Page 5 of The One Who Changed Everything

“Libraries sure have changed since I last stepped into one," I ventured, trying to bridge an ocean of history with levity and awkward small talk.

"And yet, quiet is still a requirement," she replied without looking up, the briefest quirk of her lips betraying her amusement at her own quip. She had this authoritative librarian thing down pat. And I was totally loving it.

“So, do I need a library card, or can I check you out another way?”

Had I really just said that? I cringed, looking away as my cheeks flushed. My brother would be laughing his butt off if he heard me.

The thought sobered my flirty thoughts. Before we went to the club that night, I’d gone golfing with him. He had even told me that he liked Sam. He said she brought out the real Evan.

Her eyes flickered to mine, a wrinkle deepening between them. “The borrowing limits on our library cards include twenty books and ten movies, audiobooks, or CDs.”

I let out a low whistle. Okay then. No more librarian pickup lines.

“Okay, I’d like a library card.”

Without even looking, she slid a form across the desk, and I moved to the side to fill it out as she helped the next patron. She was all smiles and sugar with the preschool-aged boy, and I couldn’t help but be jealous. A fact that boded well for my sanity, for sure.

"Any plans for updating the kids section?" the mother asked, her voice hopeful as she gestured toward the back corner, where I could see a faded mural and worn chairs. “The one in Greencastle just got an awesome storytime stage.”

Samantha's lips thinned, her professional mask slipping just enough to reveal a glimpse of frustration. "I've been pushing for a renovation for years. New books, updated furniture..." She sighed, catching herself. "But funding is always the hurdle."

"Such a shame," the mom murmured, her toddler tugging impatiently on her sleeve.

An older gentleman walked up, obviously overhearing the last bit. "Yes, it would be nice," he said in a tone that sounded like he was discussing the weather rather than the future of the children's area. "But with the budget we have, dreams are all they'll ever be." He proceeded to step behind the desk and sit atthe computer next to Sam. I eyed his nametag while pretending to focus on my form.

Patrick Henley, Library Director. Her boss, perhaps?

His dismissive comment hung in the air, and Samantha's shoulders tensed while she finished scanning the stack of picture books. I felt a tightness in my chest, the same protective instinct that had me charging into burning buildings.

Why did this matter to me? I had no real stake in the children’s section at this tiny library, and yet the hint of Samantha's disappointment bothered me. I shrugged off the feeling; I was here for a library card, not to get involved in municipal funding issues.

"Thanks, Sam. Tell Sophia I said hello," the young mother said before she led the little boy by the hand toward the door.

Samantha stiffened. "I will," she replied, but the warmth that usually accompanied such exchanges was noticeably absent. Her eyes didn't meet mine.

Sophia... The name echoed in my head, stirring up a whirlwind of questions. Who was Sophia? A friend? I could have asked, pushed her for an answer. But something in Samantha's guarded posture told me not to—told me she wasn't ready for me to know anything personal about her. My eyes flew to her left hand, reassuring me I hadn’t missed a wedding ring there.

Still pretending to fill out the short form, I observed the strained interaction between her and the director. He was leaning over her desk now, flipping through some papers with an air of authority that seemed unnecessary given the quiet efficiency with which she worked.

"Make sure these are filed correctly, Samantha. And avoid engaging in idle chit-chat about financing; it's not professional," he chided without even a glance in her direction.

"Of course, Mr. Henley," she replied, every word measured and controlled. But her hands betrayed her, clenching ever so slightly before returning to the keyboard.

Watching them, I recognized the subtle dance of power and resistance, a dynamic far too familiar from the high-stakes world of my family's expectations.

I slid my completed form across the desk. “All set.”

"Just need your proof of address," she prompted, her fingers poised over the keyboard after typing in the information I’d provided.

"Right. 42 Westbrook Lane, Unit C." I handed her my utility bill, glad I’d thought to grab it.

Something flashed across her face that I couldn’t identify. But as quickly as it had come, it was shuttered behind her implacable mask. She typed in the address and hit a few more buttons, then grabbed a piece of paper from the printer beside her desk.

"All set. Here’s your temporary card." She slid the paper across the desk, our fingertips nearly brushing, though she quickly pulled hers out of reach.

"Guess I'm officially a patron now. Do I get another welcome basket? Maybe a complimentary bookmark?"

"Budget cuts," she said, but this time the smile reached her eyes. "You'll have to make do with free knowledge and the occasional late fee."

---