A Knight to Remember (25 page)

But Virago, of course, doesn’t let me hold the door open for her.
 
She reaches over my head and touches the frame of the door lightly with her warm hand, brushing it lightly against my fingers.

“After you,” she whispers, her mouth turning up at the corners, “m’lady,” she finishes lazily, causing my already flushed cheeks to deepen in color.

“
Definitely
cheeky,” I mutter, stumbling out the door and down the walkway to my car parked on the street.
 
I somehow manage to get the car doors open, and then after grappling with the seatbelt because I’m so damn flustered, we’re on our way to work.

Well, actually, with a brief detour to the coffee shop first.

“Hi, Henry!” I tell the drive-thru microphone when we pull up.
 
“I need two large coffees with soy milk, two sugars a piece, and an extra shot of espresso in each?”

“All business this morning!” the barista practically purrs through the microphone.
 
“Is your new girlfriend with you?”

“She’s not my girlfriend, Henry,” I mutter between clenched teeth, stealing a glance at Virago over my shoulder.
 
She’s looking out her window and not paying attention, I think.
 
But then, if she’s not paying attention, why is she smiling a little as she tugs on the seatbelt positioned over her chest?

I pay for the coffees (trying to ignore Henry’s knowing grin), and then it’s just a few blocks more to the library.
 
Virago doesn’t say very much as she takes a few sips from the to-go coffee cup, but when we pull into the parking lot at the library her eyes light up at old brick building nestled comfortably in front of us in the middle of the parking lot.
 

It’s not the main library of Boston, but the Thorn Branch Library has its own history.
 
The stained glass windows along the front edge of the parking lot—all depicting flowers in full bloom—were made by Tiffany over a century ago, and though the library itself is on the smallish side, it has one of the most robust communities behind it.
 
This was one of the buildings that was
almost
hit by the great Boston molasses flood (if you’re not from around here, you might never have heard of this.
 
No joke, this actually happened—a molasses storage tank burst and flooded the streets in the early twentieth century.
 
People died, buildings were destroyed…all from molasses!), so it has historical significance because it was spared, too.

No matter what though, history and pretty stained glass windows aside…there’s a feeling I get, deep in my heart, when I pull into the parking lot of Thorn Branch Library.

Because, no matter what, this place has been here for me.
 
My co-workers evolved into some of my closest friends.

In a library?
 
I’m at home.

I’m so excited to share this with Virago.
 
Even if it’s just for a day.
 
Even just for a little while…I want to show her the place that makes me the happiest in the world.
 
I don’t know why I think she’d understand that, but as I sneak a glance at her, I know she does.
 
She recognizes that this is a good place, too, as she gazes at the building with a soft smile brightening her features.
 

“This is where you work?” she asks, gesturing to the library.
 
I turn off the car, take the keys out of the ignition and smile at her.

“Yeah,” I say, taking my coffee cup out of the holder.

“It’s a castle,” she breathes.

I glance at the building, my head to the side.
 
I guess it sort of
is
a castle.
 
It has three brick towers and turrets (though they’re only two stories high), and with the stained glass windows colorfully marching along the side of the building…sure, I can see a castle.
 
After all, I thought it looked like a castle, too, when I came for the job interview here many years ago now.
 

“Thank you,” I tell her, and we both get out of the car.
 
“So,” I tell her, chewing on my lower lip.
 
I’m not exactly certain how to break it to her that Mondays are always Kid Days, and on Kid Days you’re liable to get a migraine if you’re not a big fan of kids.
 

One of the first school buses is pulling up now.
 

“There’s going to be a lot of children,” I begin to tell her, but the school bus doors are swinging open, and a tidal wave of kids pours out of the bus onto the pavement of the parking lot.
 
Shouting, screaming, laughing, ecstatic kids.
 
Alice, the head of the children’s department and a good friend of mine, is unlocking the library doors from the inside, opening the doors wide to accommodate the press of children.
 
Her long blonde hair is piled on top of her head in a sweeping curve, and her cat glasses twinkle from their beaded chain around her neck.
 
Today she’s wearing skinny jeans and a vanilla blouse, impeccable as always—I have no idea how it stays that impeccable around the kids, but that just happens to be one of her super powers.

“Hey, Alice!” I wave to her and trot across the sea of children and pavement to give her a big hug.
 
Alice peers over my shoulder, her brows rising over the cat glasses as she picks them up and perches them on top of her little nose.
 
She’s staring at Virago.

“Well,” is all she says, grinning at me as I instantly begin to shake my head.

“It’s really not what you think—” I begin, but she waves her hand, chuckles, lets the children flow into the library around the three of us, like a dam that’s burst, water flooding everything.

The day’s already begun, and I haven’t gotten a chance to explain that Virago is not, in fact, my girlfriend.
 
That I have not, in fact, broken up with Nicole.

As I walk behind the circulation desk, my stomach clenches at that thought.

No, I haven’t broken up with Nicole.
 
Not yet.

That’s tonight.

I take a deep breath and turn on my computer as the kids’ happy chatter becomes background noise.
 
I turn to Virago who’s followed me quietly to my desk.
 

“Do you want me to tell you where any particular books are?
 
You should be entertained for hours…we have everything you could think of…probably…”
 
I trail off, clear my throat.
 
“Do you want more coffee?” I ask, indicating her already empty to-go cup.
 
“Do you
need
anything?” I fret.

“No,” she says with a soft smile.
 
“I am perfectly content, Holly.
 
Please do not trouble yourself on my account.”
 

