Chapter 2
TURBO CURSED HIS STUPID clumsiness. Normally he was surehanded as well as surefooted, but Harris had the ability to bring out the very worst in him. Always had. From that time in high school when he’d accidentally dropped that entire can of red paint over her, to the time he’d toilet papered her house thinking it belonged to the chemistry teacher who’d given him an F, despite the extra credit he’d paid the valedictorian to do for him.
And of course, he’d had to joke about it. It was his default way of dealing with life. He’d been doing better lately, but again, Harris brought out the worst in him.
His mouth moved before he could stop it. “You did that on purpose just so you could see me on my hands and knees at your feet again, didn’t you?”
Harris’s mouth opened and closed, and he cursed his flapping tongue. It had been obvious the last time that her papers were uber-important. He should have been more careful. And he shouldn’t have joked about it this time. Harris never did think his jokes were funny. He’d had the biggest crush on her in high school. But the more he tried to make her laugh, the more annoyed she got at him. He’d finally given up. On making her laugh, anyway. The crush hadn’t gone away quite as easily. Kinda felt like it was still there, actually.
His eyes skimmed over the adorable freckles on her face, avoiding her glare, before he knelt at her feet. “Oh, Queen Harris, I pay thee homage...”
“Shut up, Turbo.”
He started to gather up her papers, which hadn’t scattered quite so badly this time. “I thought you liked Shakespeare.”
“That wasn’t Shakespeare.”
“It was pretty darn close. Give me a few more minutes, and I’ll think of something that rhymes with Harris and really wow you.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“What? Me wowing you? Of course it is.”
“You thinking,” she snapped, grabbing her papers with more force this time. She wasn’t even trying to keep from wrinkling them.
“Whatever.” He snatched up the last ones and straightened. “Here, I already have it. Oh, Queen Harris. I hope I don’t embarrass, you in Paris, with hair like carrots.”
If it were possible, she jerked to a stop, and her gaze drilled holes in his skull. “What. Did. You. Say?” she said through clenched teeth.
“You liked it, didn’t you?” He grinned. He hadn’t done anything offensive, nothing that involved paint or toilet paper anyway, so she had to be faking her anger. She’d be smiling any minute.
“You said my hair was like carrots.”
“Carrots kind of rhymed.”
“Have you ever read Anne of Green Gables?”
“Nope,” he said easily. He didn’t have to think about it. He’d never actually read a book.
She rolled her eyes. “Of course.”
The thought finally hit him that she wasn’t going to laugh. And then he remembered why he avoided books, libraries, and, most of all, librarians. Everything, every single thing, that they did reminded them of some ridiculous book reference. It was like they spoke in code most of the time. After all, when one didn’t read books, one hardly got the book jokes.
Harris had always had that mysterious way about her. Still, he’d crushed on her big time, not just because he found her green eyes, auburn hair, and light, almost translucent skin with the overlay of freckles fascinating, but because when she didn’t have her nose in a book, she was quietly seeking out and talking to the kids that seemed left out and alone. He’d seen her helping kids like himself with homework and reading assignments. Never him. But kids like him. The ones the teachers didn’t want to bother with because they’d already been labeled as stupid or slow.
It bothered him. Mostly because it was true. He was stupid. He was slow. And he couldn’t read. Which was why he avoided libraries and librarians. And it was why he’d told Harris no, he couldn’t help her put her papers back together. Without numbers, how the heck would he figure out which paper went where?
“Are you done insulting me?” Harris asked. One hip jutted out, but she had both hands in a death grip on the stack of papers.
“Are you done making ridiculous accusations?” he asked. When had he insulted her? He bent and scooped up her stack of books. “Come on, we’d better catch up to Pap and DeShaun. Pap can handle himself, but I signed him out of the home, so if anything happens to him, his daughters will be down my throat.”
She sighed and fell into step beside him; from the droop of her shoulders, she’d resigned to walk with him. Funny, no matter how hard he tried, he’d never been able to impress her. Guess some things never changed. He’d thought his little rhyme was pretty funny and kind of good for being spur of the moment.
He shrugged it off. Probably was too much of a stretch for the serious librarian to be interested in the brainless truck driver who couldn’t even read.
Harris’s phone rang.
He shoved the books into one arm and held his other out for the papers. “I’ll take them,” he said.
“No.” The word came out clipped, like she was angry, and he wondered what he’d done this time. Or maybe she was still mad from last time, whatever he’d done. She clutched the papers to her chest as she fumbled in her purse, one handed, for her phone.
She finally got it, swiping and holding it to her ear. “Hello?”
Turbo kicked a small rock off the sidewalk, listening unashamed to her conversation.
Harris gasped. “No!” A pause. “I mean, I’m happy for you. Thrilled... Yes, I know this is the opportunity of a lifetime. No, really. I’ll be fine... Sure, of course. Call your family. They’re going to be so excited for you... Thanks. I’d love tickets. Great... Bye.”
Her rigid posture slumped as her hand dropped to her side. She closed her eyes for a second and sighed.
“Hey, watch where you’re going.” Turbo grabbed her arm as she almost tripped over a weed-covered crack in the sidewalk.
