LUNA
It's quiet, just how I like it.
Libraries are always quiet, I suppose, but I still appreciate it. In the tall stacks, I return books to their resting places. Cataloging calms me. This early in the morning, the building is empty except for me, the books, and the morning light spilling in through the towering windows.
Not today.
A little girl turns the corner, rushes down my aisle, and asks frantically, "Miss Luna, where are the books on witches?"
"Hush, Ellie." This kid has been in here all summer. I admire her literary intrigue, but I wish she could find her library volume. She’s my only patron so far today, however, so I guess there’s no reason to enforce the silence rule.
"There's some young adult novels you might enjoy. Check in ‘ Fantasy’ ."
"Nooo!" She squirms and dances, black hair falling over her face. "Not fake witches. Real witches. I heard they got burnt up a long time ago."
I put my finger to my lips until she calms down, then I smile. "You want to read about witch trials?"
Ellie looks like she wants to scream. I'm proud that she manages to nod emphatically instead.
"All right. History, right next to the outdoorsy stuff. I'll show you, but you have to be quiet, deal?"
"Deal!" she says far too loudly.
Little Ellie becomes my shadow as I lead her across Pine Whistle's public library.
I've been working here for four years now.
It's my slice of paradise. Every day, I come in an hour before opening, enjoy my coffee before I turn on the lights, and usually lose myself in a book when the work is done and there's no one to help.
My few friends back home thought it was a bizarre life choice to take a job in this little mountain town. But I wasn’t leaving much behind in Denver. It’s peaceful here, and I can forget about the ghosts of my past.
Ellie follows me into the historical section, bouncing on her heels as I pull out a few books on Salem, witchcraft, and the colonies’ witch-panic. At her age, I was reading Harry Potter . I guess kids are evolving.
She snatches the books from me like candy and runs off to dive in. "Thank you!" I sigh and shake my head. Maybe I should permanently assign her one of the study rooms to contain her energy.
In her wake, I scan the titles on the shelves to ensure everything is cataloged appropriately. It's like a treasure hunt, and I always find Science Fiction shoved into history or a romance novel nestled in with the cookbooks (maybe the two are more connected than I give them credit for).
I let my fingertips trail along the spines, reading the hardcovers’ indented titles like braille. The smell of old and new pages is as relaxing as chamomile.
This is all I need: quiet, coffee, and books. Helping a few kids find stories they'll love is nice, too. Other than that, nothing needs to change. My routine is perfect; my life is perfect.
Lo and behold, I find a bursting romance novel jammed awkwardly between a text on Pearl Harbor and another on the Battle of the Bulge. The book is titled The Love Hidden Within . Huh, maybe I'll give it a read.
I slide it out, peeking into the narrow space left behind. The opening peers all the way out the other side of the bookshelf. Through this little crack between worlds, I spy a man who looks like he jumped from the pages of an adventure novel.
He's staring down at a book, mystic-blue eyes scanning the pages as if they're searching for something hidden between the words. Dark slightly curly hair falls in messy tufts each time he tries to brush it back. His lips curl into a soft smile as he idly runs his fingers through his beard.
I'm reminded of a character from a book I once read: a worldly man who walked from place to place, rugged and tough against the elements, gaining bits of wisdom from the people he met along the way. If I'm being honest, he was the first fictional character I developed a crush on.
It would be an understatement to say that I'm downright infatuated with the stranger in my library.
I duck away from the hole in the shelf before he spots me creeping on him. With my back to the stack, I hug that misplaced romance novel and catch my breath.
Who even is he? Pine Whistle isn’t some big city. It's rare to see a new face in here.
I dare to peek again, but he's moved on. I can hear him on the other side plucking out more books.
Talking to handsome men isn't exactly my strong suit. Most people tell me that I need to speak up. I tell them that I'm a librarian: we're reserved by nature.
I sneak along the shelf, suddenly feeling like every step I take in my low-heeled clogs is an announcement of my presence on the hardwood. Even the subtle swoosh of my skirt grates on my ears. When I get to the end of the lane, I slowly turn the corner so that just my head is poking into the aisle.
