Club in less than four hours, and you’re only now checking out the book we’re supposed to be discussing?”
Samantha Fremont shrugged and swiped at a lock of auburn hair that always seemed to be falling into her eyes.
“I’m sorry, but I was in the middle of a Coco Chanel biography and I couldn’t put it down. Fascinating stuff, that. Anyway, I just need a copy to skim through on my lunch hour. You can tell me what happens, can’t you?”
Julia sighed and handed over a copy of Filling Your Well, the feel-good self-help memoir that had been chosen by this week’s discussion leader, Roxy Nash.
“It’s all about designing your life the way you want it, about taking chances and pursuing your goals,” she said,
“Oh. One of those books.” Sam made a face. “I should have known. Maybe I’ll stay home and watch reruns of Project Runway.”
“You have to come. We had a last-minute venue change, and it’s at my house.”
“Ooh. In that case, I’ll definitely be there. I understand Jamie Caine is living upstairs from you in all his glorious gorgeousness. How is it? Tell me everything!”
Julia rolled her eyes. “He’s lived upstairs from me for all of three hours now, and I’ve been working that entire time. It’s a little premature for me to offer an opinion.”
Samantha was a flirt of the highest order. In that, at least, she and Jamie were perfect for each other, though he was about a decade older.
“If Jamie lived under the same roof with me, I would never want to leave my house.”
Funny. Julia had the opposite reaction. She was wondering if she could bring a few blankets and pillows and camp out on the sofa in her office.
“I mean, think about it,” Sam went on. “He’s going to be showering up there. And sleeping, too, all warm and tousled and cuddly. I wonder if he wears pajamas.”
Julia’s imagination began to drift into dangerous waters, until she yanked it back safely to the shores of reality.
She cleared her throat. “Do you want to check out any other books to go with this one?” she asked, holding out Filling Your Well.
Sam gave a dreamy sigh. “No. This will do. Unless you know any hot romance novels featuring tall, gorgeous pilots.”
Julia could name several off the top of her head, but she had a feeling Samantha was only joking.
“I’ll make you a list and give it to you tonight. Maybe you can pick one for the next time you lead the book group,” she said, knowing perfectly well Sam’s tastes usually ran to celebrity memoirs and the occasional meaty historical drama.
“Perfect. So you said Jamie’s been there three hours. Has he brought any women home yet? Are they gorgeous?”
Oh, cripes. She hadn’t even thought about that.
“Again. I’ve been working here the entire time. I don’t expect I’ll have much reason to talk to the man at all.”
Sam looked disappointed that she didn’t have more dirt to dish up about her new tenant. “I might have to find some kind of excuse tonight to borrow a cup of sugar from your upstairs neighbor.”
“You would probably be disappointed. I’m not sure how many groceries he’ll have on hand. He seemed to be traveling light, just a duffel and a couple of boxes. One of them might have sugar, but I have a feeling baking cookies isn’t his primary goal in life.”
Sam snickered. “From what I hear, that’s an understatement.”
Why, oh why, had she ever said yes to Eliza?
Julia sighed and finished checking out the book for Sam. “Here you go,” she said.
“Thanks, sweetie.”
“Bundle up. It looks nasty out there,” she said, as her friend slipped the book club selection into her slouchy hand-sewn purse.
Sam tightened her scarf and pulled on matching mittens. “The perfect weather for an afternoon of cuddling by the fire with hot cocoa and a certain someone. I don’t have a fireplace or a certain someone right now, so I might have to settle for hot cocoa and the latest episode in the series I’m glomming right now.”
That actually sounded like a lovely afternoon to Julia, if she didn’t have to work.
“Here’s an idea,” she suggested. “You could always actually read the book you just checked out. We don’t meet until eight tonight.”
She would have preferred earlier, but the late meeting was a concession for those who had small children and liked to get bedtime out of the way first.
“Maybe. I’ll have to see. Catch you later tonight. Give Jamie a kiss for me.”
She rolled her eyes as Sam gave a cheery wave and headed out the door.
Sam always made Julia feel ancient. She wasn’t sure why. Yes, she was a few years older than Sam’s twenty-six, but thirty-two didn’t exactly make her a tottering old crone, did it?
Give Jamie a kiss for me. Why did Sam have to put that particular image in her head? The very thought of it left her feeling slightly breathless.
What was she going to do about this ridiculous crush she had on the man?
For the rest of the afternoon, she tried to put thoughts of Jamie out of her mind. It helped that the library was far busier than she expected for the Monday before Thanksgiving. She would have thought everyone in town would be too busy grocery shopping or cleaning their houses for upcoming family parties. Instead, a regular stream of patrons came through, renting videos, seeking reference information, or trying to go online. And plenty of her patrons still checked out books, much to her continual delight.
“Here you go,” she said as she scanned in Muriel Randall’s regular weekly allotment of cozy mysteries. “That should hold you for a few days.”
“I figured I had better stock up. We’ve got snow coming tomorrow, plus you’re closed on Thursday and Friday. I would hate to run out.”
Julia smiled at the neatly dressed older woman whose late husband had once run the butcher shop in town. “What are you doing for Thanksgiving dinner?” she asked.
Muriel slipped the books into her library bag with a smile that looked more than a little forced. “I was supposed to go to my son’s house in Boise, but his wife decided they should go to her family’s again this year. I’ll probably cook a turkey tenderloin and cuddle in with a good book.”
Julia’s throat tightened, both at the lonely image Muriel painted and because it felt entirely too familiar, given her own circumstances. “I’m helping to serve at the nursing home in Shelter Springs this year,” she said. “We can always use another set of hands. Why don’t you join me?”
“What could I do?” Muriel held up her shaky, wrinkled hands. “I’m not much good in the kitchen these days. I’m afraid I would cut myself.”
“There’s
