.

At eight years old, he's small for a troll, all wide amber eyes and wild hair that refuses to be tamed by any comb.

Today he's wearing a sweater that's at least two sizes too big, the cuff already damp from nervous chewing.

"Hey there, Bram." My smile softens into something that feels more genuine. "No school today? "

He shakes his head, clutching a well-worn copy of The Graveyard Book to his chest. "Teacher workday. Mom said I could come here while she's working at the clinic." His eyes dart to the paper bats. "Is the library really gonna be haunted?"

I crouch down to his level. "Not really haunted. Just pretend haunted, for fun. It’s only for Halloween."

His shoulders relax a fraction. "So, no actual ghosts?"

"No actual ghosts," I confirm. "Just me in a witch hat and Theo dressed as a zombie, probably dropping fake blood everywhere."

"And there'll be new books?" His gaze is so hopeful it makes my chest ache. "The scary ones you promised. With pictures?"

This is why I'm a librarian. Not for the glamour (there isn't any), or the paycheck (laughable) but for the way a child's face lights up at the mention of new books, like I'm offering them treasures. And I am. Books are doors to thousands of secret worlds.

"Absolutely. All ordered and should be here next week, just in time for the Haunted House event." Thanks to Harold. But I don’t say that. Bram doesn’t need to worry himself with things like money and wills and the stabbing pain of losing a loved one. Not when he could be reading spooky stories.

"Can I help?" He gestures to the decorations scattered across the reading table. "Mom says I'm good at reaching high places now."

I suppress a smile. Bram might be small for a troll, but he’s still taller than human children his age. But he'd still need a stepladder to reach most of the places I'm decorating.

"Actually, I could use your expert opinion." I hand him a glittery paper pumpkin. "Where do you think this should go so it scares people the most? "

For the next twenty minutes, Bram solemnly directs me to place pumpkins in increasingly unlikely locations: behind the dictionary stand, peeking out from the periodicals, nestled between two encyclopedias. Impractical and totally wonderful.

I'm balancing precariously on a stepladder, trying to hang a particularly toothy pumpkin from the ceiling fan, when the library phone rings.

"Hold that thought," I tell him, carefully climbing down. "And maybe find a spot that doesn't require me to defy gravity."

I hurry to the circulation desk, brushing glitter from my cardigan, a bright yellow piece that my mother would call "challenging" but I call "cozy." The ancient rotary phone rattles against the wooden desktop.

"Saltford Bay Public Library, this is Nina," I answer, tucking the receiver between my ear and shoulder as I try to pick a stubborn piece of tape off my thumb.

"Nina, dear, it's Doris." The gravelly voice of Doris Stonemason, the gargoyle head of the library board and local garden club tyrant, fills my ear. "Just checking on how you’re holding up before the reading of poor Harold’s will. We all know what he meant to you."

The stabbing pain between my breast returns with a vengeance, and I shut my eyes against the sudden sting of tears, willing them down. I know I won’t win, but I still try.

“I’m doing fine, Doris,” I lie through my teeth and swallow past the sudden lump in my throat. “I’ll just be glad when this is over, and we can focus on the summer reading program for next year. That’s what he would have wanted.”

"Good, good. We’re all going to miss Harold. I never met a kinder soul. "

Her voice breaks at the end, and there's a pause. I can practically hear her straightening her spine through the phone.

“He was a good man.” The words are hard to push through the lump in my throat, but I’m irrationally proud of the steadiness in my voice.

"That he was. And Nina?"

"Yes?"

"We’ll all be there for you. After, I mean, if you need to talk or just for some company."

"Thanks, Doris. I'll keep that in mind"

I hang up and fan my eyes, trying to dry my tears without ruining my makeup. I never wear much, but I wanted to look my best at the reading. Harold deserves as much.

The knot in my stomach loosens slightly. Doris might be a menace in the garden club and no one in their right mind would ever dare raise their voice at a library board meeting without raising their hand first, but she had the biggest heart in town.

I lean against the desk and let out a long breath. Doris is right. Even though Harold is gone, the community he built around the library is still strong. Every inch of this place seems infused with his presence, even now. Perhaps more now than ever.

The memory brings a fresh wave of grief.

