What is he doing here?
The man shifted as he leaned against her counter, his messenger bag swinging softly at his lower hip. Then he glanced over his shoulder and met her gaze. He had blue crystalline eyes, inky black hair, and a heart-stopping smile that made her look away shyly—a nervous remnant of her high school years when the cool kids like him had picked on her because of the heavy back brace she wore.
The brace was gone. No one was going to laugh at her anymore, and even if they did, she was confident enough not to find the closest closet to cry in these days.
“Hey,” he said. “Are you Lacy Shaw, the librarian here?”
She forced her feet to keep walking forward. “I am. And you are?”
He turned and held out a hand. “Paris.” He suspended his hand in midair, waiting for her to take it. When she hesitated, his gaze flicked from her face to her hand and then back again.
She blinked, collected herself, and took his hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Lacy Shaw.”
Paris’s dark brows dipped farther.
“Right,” she giggled nervously. “You didn’t need me to introduce myself. You just asked if that’s who I was. Do you, um, need help with something? Finding a book maybe?”
“I’m actually here for the class,” he said.
“The computer skills class?” She walked around the counter to stand behind her computer. “The course instructor hasn’t arrived yet.” She looked at the Apple Watch on her wrist. “It’s still a little early though. You’re not late until you’re less than five minutes early. That’s what my mom always says.”
Lacy had been wanting to offer a computer skills class here for months. There was a roomful of laptops in the back just begging for people to use them. She’d gotten the computer skills teacher’s name from one of her regular patrons here, and she’d practically begged Mr. Montgomery over the phone to take the job.
“The class runs from today to next Thursday. It’s aimed toward people sixty-five and over,” she told the man standing across from her, briefly meeting his eyes and then looking away. “But you’re welcome to attend, of course.” Although she doubted he’d fit in. He appeared to be in his early thirties, wore dark clothes, and looked like his idea of fun might be adding a tattoo to the impressive collection on his arms.
Paris cleared his throat. “Unless I’m mistaken, I am the instructor,” he said. “Paris Montgomery at your service.”
“Oh.” She gave him another assessing look. She’d been expecting someone…different. Alice Hampton had been the one to recommend Paris. She was a sweet old lady who had sung the praises of the man who’d rented the room above her garage last year. Lacy never would’ve envisioned the likes of this man staying with Mrs. Hampton. “Oh, I’m sorry. Thank you for agreeing to offer some of your time to our senior citizens. A lot of them have expressed excitement over the class.”
Paris gave a cursory glance around the room. “It’s no problem. I’m self-employed, and as I told you on the phone, I had time between projects.”
“You’re a graphic designer, right?” she asked, remembering what Alice had told her. “You created the designs for the Sweetwater Bed and Breakfast.”
“Guilty. And for a few other businesses in Sweetwater Springs.”
Lacy remembered how much she’d loved the designs when she’d seen them. “I’ve been thinking about getting something done for the library,” she found herself saying.
“Yeah? I’d be happy to talk it over with you when you’re ready. I’m sure we can come up with something simple yet classy. Modern. Inviting.”
“Inviting. Yes!” she agreed in a spurt of enthusiasm before quickly feeling embarrassed. But that was her whole goal for the library this year. She wanted the community to love coming in as much as she did. As a child growing up, the library had been her haven, especially during those years of being bullied. The smell of books had come to mean freedom to her. The sound of pages turning was music to her ears.
“Well, I guess I better go set up for class.” Paris angled his body toward the computer room. “Five minutes early is bordering on late, right?” he asked, repeating her words and making her smile.
He was cool, gorgeous, and charming—a dangerous combination.
* * *
Paris still wasn’t sure why he’d agreed to this proposition. It paid very little, and he doubted it would help with his graphic design business. The librarian had been so insistent on the phone that it’d been hard to say no to her. Was that the same woman who’d blushed and had a hard time making eye contact with him just now? She looked familiar, but he wasn’t sure where or when they’d ever crossed paths.
