Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 24135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 80(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 80(@300wpm)
Cynthia’s mom, Lauren is last. She’s the manager of the big luxurious lodge in town. I process her books and she lingers around. “Hey, are you looking to get set up?”
I cough, nearly choking on my saliva. “Excuse me?”
“I’m sorry,” she says with her cheeks starting to blush. “I didn’t mean to pry. I just… I know you’re new in town and… What’s your type?”
“I’m still getting settled in,” I say politely. “I’m not looking to date.”
“Oh, okay,” she says, looking disappointed that I won’t play matchmaker with her. “It’s just… I can ask around for you. If you want. I know a lot of people from the lodge.”
“I’m good, thanks,” I say, smiling even though I kind of want to crawl under the desk and hide.
“Come on, Cynthia,” Lauren says offering her hand. Cynthia runs over and grabs it.
She waves at me as she leaves. “Bye, Miss Hester.”
“Bye, Cynthia. See you next time.”
I take a deep breath as they walk to their car.
It’s so quiet in here now that I have the library all to myself.
What is my type? I wonder as I walk around, looking at the stacks of colorful books. I pull and straighten each book until the spines are lined up like a flat wall. It’s just more aesthetically pleasing that way. It’s more inviting.
I really don’t know what my type is. I’m twenty-five and I’ve never really had a boyfriend before. I mean there was Chris Zimmerman in grade ten, but we didn’t even kiss and it only lasted a week before he lied to the whole school saying he got under my bra. It turned out that he was definitely not my type.
My book boyfriends are all daring adventurous men, but I don’t really want that in real life. No, thank you. I’d rather be curled up with a thick book and a hot cup of tea and guys like that are always on the go. Dating someone like that would seriously impact my reading time and I don’t think that would go over well with me.
I’m not sure what I like. I guess I’ll know it when I see it. I haven’t seen it yet though…
Voices grab my attention and I peek out the window to see what’s going on. I suck in a breath of excitement when I see a bunch of pre-teens outside. There are three boys and a girl, and they’re hanging around my book display!
“Yes,” I whisper as my pulse races. My display is working!
It’s a cool spring day, so I put on my white cardigan and smooth out my tweed pencil skirt as I head for the door. These four would make perfect additions to my tween book club and I desperately want to recruit them. I have an amazing book in mind for them—one full of spies and danger and twists and a cat with an attitude. They’ll love it.
I adjust my black-rimmed glasses and casually walk outside. They all turn to me with guilty faces. One of the boy’s cheeks are bright red. They step back toward their bikes.
Awww. They don’t have to feel guilty for looking at my books! That’s what the display is for.
“See anything you like?” I ask I walk over with a smile.
The tallest boy walks backward as I approach and he knocks his bike over.
“It’s okay,” I say as I run my hand over a glossy cover. “You can look. I can even make you a library card and you can take some home.”
“Cool,” the girl says, her eyes darting away.
“Let me ask you a question,” I say in a stern tone as I narrow my eyes on them.
They all swallow hard and stare back at me with still faces.
“Do you prefer daring sword fights in far-off magical castles or clever detectives solving perplexing mysteries?” I ask them with a grin.
They just stare at me.
“Or, perhaps a thriller so deceiving you’ll— Wait a minute. Is that cigarettes I smell?”
They all start looking at each other in panic.
“What’s behind your back?”
The tall boy moves his arm and reveals a lit cigarette.
My mouth drops. “You’re smoking? Wait a tick, you’re not here for books! You’re here to smoke!”
“Don’t tell our moms,” the tall kid begs. “Please.”
“I definitely would if I knew who your mothers were,” I say as I march right up to him and hold out my hand. “Give it to me.”
He hands me the cigarette and I march over to the garbage can and throw it in.
“Do you know how bad smoking is for you?” I say as I march back over to them. “Oh, I have a book on it. Do you want to read it?”
“No thanks,” the girl says, looking at me funny.
“Well, if you did read it,” I say glaring at them, “you’d know that smoking causes cancer.”
“Um, Miss librarian lady,” the tall kid says, looking over my shoulder.