Page 3 of The Way We Win

It’s hard to afford rent, a car payment, groceries, and save for college—or anything else—on a high school librarian’s salary, so working at the restaurant helps a lot. It also introduced us to a whole family of new friends.

I picked up Edward a few years ago when his sister Rachel moved here to be the new nurse for Miss Gina Rosario. MissGina is this rich old blind lady who lives north of town in a gorgeous, Italian-style villa overlooking the bay.

She’s sort of everyone’s honorary grandmother, and I think she might be a little psychic—or maybe that’s just the New Orleans in me. Wise old ladies always seem to know things before they happen.

Edward is mildly neurodivergent, and Rachel had been so worried about him starting at a new high school and not knowing anybody.

Jack’s brother Zane thought helping me would be a good way for him to establish a familiar, quiet place if he needed it, and after how good they’ve always been to me, I said yes so fast…

That bit of kindness (along with some pretty intense chemistry) is why Zane is now Rachel’s husband.

It’s a win for me, too, because Edward is one of my best library aides. I’m pretty sure he’s read every book on the shelves.

“You take the book from the library, but the book actually takes you on the date.” I try to explain the concept in a way a second-grader will understand.

Kimmie’s little face only squints harder. “But how does it do that? Books can’t drive.”

“When you read the book, the story takes you on a journey in your mind.” I boop her button nose, channeling my inner elementary-school teacher.

It’s been years since I worked with her age group, but it all comes back.

“It’s a metaphor.” Edward’s logical voice joins our conversation. “It could even qualify asanthropomorphism, since you’re attributing human behavior to an inanimate object.”

Pressing my lips together, I watch Kimmie’s amber eyes widen. She nods, pretending very hard to understand all the big words he just said.

Ever since Edward called herKim, she acts very mature whenever he explains anything. It’s hilariously cute.

“Here, sweetie.” I hand her a stack of die-cut cards with thewordsRomance,Adventure, andSci-Fiprinted on them. “Put the red labels on the top shelves, the yellow on the middle, and the blue on the bottom.”

I got this idea from social media—where I get all my ideas. The students pick a book and get points for reading that add up to prizes like a Starbucks gift card or a free car wash or whatever else I can get local businesses to donate.

Yes, it’s bribery, and I’ve done my best to choose old and new titles in different genres. Our school library serves grades 7-12, which is a tough mix, but as a certified bookworm myself, I enjoy the challenge of trying to hook even the most reluctant readers.

“I can’t believe you’re already in second grade,” I say as Kimmie takes the labels off my fingers, ready to march them over to the shelves. “It seems like last year you were starting kindergarten.”

“That was three years ago, Miss Allie,” she says, still acting like a small grown-up. “I never take a nap at school now, and we won’t even drop sticks this year.”

“What does it mean to drop sticks?” It’s Edward’s turn to be confused.

“If you don’t walk in the line straight or if you forget to take your tray to the window after lunch or if you talk during reading circle…” Kimmie counts on her fingers. “You have to drop a stick. First grade was hard, but now that I’m in second grade, I do everything right.”

“What happens if you don’t?” He’s completely serious, not a hint of a tease.

She hesitates at his question, then shrugs. “I just will!”

Again, I fight a laugh at these two.

I really love everything about my job, and lately, it’s the one thing distracting my brain from the very real fear pressing against my temples any time I’m alone with my thoughts.

Less than a month ago, I got the text alert on my phoneI’ve been dreading since we fled New Orleans: my ex-husband, Austin’s father, is out on parole in Louisiana.

Rip Sinclair is the worst mistake I’ve ever made.

I was so young and stupid when he pulled up to the Sister’s Court restaurant in his leather jacket and motorcycle and tattoos and glittering green eyes.

I had no sense of self-preservation, and like a child, I believed when I got pregnant, we were supposed to get married.

Rip believed once we got married, Austin and I became his property. No matter how many laws he broke or how dangerous his life dealing drugs became, in his mind, we belonged to him.

---