He walked into the computer room in the back of the library and looked around at the laptops set up. How hard could it be to teach a group of older adults to turn on a computer, utilize the search engine, or set up an email account? It was only two weeks. He could handle that.
“You’re the teacher?” a man’s voice asked behind him.
Paris whirled to face him. The older man wore a ball cap and a plaid button-down shirt. In a way, he looked familiar. “Yes, sir. Are you here for the class?”
The man frowned. “Why else would I ask if you were the teacher?”
Paris ignored the attitude and gestured to the empty room. “You have your pick of seats right now, sir,” Paris told him. Then he directed his attention to a few more seniors who strolled in behind the older man. Paris recognized a couple of them. Greta Merchant used a cane, but he knew she walked just fine. The cane was for show, and Paris had seen her beat it against someone’s foot a couple of times. She waved and took a seat next to the frowning man.
“Paris!” Alice Hampton said, walking into the room.
He greeted her with a hug. After coming to town last winter and staying at the Sweetwater B&B for a week, he’d rented a room from Alice for a while. Now he had his own place, a little cabin that sat across the river.
All in all, he was happy these days, which is more than he could say when he lived in Florida. After his divorce, the Sunshine State had felt gloomy. He hadn’t been able to shake the feeling, and then he’d remembered being a foster kid here in Sweetwater Springs, North Carolina. A charity event for bikers had given him an excuse to come back for a visit, and he’d never left. Not yet, at least.
“I told all my friends about this class,” Alice said. “You’re going to have a full and captive audience with us.”
Nerves buzzed to life in his stomach. He didn’t mind public speaking, but he hoped most were happy to be here, unlike the frowner in the corner.
More students piled in and took their seats, and then the timid librarian came to the door. She nibbled on her lower lip, her gaze skittering everywhere but to meet his directly. “Do you need anything?”
Paris shook his head. “No, we have plenty of computers. We’ll just get acquainted with them and go from there.”
She looked up at him now, a blush rising over her high cheekbones. She had light brown hair spilling out of a messy bun and curling softly around her jawline. She had a pretty face, made more beautiful by her rich brown eyes and rose-colored mouth. “Well, you know where I am if you do need something.” She looked at the group. “Enjoy!”
“You hired a looker!” Greta Merchant hollered at Lacy. “And for that, there’ll be cookies in your future, Ms. Lacy! I’ll bring a plate next class!”
The blush on Lacy’s cheeks deepened as her gaze jumped to meet his momentarily. “Well, I won’t turn down your cookies, Ms. Greta,” she said.
Paris watched her for a moment as she waved and headed back to her post.
“The ink in those tattoos going to your brain?” the frowner called to him. “It’s time to get started. I don’t have all day, you know.”
Paris pulled his gaze from the librarian and faced the man. “Neither do I. Let’s learn something new, shall we?”
An hour later, Paris had taught the class of eleven to turn on and turn off the laptops. It’
d taken an excruciating amount of time to teach everyone to open a browser and use a search engine. Overall, it’d gone well, and the hour had flown by.
“Great job,” Alice said to him approvingly. She patted a motherly hand on his back that made him feel warm and appreciated. That feeling quickly dissipated as the frowner headed out the door.
“I already knew most of what you taught,” he said.
Who was this person, and why was he so grouchy?
“Well, then you probably didn’t need this class,” Paris pointed out politely. “Actually, you probably could’ve taught it yourself.”
The frowner harrumphed. “Next time teach something.”
Paris nodded. “Yes, sir. I’ll do my best.”
“Your best is the only acceptable thing,” the man said before walking out.
Paris froze for a moment, reaching for the memory that the frowner had just stirred. Your best is the only acceptable thing. His foster dad here in Sweetwater Springs used to say that to him. That man had been nothing but encouraging. He’d taught Paris more about life in six months than anyone ever had before or since.
