Page 4 of The Luminosity of Loriana Harper

“If she’s happy with the work.”

“Of course.” She laughed softly. “Yes, that was a given.” She scratched her nose. “Let me know when you have the next one ready to go.”

He checked his watch. “I should be able to do two more today, four tomorrow, and the rest on Monday.”

That Cheshire-cat smile was back. “That would be wonderful.” She eased into the chair and clicked the mouse several times before typing.

Interesting. The woman not only touch-typed, she was damn proficient at it. At the height of his programming days, Mitch’s fingers had flown across the keyboard as the ideas bombarded him. He sighed. Those days were long gone. And given he was only twenty-nine, wasn’t that a depressing thought?

He waved to Loriana as he passed the circulation desk, where she was checking out some books for a young man.

The brisk air and the low, gray clouds gave the promise of snow. It would be nice for the kids at the parade tomorrow night if snow covered the ground, but tonight it’d make for treacherous driving.

And speaking of tonight. He sat in the front seat and yanked out his phone.

Mission City Locals.

Ah yes, a singles group. He’d scoped it out when he first arrived in town, but had written it off. He clicked on the join button and was about to put the phone away when his application to the group was accepted. Okay, then, obviously not discerning. He’d shut off the geolocator on his phone as a privacy matter, so they—whoever they were—had no way of confirming he was even a resident of the town.

The rules of the group were in a pinned post, and as he scrolled, he quickly found the cuddle party. He clicked, and the information came up. A private address, with a start time of eight tonight. He scanned the rules, and they all seemed innocuous. A few comments extolled the fun of the event, and a few people tagged others with invitations. Overall, almost twenty people had signed up.

His finger hovered above the attending button. RSVPing wasn’t a requirement. Just show up, the post said. He scanned the list of attendees. Hey, Loriana Harper. He’d never heard of a cuddle party before, but the name probably explained everything. Of course, this might be a cover for an orgy, but he didn’t get that vibe. If the address was available for anyone in the group, then it’d be easy for the cops to drop by. They probably had better things to do than to break up an orgy anyway, and why was his mind going there?

Possibly because his mind kept wandering to the slender chief librarian. What did she hide beneath those plain clothes? A bright-blue sweater paired with jeans. Boring, perhaps, except her body had him sitting up and paying attention. Her smile was what attracted him, though. While Marnie’s was tentative, and coaxing one from her gave him joy, Loriana’s wide grin hit him in the gut. The woman was radiant when she beamed. Even when she frowned, she was striking.

And he had the same concerns about her safety as Marnie expressed. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. Okay, maybe he had. Marnie had guided him to the computer and said a few halting words, so he’d recognized her voice. The second voice, though, had caught his attention. Deeper and rich. Like a good scotch.

Accept.

He could always change his mind, but somehow he knew he wouldn’t.

A couple of hours later, he stood in the local men’s big-and-tall store. He’d love to be able to buy clothes off the rack, but that rarely worked. He selected a pair of plaid pajamas and headed to the dressing room. Fortunately, the installation of the other computers had gone as seamlessly as the first and he’d finished about an hour before he’d planned—leaving him time to run over to Abbotsford to pick up clothes for tonight. The suggested dress was nightwear. And although Mitch owned a pair of worn sleep pants and a distressed T-shirt, he wanted something new and, frankly, attractive. He wanted it clear he’d put some effort into this.

Heck, no guarantee Loriana would be there, let alone that she’d give him the time of day. Might she even think he was stalking her?

Am I stalking her?

The pajamas fit perfectly, long enough to cover his legs completely. The top was a bit loose across the chest, but nothing unacceptable. He was on the slender side, although he had a few muscles. He worked out on occasion, but preferred cardio over weights, so tended to run more than pumping iron. And since he didn’t have anyone he needed to impress, he didn’t give it much thought.

So why am I thinking about it now?

After changing back into his street clothes, he headed to the register and didn’t cringe when the salesperson rang up the purchase. Well, didn’t cringe as much as he might’ve before landing the library contract.

Marnie Jones.

Okay, so the woman was enigmatic and obviously hiding something. But what? She didn’t want credit? Ah, her largesse might affect her relationship with her boss. The dynamics might shift. Co-workers might treat her differently. Of course, none of this was really his business. Except, where had she come up with the dough? Ten brand-new high-end computers with curved monitors and several ergonomic keyboards and mouses cost a fortune. Certainly more than a librarian would make in a year. Unless librarians were quietly raking in the dough.

Ha. Paid by city hall? Not likely.

Maybe an inheritance? Savvy stock sales?

None of your goddamn business.

She was paying, and he was grateful. Nothing more to be said about it.

Once across the Mission-Abby bridge, he headed to the A&W for a burger and onion rings. He rarely indulged, but he wanted to get home to wash the pajamas as well as take a shower. And his beard could use a little trim. He wasn’t vain, but grooming was important. True in the corporate world, and just as important in the small-business world. His appearance represented his fledgling company.

The greasy smell of onion rings filled his car after he’d gone through the drive-thru, and he headed home. The condo on Second Avenue might be small, but he owned it. Well, he and the bank—with the bank owning the lion’s share. Still, each month he chipped away at that mortgage, and he’d own the place before he was fifty, so that counted for something.

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