Page 1 of A Mountain Man Walks into a Library

Prologue

Scrawled on a squareof pale blue cardstock:

Remy—have you seen this one?

“Words can be like X-rays if you use them properly—they’ll got through anything. You read and you’re pierced.”

-Aldous Huxley, Brave New World

Yours, Sam

Chapter 1

Samuel

My whole northern,ruralAw, gee shucksthing played great in college. The girls and the guys flocked to it, turned liquid under it, and I spent four years never lacking for a date. And I don’t mean that it was an act. I just know my strengths.

Or, at least I thought I did. But the current object of my affection is maddeningly unmoved.

Remy Lacross.

Remy Lacross, Granite-Glacier’s new head librarian, sexy book nerd, flame of my heart.

I have been pining over that man—pining, like some pathetic teenager—since he moved here six months ago. He was at the counter when I returned a book of Anne Carson’s poetry, and his eyes flickered down to the cover as I handed it to him, unreadable behind his thick glasses, and he asked, “Have you readAn Oresteia? ‘It’s rotten work,’ says Orestes. And Pylades answers, ‘Not to me. Not if it’s you.’” Then he shrugged and said, “You might like it.”

I think I fell in love on the spot.

I’ve been frequenting the Granite-Glacier Public Library since my older brothers taught me to read at the age of four. Compared to their hobbies of fishing and woodworking and ice hockey, borrowing books from the library was free and required little adult supervision, so Dad was fully supportive. Plus, I was the baby by ten years, so I pretty much got anything I wanted. From all of them, brothers included.

But the point is, I’ve been going to the library for a long damn time, and no librarian has ever quoted love poems to me.

So here I am, loitering outside the front door of the library. My arm is tucked under a tray of homemade French macarons, and I am ready to make anotheroverture. Maybe he’ll actually notice this time.

Remy’s at the front counter again. I know he’s got an office back there somewhere, but he’s always out front to greet patrons. When he sees me, his smile grows, and he offers a small, reserved wave.

“More baked goods?” he asks as I approach the counter. “You are going to spoil us.”

---