Paris hadn’t even caught his student’s name, and there was no roster for this computer skills class. People had walked in and attended without any kind of formal record.
Paris watched the frowner walk with slow, shuffled steps. He was old, and his back was rounded. A hat sat on his head, casting a shadow on his leathered face. All Paris had really seen of him was his deep, disapproving frown. It’d been nearly two decades since Paris had laid eyes on Mr. Jenson, but he remembered his former foster dad being taller. Then again, Paris had been just a child.
When Paris had returned to Sweetwater Springs last year, he’d decided to call. Mrs. Jenson had been the one to answer. She’d told him she didn’t remember a boy named PJ, which is the name Paris had gone by back then. “Please, please, leave us alone! Don’t call here again!” she’d pleaded on the line, much to Paris’s horror. “Just leave us alone.”
The memory made Paris’s chest ache as he watched the older man turn the corner of the library and disappear. He resisted the urge to follow him and see if it really was Mr. Jenson. But the Jensons had given Paris so much growing up that he was willing to do whatever he could to repay their kindness—even if it meant staying away.
* * *
Lacy was checking out books for the Fields girls and their nanny when Paris walked by. She watched him leave. If you flipped to the word suave in the dictionary, his picture was probably there.
“I plan to bring the girls to your summer reader group in a couple weeks,” Mrs. Townsend said.
Of course she did. That would be a convenient nap time for her.
“I always love to see the girls.” Lacy smiled down at the children. Their father, Granger Fields, and his family owned Merry Mountain Farms in town where Lacy always got her blue spruce for the holidays.
Lacy waved as the little girls collected their bags of books and skipped out with Mrs. Townsend following behind them.
For the rest of the afternoon, Lacy worked on ongoing programs and plans for the summer and fall. At six p.m., she turned off the lights to the building and headed into the parking lot.
She was involved with the Ladies’ Day Out group, a gaggle of women who regularly got together to hang out and have fun. Tonight, they were meeting at Lacy’s house to discuss a book that she’d chosen for everyone to read. They were in no way a book club, but since it was her turn to decide what they did, Lacy had turned it into one this time.
Excitement brimmed as she drove home. When she pulled up to her small one-bedroom house on Pine Cone Lane, she noticed two of her sisters’ cars already parked in the driveway. Birdie and Rose had texted her during the day to see what they could do to help. Seeing the lights on inside Lacy’s home, they’d evidently ignored Lacy’s claims that she didn’t need anything and had used her hideaway key under the flowerpot.
“Honey, I’m home!” Lacy called as she headed through the front door.
Birdie, her older sister by one year, turned to face her. “Hey, sis. Rose and I were just cleaning up for you.”
“Great.” Lacy set her purse down. “Now I don’t have to.”
“What is this?” Rose asked, stepping up beside Birdie. Rose was one year younger than Lacy. Their mom had been very busy those first three years of marriage.
Lacy looked at the small postcard that Rose held up.
“You were supposed to RSVP if you were going to your ten-year class reunion,” Rose said. “You needed to send this postcard back.”
“Only if I’m going,” Lacy corrected.
“Of course you’re going,” Birdie said. “I went to my ten-year reunion last year, and it was amazing. I wish we had one every year. I wouldn’t miss it.”
Unlike Lacy, her sisters had been popular in school. They hadn’t had to wear a bulky back brace that made them look like a box turtle in its shell. It had drawn nothing but negative attention during those long, tormenting years.
“It’s not really a time in my life that I want to remember,” Lacy pointed out as she passed them and headed into the kitchen for a glass of lemonade. Or perhaps she should go ahead and pour herself something stronger. She could tell she might need it tonight.
A knock on her front door made her turn. “Who is that?” Lacy asked. “I scheduled the book discussion for seven. It’s only six.” Lacy set down the glass she’d pulled from the cabinet and went to follow her sisters to the door.