“Thanks.” Her voice was soft and subdued.
“Someone killed your pet kitten?”
One lip pulled back, and she gave him a look.
“No? Worse?” He pretended to think. “Your mother’s stuck in jail in Iran and won’t make your birthday party.”
She gave a little snort. “That might actually be a good thing, but no.”
A good thing? Interesting. “So, what could be worse than dead kittens and mothers in jail? Hmm.” He glanced sideways at her. Still no smile, but her face didn’t look quite as pinched. “The Russians developed a bug that destroys coffee beans, and in ten days, the world’s supply of coffee will be exhausted.”
One corner of her mouth turned up. “Maybe if that were cocoa beans and chocolate...”
“So that’s it? That’s what has you so bummed? Chocolate shortage?” He shook his head. “Man, some people are so shallow.”
She did laugh that time, and he felt a thrill of victory shoot up his chest.
“Hey. It’s not shallow. Millions of people are dependent on the chocolate trade for their livelihood.” Her face fell, and Turbo was suddenly aware of dusk falling. “That’s not it. I’m raising money to buy books for the library in the new pediatric hospital that just opened by staging a production of Annie.” She lifted her arms a fraction, indicating the papers in them. “My leading man just got offered a role on an off-Broadway production. He has to back out. We were supposed to start practicing tomorrow.” She threw her head back and exhaled sharply. “My scripts are a jumbled mess, I have no leading man, and if it weren’t so important for those kids to have access to books, I’d...”
“Go hide in your closet and hoard chocolate bars?” Turbo suggested.
“That actually sounds like a good idea right now.” Harris didn’t smile.
As they rounded the corner, Pap and DeShaun came into sight, waiting at the entrance to the assisted care facility.
“If you really want to help me, you could use the activity room tables to start sorting these scripts.” Harris n
odded at the haphazard bunch of papers in her arms.
Uh...
He was saved from answering by DeShaun. “Losers! You’re not even running,” he scoffed, little boy fashion.
“You get a little older, son, and you’ll slow down for a pretty girl too.” Pap smacked the top of DeShaun’s helmet.
“Girls are dumb.” DeShaun wrapped both arms around Pap and squeezed. “I’m going home.” He straightened and looked at Turbo. “You still coming later?”
Turbo nodded. “You get your homework done, and I’ll be there to whoop your butt on Space Lizards at least once.”
“Ah, man, it’s Friday night. I don’t have to have my homework done until Sunday.”
“That’s right. But I’m not playing Space Lizards if it’s not done when I stop in.”
“That sucks. But you’re the only one that can get through the Alligator Belt.” DeShaun kicked the sidewalk, making his rollerblades spin.
“I’ll bring Mrs. Silcrest’s cookies, too.”
“Hope they’re the ones with the icing.”
“She knows you like ’em. Take a shower, and I’ll make sure Mrs. Silcrest’s cookies have icing.”
DeShaun snorted. “That’s because you’ll flirt with her and she’ll do anything you want. She thinks you’re hand-some.” His voice went high and singsong on the last word.
Turbo held out a fist to bump then did the short hand motions he and DeShaun had made up as their own special handshake.
“That’s because I am, you little turkey.”
“Quit calling me a turkey, dork.” DeShaun gave his hand a final slap before skating off.
“He lives close?” Harris asked with a wrinkled brow and a concerned look at the darkening sky.
“Yeah.”
“It’s not far from the library. Wonder why I’ve never seen him there?”
Turbo stared at her from under his ball cap. She sounded truly puzzled, like a kid would voluntarily go to the library if there was anything else they could be doing instead. He’d rather scrub out garbage cans, put a roof on in one-hundred-degree weather, or paint high-powered electrical lines wrapped in tinfoil.
Had he ever set foot in a library without being forced? Stupid question because the answer was an obvious no. Harris seemed serious, though.
He shrugged. “Maybe he’s allergic to bookworms. Are they gluten free?”
Harris narrowed her eyes. “Maybe he hangs around with people who would rather play video games than read.”
Turbo looked away. “Yeah. That must be it.”
Pap had made it to the door. They opened it, and he wheeled in. He’d be in a big rush to catch the tail end of supper and be able to regale all the other residents about their adventures this afternoon before bingo started in a half an hour. Before rounding the corner headed toward his room, Pap looked back at them and smirked, lifting his fingers in a little wave. Turbo could almost imagine he was going to gleefully inform Mrs. Silcrest that her cookies had lost out to another woman’s red hair and books. If only.
“So, Pap is your dad, and DeShaun is your son?” Harris asked in a distracted tone as she set the papers down on an empty counter and started to go through them, flipping them over so they were all facing up. He could do that.
He set the books down and took the papers. “Deliver your books. I’ve got this.” She glanced over at him with one brow raised, reminding him he’d not answered her question.
He met her eyes. “No and no.”
“Shouldn’t you be out with some hot date soaking up the neon lights? It’s Friday night after all,” she said as she focused on sorting through the pile of books.
“Is that what you think I should be doing?” he asked in a low tone, trying to copy her disinterested air.
She shrugged, studying the spine of a book before placing it in a pile of its own.
