Page 30 of Overdue

I wake with a silly grin on my face. Sure, Austen ultimately freaked out, but that kiss. Damn. And she kissed me twice. I bet that makes the headlines of the town gossip. I don’t care. They can sing it all over the world. Austen Caraway kissed me. It only took me sixteen years, but whatever.

I throw the covers back and jump out of bed. I’m pouring coffee into my travel mug when Gran rolls into the kitchen. She insists she can tend to herself in the mornings until Mel arrives now. I agree, but I still wait to leave until I’m positive she’s fine.

“What are you humming about this morning?” she asks with a smile.

“Was I humming? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’ve got to get to work.” I kiss her on the cheek. “Behave today.”

“I will if you will.” She laughs. I set her breakfast on the table, pour her a cup of coffee, and head for the door.

“I’ll be home in time to start supper,” I call over my shoulder as I push open the door. I can’t wait to see Austen this afternoon at the library. Sure, she might throw something at me, but at least, I have her attention.

The morning drags on as I work fresh annuals into the soil around town. Every year, the new color infiltrates every corner of the town. The air fills with a rich fragrance when the breeze blows just right.

Raffe and I shoot the bull on the tailgate of my truck at lunch. Even the guys’ ribbing can’t ruin my day today.

When two o’clock hits, I race home, shower, and speed the handful of blocks over to the library. My laptop is all I have today. My plans are being turned into a three-dimensional program by Chad.

It’s now just down to the paperwork. I need to build a budget to add to the plant list, hardscape list, timeline, and final renderings. Each councilman needs a packet with the information.

Climbing out of his truck, I walk through the front doors already looking for Austen.

“Hey, Reed,” Kim greets me. “If you’re looking for Austen, she’s somewhere in the back, I think.”

“Hey, Kim. When am I not looking for Austen?” I answer. “Hey, tell your old man there’s a rumor an adult softball league is starting this spring, and I expect him to hang on third. He needs to start doing something with that right arm besides lifting a beer to his mouth.”

“I’ll tell him.” She laughs. I wink at her before continuing toward the back table. Is Austen hiding out somewhere because she’s still embarrassed about jumping me at the front door? I certainly hope so. I can’t wait to tease her a little. Guaranteed, she’ll give it right back at me. It’s one of my favorite things about her.

I’m laying my laptop down when I catch the hint of something orange. I start down the row of books with a grin. Austen is sitting on one of the library stools hunched over a book.

She’s chosen a long orange sweater that drapes to her legging-covered knees. I know it’s technically spring, but the temperatures haven’t heated quite that much. If she’s cold, I have a few suggestions on how to heat her up.

“Hey,” I whisper, stopping next to the stool. “You look like fall barfed on you.”

“Hey,” she answers without looking up. Something about her sounds off. Well, more off than usual. I need to fix whatever is wrong. She didn’t even bother to smart back about the clothing comment. Or punch me for the kiss.

“What are you doing?” I try.

“I’m hiding.”

“What are you hiding from?”

“People? I don’t know,” she shrugs. “God, I’m such a shit librarian.” She glances up at me and then back down at the book on her lap. “I might as well be. I’m not good at anything else, might as well make it a trifecta.” With a sigh, she stands.

“What are you talking about?” I’m completely confused. Yesterday she was all piss and vinegar. Now she’s bordering on Eeyore.

“Think about it. I’m awful at everything. I can’t seem to write anything anyone wants to read. I had to move home and take a job as a librarian, which I’m bad at. I even killed the plant I inherited. Shit, I’m not even good at kissing you. I completely freaked out and chased you off. I mean, what’s wrong with me?” She pushes past me and disappears up the aisle.

I watch her go. What is she talking about? She’s brilliant at everything in my opinion. When had self-doubt begun to creep in? What did I miss? Has someone said something to her? If so, I’m not opposed to hunting that individual down and laying some hurt on them.

What bothers me the most about her declaration is her lack of belief in her writing. It’s the one thing she’s dreamed about doing since I met her. She always talked about leaving this small town behind to make her name in the world.

Oh. How did I miss seeing that she sees moving home as a failure?

I know this much. She’s a fantastic writer. She just needs the right subject. Her prose does the rest. Readers should be beating down the bookstore doors demanding something written by the dazzling Jane Austen Caraway.

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