“I’ll look into this library shit,” Chace offered, taking me from my thoughts.

“What can you do?” I queried.

“Ask around. Find out why CPD cut back spending by hundreds of thousands of dollars and, on the heels of that, we’re gonna lose our library.”

“You don’t really have to do that,” I told him.

“You’re right. I really don’t. But I’m gonna.”

I drew in breath.

This was nice too.

Then I whispered, “Okay,” and after that, I took a sip of coffee.

He took a sip of his and aimed his eyes out the windshield.

“Now,” I started carefully, “you were going to show me –”

“Fuck,” he muttered and I saw his eyes were focused on something.

“What?” I asked, turning my head and whispering, “Holy frak,” at what I saw.

The boy was by the return bin. He was crouched, looking through the bags I left him.

I held my breath and I didn’t even notice my hand shooting out and blindly finding Chace’s. Not even when his fingers closed around mine.

We sat, still, silent, watching and holding hands as the boy found my note, read it quickly and shoved it in the bag. Then he shoved some books into the return bin and snatched up all the handles on the bags. Darting a glance left and right but not behind him where we were, he crept around the front of the library and disappeared.

“I’m gonna follow him,” Chace muttered and I heard his door open.

My hand clenched his and he stopped folding out of the truck to look back at me.

“Don’t scare him,” I whispered.

“I won’t, baby,” he whispered back, squeezed my hand, let it go then angled out of my SUV.

He closed the door and I watched him jog to the library and around it until he disappeared.

My eyes shifted to the dash and I saw he’d left his coffee cup there.

I looked to mine, the one he bought me.

I felt the heat pumping in my car, making it warm and cozy.

My eyes went back to his coffee cup and my mind decided I really should get that bronzed. And mine (when I was done). And maybe my passenger seat. And possibly my hand that he squeezed.

Then it hit me all that just happened, Chace showing up with coffee, us talking and it seeming normal if you didn’t count him calling my ass “sweet”, me a “pretty woman”, telling me I was cute and teasing me, that was.

It was like we were friends.

Friends that danced at midnight.

Jeez, I needed to stop hiding and have the girls over for dinner and margaritas as soon as fraking possible.

That was, after I figured out if I should call Chace in an hour or two and find out what he found out about the boy.

* * * * *

Chace

Chace walked up the street, eyes on the library.

He’d never really noticed it, even knowing Faye worked there.

Now, knowing she might lose her job and the town might lose its library, he did.

An attractive building. Red brick. There was a concrete plaque over the door that stated it was built in 1902. Six steps leading up to the double front doors. Four, large, paned windows on either side. The shrubs and grass in front of it now covered in snow and large tufts of snow covered the four, large urns, two at the top of the steps, two at the bottom that he had vaguely noticed were filled with healthy flowers in the summer months.

Eyes on the urns, he wondered if, in the previous summers, Faye planted them.

As he was wondering, her pretty, cute, bossy voice filled his head.

Don’t start, I know I shouldn’t have added the chocolate but he’s a kid. He should have a treat.

Chace grinned to himself.

She’d kitted out that kid with the amount of food and clothes a lot of underprivileged kids would kill for, runaways definitely would. And books. She hadn’t bought him a coat, some bologna, bread and pop and was done with it. She’d gone all out. She then staked out the return bin, still looking out for him.

Chace’s grin got bigger.

He was being f**king stupid, he knew it. He should steer well clear. He knew that too.

But he didn’t give a f**k.

The minute he saw the anguish in her eyes under the streetlamps and knew she’d been crying, he stopped fighting it. He’d chewed on it over the weekend. He was distracted during his dinner with his Mom in a way she noticed and asked about it, but he carefully skirted the issue and didn’t tell her.

But he knew, even before he drove by the library that morning and saw her in her Cherokee, something that provided him a golden opportunity to get in there, that he was no longer going to try to fight her pull.

So he stopped trying.

He should take better care of her. He should leave her to find a good man who could focus on her, their lives, the family they’d build. A man who didn’t have so much baggage sometimes it was hard to haul his ass out of bed in the morning, it was so f**king heavy. Who wasn’t caked in the filth he swam in for a decade. Who didn’t come from a dysfunctional home that added more baggage to an already crippling load. Who didn’t detest his father. Who didn’t have to put energy into protecting his delicate, oversensitive mother. Who didn’t have a dead wife who he didn’t love but he also didn’t protect and therefore her last experience on this earth was having her mouth raped.

But he wasn’t going to do that.

Right now, Faye was worried about this kid. Right now, she had shit on her mind that sent her into the dark night. Shit he now knew meant she might lose her job which meant, for a librarian in a small town, she was f**ked. To get a job in her profession, she’d have to move. A move that would take her away from her family and hometown. Or she’d have to find a different occupation. Right now, she had no man to take her back. She had a few friends and a good family but that wasn’t the same as having a man take your back.

This meant, Chace decided, he was going to be the man who took her back.

It was a weak decision and it was wrong. It was an excuse and a lame one. And it was highly likely once she found out everything about him it wouldn’t end well.

But in his mind’s eye he saw her face get adorably angry and heard her musical but irate voice ask, Do you have multiple personalities?

Seeing it, hearing her voice, he also decided he didn’t give a f**k that he was weak and what he was doing was wrong.

He was still going to do it.

And in doing it, he was heading back to the library and not his truck so he could tell her what had happened with the boy, instead of doing what he should do and go to work.