His chest pinched, and his mouth started running to cover it. “It’s Friday, and you’re obviously not going on a hot date either. Is this your way of begging me for a date? Because you already heard, I’ve got bingo and a sweet lady who’s making me cookies. With icing. Then I’ve got a video game championship to win, and that could take all night. So, as fun as it would be to spout poetry and buy flowers, I’m booked.”
She started sputtering halfway through his speech and barely waited for him to stop before she shrilled, “I wasn’t begging for a date.”
He shrugged, keeping his head down and pretending to be absorbed in fixing the papers so she wouldn’t see his grin. “You have your version, I have mine.”
“Yours is the made-up fantasy version.”
“Seems fitting, since you live in a fantasy world.” He jerked a thumb at her books. “It’s okay though, ’cause I can cancel my plans to get drunk and find a hot chick tomorrow night and take you out. Although there won’t be poetry.”
“I’m busy,” Harris bit out.
“I’m not.” The perky, blond nurse that was often on evening shift walked up behind them. “If you’re offering dates, I’ll take you up on it.” She laughed and grabbed his arm, looking up and winking. “I can be just as much fun as you.”
“I bet you can.” He looked at her nametag. It started with a “T,” but he couldn’t remember, so he winked instead. He managed to keep from backpedaling only by imagining Harris laughing at him as he struggled to get away from the clinging hand. “I was kidding, though. I’m definitely busy tomorrow night.”
“I heard you were getting drunk and picking up hot chicks. I can help with that.”
Harris snorted softly.
“Um, actually, no. I, uh, I’ve got something else, I...” He cleared his throat. “I have to work on my truck.” He shifted away, and her arm dropped. He bent his head over the papers like he was doing something that needed a lot of concentration.
“I can help.”
He flashed his dimples at her before looking back down. “I’ll let you know if I need any.”
“Text me.”
“Sure thing.” If he had her number. Which he didn’t.
T-nurse walked off. Turbo glanced at Harris. She’d finished sorting her books and had two in each hand.
“When you’re done there, just let the pile sit unless you want to start working on getting thirty scripts separated and in order. I need to deliver the books.”
He’d kind of expected Harris to tease him about T-nurse, but it was Harris, and she had her serious face back on. Did she ever let loose and smile, laugh with abandon? Man, he wanted to find out. No, he wanted to be the one to make her laugh.
He fixed the last paper in the pile and set the stack down. “I’ve got time; I can deliver the books.”
“That’s great.” She dug through her purse for a pen and a sheet of paper. “Here are the names of the residents I visit. Just write down the names of the titles they want to borrow for next week, and cross off the names of the books they give you back.”
Heavy and hot, Turbo’s stomach dropped while his chest tightened and squeezed. “Uh...” He was an expert at getting out of situations where he had to read or write. Sure, he could recognize his name and a few easy words, but there was no way he could do what she’d just asked.
He glanced down at the paper and pen she held out to him then to the stack of books. His face flushed hot then cold.
He forced his lips to quirk in a devious grin and lifted a brow. Taking the paper from her hand, he said, “I bet you have this list all organized and easy to follow.”
Her face revealed no hint of distress.
He nodded, pretending to try to hide his smirk. “I think this could be fun.”
Her brows drew down.
“Yeah.” He glanced at the first room number on the list then grabbed a stack of two books from the middle of the line Harris had organized. “I think the resident in room 203 would like these books more than the ones she asked for.”
Yep. She opened her mouth to protest. He flashed his best cocky grin and turned.
“No
. Wait.” Harris stomped her foot. “Forget it. I can tell you’re going to screw everything up, probably on purpose. I’ll just do it myself.”
“Nah. Don’t worry about it. They’ll thank me eventually. I’m going to broaden their reading tastes.”
She snatched the paper out of his hand and held her hand out for the books. “Hand them over.”
He acted reluctant, trying to look guilty and innocent at the same time. Meanwhile, his heart beat painfully, and the back of his throat tightened. What would it be like to actually be real? He shoved that thought down as soon as it appeared. Harris would hate him more than she already did if she knew the truth.
Chapter 3
“‘AN ELEPHANT’S FAITHFUL, one hundred percent.’” Harris finished Horton Hatches the Egg and closed the book. The children at her feet groaned and begged for another story until the teenaged helper at the afterschool activity center gathered them up and shuffled them over to the gym floor for game time.
Gathering up the other books that she’d brought from the library to read, Harris stood and walked over to the kitchenette area where her friends, Cassidy and Kelly, stood chatting while Cassidy’s two-year-old twins toddled around with their sippy cups.
Monday and Thursday evenings after the library closed, Harris always tried to come and read a few books to the kids at the center. She loved helping the kids, and sometimes it was the only time she got to see Cassidy and Kelly, now that they were both married. To Turbo’s brothers.
“That’s one of my favorite books,” Kelly said as Harris set the pile down with Horton on top.
“Me too.” Which was why she brought it so often. She slumped down on a barstool but tried to put a smile on her face. “How is everything going with both of you?”
“Life is still crazy and doesn’t seem like it’s going to get any calmer any time soon,” Cassidy said with a laugh.
Serious Fun Page 2