The man is sitting cross-legged on the floor, relaxed in a pair of jean shorts clearly cut from pants, dirty white sneakers, and a loose brown flannel.
He's lean but densely muscled, so sun-kissed that his interest in the wilderness section makes perfect sense.
That dark beard looks as natural on his face as moss on a tree.
I can smell campfire smoke from here.
He's got a few books open on the floor and a dozen more stacked up chaotically around him. My brain twitches at the thought of returning them to their proper places.
Another thought supersedes my instinct to organize: I must know everything about this man.
I want to crack him open, turn every page, and never stop reading.
I want to fill the lines of his soul with pastel Post-it notes.
I want to highlight and fill the margins and spend every night diving deeper and deeper.
They say don't judge a book by its cover.
But I'm looking, I'm judging, and I've never wanted something more.
Unfortunately, a combination of awkwardness and social anxiety defies my desire. I duck back to the other side of the shelf just as the hunk on the floor looks up. My glasses nearly fly off as I whip my head out of sight.
This is ridiculous. I'm the freaking librarian. I could literally just ask him if he needs help with anything. Honestly, I could scold him for making such a mess of the wilderness section…
Instead, I slip off my clogs, tiptoe to the spot where found I the romance novel, and squat down. As carefully as someone diffusing a bomb, I pull books in the hopes that I’ll create another peeping hole.
Look, I’ve never claimed bravery as one of my key traits. The warrior princess I play in my weekly Dungeons & Dragons session is brave. She's fearless and powerful and awesome. Me? I'm a big coward.
I pull enough books to create a space large enough to stick my head through, finding only the pile of books that the man left behind. Did he seriously just leave that mess there? Maybe I shouldn't judge a book by its handsome, gorgeous, intoxicating cover...
"Can I help you?"
I yelp so loudly that Ellie shushes me from her table near the children’s section. Good girl .
The man is standing on my side of the stacks, leaning against the shelf and staring down at me. I'm still propped up on my toes with my hands on the shelf like I'm about to crawl behind the books and entomb myself. That’s probably not a bad idea…
"I'm the librarian." I try desperately to swallow the lump in my throat. "I'm supposed to ask you that..."
"Ah, I see. No one was at the front desk when I came in."
I don't answer. His eyes dart between my bare feet and my discarded clogs.
"Sorry, Miss Librarian. I didn't realize you had a no-shoes policy." He takes off his sneakers, flexes his bare toes on the hardwood, and smiles.
Even his feet are tan. I find myself oddly attracted to the little dark hairs on his big toes.
Before I can muster enough intellect to form words, he squats beside me and looks through the hole I created.
"What are you looking at?" he asks.
I seem to have forgotten how to lie. "You."
His laugh is bold and warm like a perfect cup of coffee.
I blush so hard that I'm worried I’ll set the books on fire.
"Why?"
"Because you're making a mess." Half true. “Were you going to pick those up?”
“Of course.”
“And put them all back alphabetically by author last name?”
His smile gives him away. “Probably not to the letter.”
My toes are starting to hurt from squatting in this weird position, but I can’t move. I’m petrified, totally frozen by his piercing blue eyes that seem to dig into me with every lingering glance.
And when his eyes wander down to the rise of my skirt, I find myself so breathless that I think I might pass out.
“Are you all right?” he asks, gently taking my arm. “Here, why don’t we sit?”
I let him lead me, grateful for the release of pressure on my feet. We plop down together side by side, legs stretched out and nearly touching. Strange, I’ve never sat on the floor in one of the aisles before. The shelves look enormous from down here…
“Sorry, I just…” I exhale and meet his gaze. “I’ve never seen you in here before. We don’t get a lot of new folks, so I’d remember you.”
“I’d definitely remember you.”
That smile and that fantastic glint in his eyes makes my heart jump out of my chest. Am I brain-dead, or is he actually flirting with me?
