Page 9 of The Librarians
Trying to hook up a woman he met only twenty-four hours ago with a man about whom he knows just as little was not a great idea. Jonathan was deeply aware of that even as he made his laughable attempt.
Except the guy is Ryan Kaneshiro’s roommate and Jonathan is desperate for an excuse, any excuse, to contact Ryan Kaneshiro again.
Thank God he edited down the roommate’s description of his ideal woman, because Jonathan distinctly remembers the words “Asian” and “mysterious” too. Altogether wouldn’t that have made for a fantastically fetishizing stereotype.
Despite Hazel’s gracious reply, he is sure his face is the shade of Santa Claus’s suit. What should he do? Carry on as if he hasn’t stepped in it or flee clumsily, as he longs to?
“How is the local dating scene, by the way?” comes the unexpected question from Hazel. “I’ve been in town only a short time and don’t know the first thing about it.”
“Rough,” answers Jonathan, as grateful for her interest in this legitimately adjacent topic as Oprah must be for the discovery of semaglutide. “Sometimes it feels as if there’s no etiquette or even ethics anymore, when it comes to people getting together for whatever purpose and whatever duration.”
“That does sound dangerous, almost a little unsavory.”
“I know. My mom likes to antique. She used to say that you have to get through a lot of fakes and a lot of mediocrities to find something worthy of love and investment. The dating pool is like that.”
Except he often wonders whetherheis the fake, the sheer mediocrity made acceptable by the West Texas good ole boy–ness he still carries, despite having left Lubbock when he was all of six.
“Oh? How does your mom figure out if something is authentic?”
Hazel’s face is alight with curiosity. Jonathan has seldom felt more flattered by someone’s interest. Maybe it’s because she’s beautiful. Certainly not because she shows no interest in anyone else. In fact, she seems to want to know both the patrons and the librarians. Yet when that friendly inquisitiveness turns to him, it still induces a frisson of pleasure.
He finds himself telling her about his mother’s reams of reference works at home, her online friendship with appraisers all over the United States, and even her appearance onAntiques Roadshowwhen the juggernaut last came to Austin.
Not until Sophie comes inside wanting a word with him does Jonathan realize that Hazel smoothed over the situation so impeccably that he, accustomed to berating himself over stupid mistakes, completely forgot his faux pas.
No, more than that. Though she said nothing else on the subject, she has somehow persuaded him that he has not put her on the spot or embarrassed himself.
“I think we got lucky with her,” says Sophie, as the door closes behind Hazel.
That is high praise indeed, coming from Sophie.
They go into the storage room, in which they barely find enough space to stand. And there is still an assload of books under the porch. Sophie shakes her head, her palm over her temple.
“Entropy reigns supreme even in a temple to systems and organization,” she mumbles.
“You know we public librarians always exist on the edge of chaos,” says Jonathan, giving her a pat on the shoulder—a brief one.
He likes Sophie a lot. She is capable, fair, and kind. Under her stewardship the branch library has thrived as a community center and the staff enjoy a harmonious workplace. But Sophie is also extremely professional. After all these years of working together, Jonathan knows her opinions on a lot of books and he can guess which way she votes. But of her personal life, other than her devotion to her daughter, he hasn’t gleaned much, if anything.
“We’re going to have to do something,” laments Sophie.
The solution to their problem is fairly obvious, but even with Hazel joining the roster, the branch is still shorthanded.
“Don’t worry,” Jonathan says. “I’ll—”
They both turn at the bellows coming from the public area.
Jonathan sprints out, Sophie in his wake. Part of the reason the administrator likes having him around, even though she’s never said so openly, is that he’s an ex-military big guy. The library is open to the public and sometimes the public bring their worst tendencies to the library.
A leathery-tan man in a tattered T-shirt and pair of stained camo shortsand the man to whom Jonathan explained the library’s culling system twice are braced together, each trying to shove the other out of the way. They are next to the computer terminals. Patrons at other terminals have jumped up and stepped back, but patrons elsewhere in the library, drawn by the brouhaha, have filtered in past the stacks to see what’s going on.
At least the combatants don’t seem to be armed. Nor does Jonathan see, as he scans the crowd, any “Good Samaritan” about to whip out a Glock—thank God for small mercies.
He steps forward to forcibly separate the two men. But before he can do so, Astrid, who must have just arrived, screams, “Stop! Stop or you’ll both be banned from the library!”
The guy with whom she dealt for a minute back in spring stills. His opponent decks him across the cheek. He goes down, knocking over a chair to rendezvous with the floor. Onlookers cry out in alarm. The other man glances about, mutters a few unintelligible words, and bolts from the library.
Sophie is at Jonathan’s side with the first aid kit. “Do we need this?”
