People, most of them elderly, are milling about, all with smiles on their faces. My girl is making people happy through books.
I approach but hang back because Juliette is speaking to a tiny woman wearing a pink floral dress and pulling an oxygen tank behind her. She appears to be in her late fifties or early sixties.
“I remember reading these when I was a teenager,” the lady says, tapping on a stack of Harlequin Romance novels. “I used to sneak them out of my mother’s bedside table and read the good parts. You know which parts I mean, don’t you, honey?” The woman cackles and pumps her eyebrows up and down.
Juliette’s responding laugh is happy and genuine. “I know exactly which parts you’re talking about, Ms. Wharton.”
“Hmmm, I think I’ll take these five here,” Ms. Wharton replies. “For nostalgia’s sake.”
“Good choices. The one with the cowboy on the cover is fantastic.” Juliette gathers the books and looks around, smiling brilliantly when she spots me before motioning to someone behind me. A teen boy jogs up and stops in front of her. “Gary, can you take Ms. Wharton to check out? Her total is five dollars. And get her one of the Fabio posters.”
“Yes ma’am,” the skinny kid says eagerly, sounding like he’d cut off his foot if Juliette asked him to.
Gary carries the books and leads the woman to a small register set up in the corner. Juliette turns her attention to me, her smile playful. “Mr. Swain, anything I can help you with? Perhaps a nice Harlequin?”
“You can tell me how you got all this set up and why you didn’t ask for my help.”
She rolls her damn eyes at me. “Because you had to be at the arena this morning. And because I have plenty of help. I’ve recruited the student council from PTF High School, and they get community service hours for it.” Her lips quirk. “They set up the shelves and tables, so I didn’t doany heavy lifting.”
She emphasizes those last three words, knowing what I was getting at without me even having to say it. God, I want to touch her, pull her against me and kiss that pretty pink mouth. Maybe give that fine ass a spank or two.
Before I lose my damn mind and do just that, a quiet voice beside us says, “Hi, Juliette.”
My woman turns and hugs the newcomer with enthusiasm. “Annalise! How are you today?”
“Good. You got any Baby-Sitters Club books?” Annalise seems a little shy and shows the features of a young woman—probably in her twenties—with Down syndrome.
“Of course I do. I always bring some for my favorite customer.” Juliette guides the now giggling girl to a table filled with a younger genre of books. I follow along. “I think you were on this one last time, right?” she asks, pointing at one in the middle of the row.
Annalise nods. “I want two.”
“Awesome. I hope you enjoy them. I’ll see you next time, okay?” Once again, Juliette motions for one of the teenagers, a girl this time, and tells her, “Make sure to get Annalise lots of stickers. She likes to decorate her notebooks.”
“Yes, ma’am, Ms. McNamara. Two dollars for the books, right?”
“Yep, thank you, Kris.”
They leave, and I brush an inconspicuous hand down Juliette’s arm. “How are you able to sell these books for only a dollar? They’re brand new.”
She shrugs. “Most of them are donated, though I buy some of them. I originally planned to give them away for free, but after talking to the activities director, we decided I should charge a small fee. That way it’s more like a real book fair than just another library. Plus, these people like to feel like they’re…” She searches for the words. “Real customers out in the real world. They like to know they bought something, and it’s theirs. Every day, they get their food brought to them. They get their meds brought to them. Their families buy their clothes. But this is something they can control, a purchase theychooseto make.”
The affection I feel for this woman grows with every single day, and I make a mental note to make a large donation to the library.
Juliette continues. “I use the money to buy the bookmarks, posters, and stickers that we give away.” She lowers her voice. “And if we check their account and they don’t have money on it, I give them the books anyway.”
Of course she does. Before I do something stupid like dip her back over my arm and kiss the ever living hell out of her, I change the subject. “Have you seen Gramps?”
Juliette touches my arm, setting my skin afire. “He’s over in the spy and military fiction section. He was trying to decide on which Tom Clancy book to get.” She tilts her head. “Over this way.”
I spot him. One of his nurses is hovering nearby, giving him some independence while also making sure he doesn’t wander out the door. I give her a friendly nod before laying a hand on my grandfather’s shoulder. He turns, his face lighting up.
“Reno!”
I love that I’m the one person he always seems to recognize. I know it won’t always be that way, but I try not to think about that day. Live in the moment, and all that jazz.
“What are we looking at here?” I ask.
“Trying to remember if I’ve read this one.” He reads the back ofThe Hunt for Red October, his forehead wrinkling in concentration. I can feel his frustration.