He holds out a rough hand. “Lucas Stone.” Wow, even his name sounds adventurous…
“Luna Mills.” His callouses tickle my palm. “Everyone around here calls me Miss Luna… well, I guess they’re mostly children.”
“That makes you sound old.”
I laugh nervously. “I’m twenty-six. I am old.”
“Seriously? I’m thirty-eight. That makes me ancient.”
Have I just discovered some secret yearning for a hot older man? This was supposed to be a normal freaking day in the library…
In the distance, Ellie groans, “You’re both old! Can you please be quiet?”
Lucas and I share our first subdued snicker, and, God, does it feel just right. He even leans into me, brushing his arm against mine—I can’t stop my toes from curling.
His blue eyes seem to notice, stealing a glance down my legs before meeting my gaze again. He speaks in a hushed voice, “I’m visiting my brother, Brock. You probably call him Chief Stone , like everyone else around here.”
“The fire chief is your brother?” Before I can even think, I whisper, “he’s kind of an asshole.”
Lucas just sighs and nods. “You’re telling me. I grew up with the guy. He still rides my ass. It’s tough when your older brother is a well-respected member of his community, and you’re a bum rock climber who won’t settle down.”
“Rock climbing? Is that why you wrecked my wilderness section?”
“Guilty.” He smiles. “Brock’s lucky he lives in the mountains, or I’d probably never visit. The Rockies have some amazing climbs. Local libraries always have maps and info you won’t find online.”
I’m already sweating thinking about being up that high.
“That sounds terrifying . Seriously, I don’t do heights.”
“Oh, it’s awesome .” Lucas lights up, somehow beaming even brighter. “There’s nothing like it. Sure, during a climb, it can be scary as hell. It sometimes feels impossible. But once you make it, once you reach the top and look down at the world, you feel like you can do anything. ”
Something about talking to him feels so easy . A minute ago, I was a bundle of nerves. All that anxiety has vanished like snow melting on a warm afternoon. I feel myself being drawn in by his words.
Literally, I’m leaning toward him.
“When you put it like that,” I whisper, “it sounds kinda nice.”
Luca’s foot brushes mine. We both tense.
Now I can really smell the wood-burned smoke on him. It makes me feel cozy and warm.
He runs his tongue behind his lip, looking like he’s about to take a leap or do something crazy before he smiles and pulls back.
“Why don’t you come climbing with me?” he asks. “Tomorrow morning. It’s Sunday, so I know you’re not working.”
His directness stuns me for a moment.
“Sorry,” he laughs. “Is that weird? I don’t mean to corner you. I just… I’d love to spend the day with you. I’d love to show you what I mean.”
Seeing him again feels like such a necessity that I’m half-willing to brave my primal fear of heights. I shake my head, nod, laugh, and throw my hands up. “Couldn’t I come but just watch you climb?”
“Tell you what,” he leans in and whispers conspiratorially, “if you try climbing just once with me, I’ll let you teach me how to properly organize books. It’s by cover color, right?”
“Author last name,” I hiss.
“See? I’m in dire need of a lesson.”
My body is abuzz. Already, I feel dizzy, but I don’t think it’s from the prospect of climbing up some stupid rock.
I lean back against the shelf and close my eyes. “Fine. Deal . But you better pay attention to my lesson. I’m going to quiz you.”
“Spend tomorrow with me, climb once,” he says, “and I’ll do anything you ask me to, Luna.”
Lucas gets up and holds out his hand. It engulfs mine and grates my skin with all the deep lines of his adventures.
Standing barefoot in the aisle, we smile and laugh awkwardly, toes mingling.
“You promise it’s safe?”
“Totally,” he says. “I’m literally a professional.”
“I’m not going to die?”
“Not tomorrow, I promise.”
I nod, and we get our shoes back on.
Adventure is something I’ve only read about. It’s for fantasy characters, not me. Still, I trust him. I trust that smile and those perfect blue eyes and the way my heart flutters when he looks at me.
I’m not going to die—he promised.