Page 22 of Librarian for the Jock

Chapter Twenty-Two

CHET

I was standing in the doorway of the hardware store, chatting with Mr. Parker about the garden hose that he swore was “unbreakable,” when I caught a glimpse of Rigs out of the corner of my eye. I was actually really impressed that he hadn’t been much of a bother to me recently, thanks to Hawthorn Hideaway’s help.

Rigs was lurking across the street, trying to blend in with a group of tourists, but his oversized camera and that telltale baseball cap made him stick out like a sore thumb. Seeing him like that made me wonder if he had a life other than mine.

I nodded to Mr. Parker, who gave me a wink. “Looks like our friend is back,” he said in a low voice.

“Yeah,” I muttered, trying to hide my annoyance. “Think he’ll ever figure out how to blend in well enough to get the shot he’s after?”

Mr. Parker grinned. “Not if we’ve got anything to say about it.”

He gave me a little nod, and I followed his gaze to see Mrs. Lawson already stepping into action. She sauntered out of her bakery shop carrying a tray full of fresh donuts. I could see her aiming straight for Rigs. She crossed the street and, with the sweetest smile, offered him a donut.

“Hey there, fella!” she said loudly, drawing everyone’s attention her way, her voice dripping with small-town hospitality. “Would you like to try one of my famous maple-glazed donuts? They’re fresh out of the oven!”

Rigs, caught off guard, tried to politely decline, but Mrs. Lawson wasn’t having any of it. She practically shoved the tray under his nose, blocking his view of me entirely. “Oh, come on now, just a taste! You won’t regret it!”

Meanwhile, Mr. Ramirez, in his fish-stained white apron, and a few other shop owners were moving into position like a well-coordinated team. I saw Mrs. Carter from the flower shop discreetly setting up a display of flower pots right in front of where Rigs was trying to move. Mr. Ramirez stepped out with a delivery cart, “accidentally” parking it right in front of Rigs’ line of sight.

“Sorry, buddy!” Mr. Ramirez called out, grinning like a fox. “Gotta get these deliveries out, you know how it is!”

Rigs tried to sidestep, but a group of kids on bikes swooped in, riding circles around him, laughing and ringing their bells. Timmy, the ringleader of the group, shouted out, “Hey, mister, wanna race?” He knew exactly what he was doing, and I couldn’t help but chuckle.

Rigs tried to move again, frustration evident on his face, but now old Mrs. Jenkins, a good friend of Baba’s, was on the scene, slowly crossing the street with her walker. She was moving at a snail’s pace, and she shot Rigs a cheeky grin. “Oh, am I in your way, dear? I’m just getting to my bridge game. You don’t mind, do you?”

Rigs’ face was getting redder by the minute. He shifted, trying to find another angle, but everywhere he turned, there was another “coincidence” blocking his view. Mr. Thompson, the local handyman, suddenly appeared with a ladder, right in front of where Rigs was aiming his camera.

“Just gotta fix this awning real quick,” Mr. Thompson said loudly, setting the ladder up with exaggerated care. “Safety first, you know!”

By now, I was trying hard not to laugh. It was like a coordinated dance of chaos, everyone doing their part to keep Rigs from getting his prized photo. I spotted April, Paige’s friend from the local newspaper, snapping pictures of Rigs as he flailed about, trying to dodge around the obstacles the townsfolk kept putting in his way. She was grinning like a cat with a mouse, clearly enjoying turning the tables on him.

Rigs finally seemed to reach his breaking point. He darted down a side street, hoping to sneak around, but he didn’t realize he was heading straight into the farmer’s market, which was packed with people that day. Before he knew it, he was surrounded by vendors calling out their wares, shoppers moving in every direction, and, of course, a few strategically placed townspeople who just happened to be in his way at every turn.

Aunty Pam, who got into jam-making in her retirement and had a jam table at the market, spotted him and called out with her loud teacher voice. “Hey, you! Care for a taste of our homemade strawberry preserves? You look like a man who needs a little sweetness in his life!”

Rigs looked like he was about to scream, but he knew better than to cause a scene. Instead, he gritted his teeth, trying to keep his cool, and pushed through the crowd, clearly determined to get his shot. But every time he raised his camera, someone else stepped in front of him, waved a flyer in his face, or started a loud conversation right next to him.

It was like watching a game of Whack-a-Mole, but instead of moles, it was all these good-hearted townsfolk popping up to block his every move. And honestly? It was kind of beautiful.

I leaned back against the hardware store’s wall, arms crossed, enjoying the show with Mr. Parker. Rigs was getting more and more frantic, his face flushed, sweat beading on his forehead. I could see the moment he realized he wasn’t going to win today. Not against this town. Not against these people.

With a final look of exasperation, defeated, Rigs threw up his hands. He didn’t even bother to take one last shot. As Rigs made his way back to his car, I could see the frustration practically radiating off of him. His face was flushed, his movements were jerky, and he was muttering angrily under his breath. I was too far away to hear what he was saying, but I noticed Mrs. Jenkins, who was still nearby with her walker, pause and tilt her head, clearly catching something.

She raised an eyebrow, her expression a mix of curiosity and disapproval, and waited until Rigs was out of earshot before turning and making her way over to me. She moved with surprising speed for someone with a walker, and I straightened up, sensing that she had something to say.

“Chet, dear,” she said as she got closer, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “You’re not gonna believe what that man just muttered on his way out.”

I couldn’t help but grin. “Oh, yeah? What did he say?”

Mrs. Jenkins leaned in, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “He said, ‘This place is a freakin’ circus. I swear, this whole town is in on some big, weird secret.’”

I burst out laughing, the sound echoing down the street. “Really? A big, weird secret?”

Mrs. Jenkins nodded, chuckling herself. “Oh, yes! And then he said, ‘I should’ve stayed in New York. At least there, people mind their own business.’”

I shook my head, still laughing. “Well, he’s not wrong about the circus part. We do know how to put on an entertaining show.”

She patted my arm, her smile widening. “I believe you won’t have to deal with paparazzi for the rest of your stay here. You know, Chet, it just goes to show—we may be a small town, but we protect our own. And anyone who messes with one of us… well, they find out pretty quick they’re up against all of us.”

I felt a rush of warmth at her words, and I nodded. “I’m starting to see that. Thanks, Mrs. Jenkins.”

She winked at me. “Don’t mention it, dear. Just glad we could help send that pest packing.”

As she turned and headed back toward the sidewalk, I watched her go, still smiling. The idea of this town having a “big, weird secret” made me chuckle. Maybe the real secret was just how strong and tight-knit this community was—something that people like Rigs would never understand.

And as I thought about it, I felt even more grateful to be there, surrounded by these people who had welcomed me in, quirks and all. It was the kind of secret I was happy to be a part of.

As Rigs peeled out of town, I heard a cheer go up from the gathered crowd. Mrs. Lawson actually did a little victory dance, and Mr. Parker gave me a thumbs-up from across the street. I couldn’t help but laugh, shaking my head in amazement. These people—they didn’t have to help me, but they did. They chose to.

I felt a rush of gratitude, warmth spreading through me. I had always thought of myself as a loner, someone who didn’t need much from anyone. But today, I realized just how lucky I was to be there, surrounded by people who loved me and had my back.

April walked over, still grinning. “Looks like you’re officially one of us now, Chet.”

“Yeah,” I said, my smile widening. “I think I might actually like that.”

And as I watched Rigs’ car disappear over the horizon, I felt a sense of peace, like a weight had been lifted. He was gone, and I was still here, in this town that had started to feel more like home than anywhere I had ever been.