Harold Greaves had been more than just Saltford Bay's wealthiest resident; he'd been my mentor, my champion, the man who pushed me to reach for my dreams with both hands.

When he'd offered me the librarian position five years ago, he became not only my friend but the closest thing to a father I’d ever known .

"Miss Nina?" Bram's voice pulls me back to the present. "Are you okay? You look sad."

I blink rapidly and force another smile. "Just thinking about Mr. Greaves. He was a good friend."

Bram nods solemnly. "Mom says he's in heaven now, reading all the books he wants."

"That sounds about right." I ruffle his hair and chuckle. "Now, how about you help me finish these decorations, and then I'll find you something new to read before you have to go?"

We work side by side, hanging the remaining bats and pumpkins.

I let Bram arrange a display of "spooky" book recommendations, which comprises mostly mild ghost stories and monster tales with happy endings.

His serious concentration as he arranges the books just so, tiny gray fingers adjusting each spine to perfect alignment, makes me smile despite the day's weight.

The library door swings open again, and Theo Hammond stumbles in, all gangly limbs and teenage enthusiasm. At sixteen, the human boy is my only staff, a part-time employee who shelves books after school and helps with children's programs on weekends.

"Sorry I'm late," he pants, dropping his backpack behind the circulation desk with a thud. "Mom's car wouldn't start, so I had to bike."

"No problem," I assure him. "You're just in time to help Bram with the window display."

Theo gives Bram a high-five and immediately launches into an explanation of his costume plans for the Haunted House event. I leave them chattering and retreat to my tiny office at the back of the building .

The space is barely bigger than a closet, just enough room for a desk, a filing cabinet, and a chair that protests loudly whenever I sit in it.

The walls are lined with children's artwork and thank-you notes from patrons.

A framed photo of Harold and me at last year's Founder's Day picnic sits on my desk, his arm around my shoulders, both of us laughing at some forgotten joke.

I sink into my chair, which wheezes dramatically, and open my laptop.

The half-finished library newsletter stares back at me, cursor blinking impatiently.

I've been putting off sending it all week, partly because of Harold's death and partly because…

well, because I'm afraid to commit to plans I can't guarantee.

But Harold promised. And Harold Greaves always kept his promises.

Taking a deep breath, I finish typing the announcement:

EXCITING NEWS! Thanks to the generous support of the Harold Greaves Fund, the Saltford Bay Public Library will be expanding our children's programming this fall!

Beginning November 1st, we'll offer Story Hour three days a week instead of one, plus a new Teen Book Club on Thursday evenings. See the attached schedule for details.

And don't forget our annual Halloween Haunted Library event next Friday! Costumes encouraged, treats provided, spooky stories guaranteed!

I read it over twice, finger hovering over the send button. I hit send before I can second-guess myself, watching the progress bar creep across the screen until a cheerful "Newsletter Delivered!" message appears.

There. No going back now.

I glance at the clock and swallow. Time to go .

I grab my coat from the rack by the door, a worn navy peacoat that's seen better days but feels like an old friend.

Through the tall arched windows, I can see the bay in the distance, sunlight glittering on the water.

Saltford Bay isn't a fancy town, but it's beautiful in its own weathered way, like a book that's been read and loved too many times to ever look new again.

"I'm heading out, Theo," I call. "Can you lock up at noon?"

He pops his head around a bookshelf. "Sure thing. Good luck with the will and stuff."

"Thanks." I force a smile. "I'm sure it'll be fine."

"Course it will." His confidence is so absolute it almost convinces me. "Harold loved this place almost as much as you do."

I nod, not trusting my voice. Bram waves goodbye, his little face solemn as I head out.

Outside, the October air is crisp and smells of salt and fallen leaves.

I take a moment to look back at the library.

My library. The brick facade glows warm in the autumn sunlight, the limestone accents around the windows glowing like frosting on a cake.

The wrought iron fence needs painting, and one of the benches has a broken slat, but it's still the most beautiful building in town to me.

Each morning when I unlock those heavy oak doors, I feel like I'm opening a treasure chest.

Squaring my shoulders, I turn and walk toward the town hall, leaves crunching beneath my feet. Harold believed in me, in this library, in what it means to our little coastal community.

I just need to be strong for a few more hours. How hard could that be?