“About that,” Birdie said a bit sheepishly. “We changed the plan at the last minute.”
Lacy didn’t like the sound of that. “What do you mean?”
“No one actually read the book you chose,” Birdie said as Rose let the first arrivals in. “Instead, we’re playing matchmaker tonight. What goes together better than summer and love?”
Lacy frowned. “If you wanted summer love, I could’ve chosen a romance novel to read instead.”
Birdie gave her a disapproving look. Lacy doubted anyone was more disappointed about tonight’s shift in festivities than her though.
Chapter Two
Paris hadn’t been able to fully concentrate for the last hour and a half as he sat in front of his computer working on a job for Peak Designs Architectural Firm. His mind was in other places. Primarily the library.
The Frowner, as he’d come to think of the old man in his class, was forefront in his mind. Was it possible that the Frowner was Mr. Jenson?
It couldn’t be. Mr. Jenson had been a loving, caring guy, from what Paris remembered. Granted, loving and caring were subjective, and Paris hadn’t had much to go on back then.
Mrs. Jenson had been the mother that Paris had always wished he had. She’d doted on him, offering affection and unconditional love. Even though Paris had been a boy who’d landed himself in the principal’s office most afternoons, Mrs. Jenson had never raised her voice. And Mr. Jenson had always come home from his job and sat down with Paris, giving him a lecture that had proved to be more like a life lesson.
Paris had never forgotten those lessons. Or that man.
He blinked the memories away and returned his attention to the design he was working on. It was good, but he only did excellent jobs. Your best is the only acceptable thing.
He stared at the design for another moment and then decided to come back to it tomorrow when he wasn’t so tired. Instead, he went to his Facebook page and searched Albert Jenson’s name. He’d done so before, but no profiles under that name had popped up. This time, one did. The user had a profile picture of a rose instead of himself. Paris’s old foster dad had loved his rose gardens. This must be him!
Paris scrolled down, reading the most recent posts. One read that Mr. Jenson had gone to the nursing home to visit his wife, Nancy.
Paris frowned at the news. The transition must have been recent because Mrs. Jenson had been home when he’d called late last year. She’d been the one to pretty much tell him to get lost.
> He continued to scroll through more pictures of roses and paused at another post. This one read that Mr. Jenson had just signed up for a computer skills class at the Sweetwater Library.
So it was true. Mr. Jenson, the foster dad who’d taught him so much, was also the Frowner.
* * *
Lacy had decided to stick to just lemonade tonight since she was hosting the Ladies’ Day Out group. But plans were meant to be changed, as evidenced by the fact that the book discussion she’d organized had turned into the women sitting around her living room, eyes on a laptop screen while perusing an online dating site.
“Oh, he’s cute!” Alice Hampton said, sitting on the couch and leaning over Josie Kellum’s shoulder as she tapped her fingers along the keys of Lacy’s laptop. Not that anyone had asked to use her computer. The women had just helped themselves.
Lacy reached for the bottle of wine, poured herself a deep glass, and then headed over to see who they were looking at. “I know him,” she said, standing between her sisters behind the couch. “He comes into the library all the time.”
“Any interest?” Josie asked.
Lacy felt her face scrunch at the idea of anything romantic with her library patron. “Definitely not. I know what his reading interests are and frankly, they scare me. That’s all I’ll say on that.”
She stepped away from her sisters and walked across the room to look out the window. The moon was full tonight. Her driveway was also full, with cars parked along the curb. She wasn’t a social butterfly by any means, but she looked like one this evening and that made her feel strangely satisfied.
“So what are your hobbies, Lacy?” Josie asked. “Other than reading, of course.”
“Well, I like to go for long walks,” Lacy said, still watching out the window.
Josie tapped a few more keys. “Mmm-hmm. What’s your favorite food?”
Lacy turned and looked back at the group. “Hot dogs,” she said, earning her a look from the other women.
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