“Okay,” I say, poking at my keyboard as my old computer begins to make the whirring noise that indicates that it’s
thinking
about starting up.
 
I mean to say something else to her, but this little girl (I’m thinking maybe she’s five or six) that I’ve never seen before runs up to me with a stricken look on her face, brunette curls bouncing.

“Miss, I have to tell you something,” she says, tugging on my shirtsleeve.

“Yes, sweetie?” I ask with a wide smile as I lean down toward her.
 

“I
really
have to go,” she tells me in a stage whisper, her face contorted in a dramatic grimace.

“Oh, okay…uh…”
 
I straighten and look wildly around for the teacher.

The rest of the day erupts into similar chaos.

One of the children goes missing (not really—she showed up in the basement where we keep the old research files, though how she got down there beyond the locked “employees only” door is somewhat beyond me), a little boy tinkles on the carpeting (but just a little, and our longsuffering janitor happened to be in today) and my coffee gets spilled onto my keyboard (not a huge tragedy, thankfully we have an extra keyboard in the storage room and I’m not electrocuted on the spot).
 
By the time lunch rolls around, I’m utterly exhausted in that good, bone-deep way that you get when you’ve done something that you love for too many hours in a row.

“You look like you need more coffee, missy,” says Alice, setting a cup down next to my mouse.
 
She poured the coffee into one of my favorite mugs:
 
it has two small chips out of the rim, and a well-worn slogan on the side:
 
“I’d rather be reading,” printed next to a little bookworm holding a big hardcover.
 
I take up the mug gratefully, blow on the billowing steam from the coffee’s surface and take a single, thankful sip.
 
Alice’s brows are up over her cat glasses as she watches me, her head to the side, as if she’s considering telling me something.

The most recent bus of kids just left, which means that we have a ten-minute break until the next bus shows up.
 
I stifle a yawn behind my wrist and blink up at my friend expectantly.
 
She clears her throat.
 
“Have you seen…”
 
Alice drifts off, glances at me meaningfully as she considers how to put whatever she’s going to say next.
 
She settles on: “Have you seen where that woman you brought in got to?”

Virago.
 
Oh, my God, I was so busy and this morning was so crazy that, somehow, I forgot about
Virago
.
 
Alice chuckles at my expression and pats my arm with a wry shake of her head.
 
“I wouldn’t be too worried—she looks perfectly content.
 
I just want you to catch a glimpse…it’s pretty cute.”
 
She jerks her thumb toward the non-fiction history section and puts a finger over her lips in the universal gesture of “sh.”

I get up from my chair, move quietly around the corner and peek down the aisle.

Virago is seated on the floor, her back against a shelf of books, her legs folded in front of her gracefully, a book propped up on her lap, and her elbows propped on her knees as she carefully curves her body over the book, utterly intent on devouring it.
 
Her brows are furrowed in concentration, and she traces a few lines from the page with a long finger, entranced by what she’s reading.
 

My heart skips a beat as I watch her read that book.
 
She’s so obviously engrossed and delighted by what she’s finding between the covers.
 
If I’m not mistaken she’s reading one of our medieval histories right now—I know the shape of the book (it’s a big, clunky hardcover), even when it’s seated in her lap.
 
She seems to be devouring information on our world’s version of knights and castles and all the chivalry that went along with that, because there’s a small stack of other hardcovers and one paperback book beside her, all medieval histories.
 

I realize, as I watch her, an odd little fact, something I didn’t think about until this very moment.
 
Nicole?
 
She doesn’t like to read books.
 
I’ve never seen her reading anything but her phone or the paperwork that she’s brought home from the office.
 
I mean, it’s not a bad thing.
 
That’s just Nicole—she’s not a reader, and there’s nothing wrong with not being a reader.

But I didn’t know what it would do to me, seeing someone I find so incredibly attractive…seeing her
reading
.
 
Virago is
beautiful
, sitting there, reading that book, turning the pages with tapered fingers, her full lips pursed in concentration....
 

So much emotion floods through me at that moment that it takes my breath away.
 

God, I want her so badly in that moment, I don’t’ know what to do.

I snap out of it, try to stomp down on all that emotion.
 
I cough a little into my hand and Virago, a million miles away, raises her head and looks at me.

The moment our eyes connect, she smiles so widely that the entire aisle seems instantly brighter, like someone turned on a second set of lights.
 

My heart skips a beat as Virago rises, dusting off the bottom of her pants, holding the book elegantly in one hand as she strides toward me, prowling like a great cat.

“Time ran away from me,” she says almost breathlessly as she leans against the shelf beside me.
 
She stares down into my eyes, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
 
“What did I miss?”

“Nothing,” I tell her, reaching out between us and taking her hand.
 
One of her brows rises, and she glances at me questioningly.
 
I let go of her, feeling suddenly very self conscious.

“Do you…do you want more coffee?” I manage to ask her.
 

She smiles down at me, then, her smile deepening.
 
“Yes, surely.
 
That would be lovely.”

“Keep…keep reading,” I tell her, patting the book in her hands.
 
“We have comfortable chairs, if you want something nicer to sit on than the ground…”
 
I gesture over to the wall of couches alongside the biography section.

She shrugs, gazes down at me, her eyes flashing with a blue fire.
 
“I’m fine here, Holly.
 
Thank you.
 
Don’t trouble yourself on my account.”
 
She reaches out and grabs my hand at that moment, squeezing it gently before she lets it go.
 

I turn away from her, practically holding my breath as I try to quell my heartbeat.
 
I stumble, unseeingly, toward the coffee nook to make her a cup.