Work Text:
Karen wheeled her empty shelving cart across the library toward the staff workroom, wincing as the wheels squeaked and rattled. All the carts made noise, but some were definitely worse than others. As she passed the circulation desk, Foggy looked up and put a finger to his lips.
“Shhhh, this is a library,” he said in an exaggerated stage whisper.
She suppressed the urge to flip him off, since they were on the public floor, settling for an eye roll and a sarcastic “You’re so funny,” as she pushed through the doors into the workroom. Half the room was taken up by the machine that checked in and sorted the returns, with carts of materials waiting to be shelved parked along the walls. The other half was cubicles, for staff too junior to have offices. She parked her cart in the corner with the other empties, and went back out to relieve Foggy at the desk.
She glanced toward the empty teen area, and frowned.
“Looking for someone?” Foggy asked.
“I was just shelving in the art section,” she told him. “All the books on drawing the human figure were pulled off the shelf and dumped on the floor. No one there, of course. But I heard snickering, and footsteps, right before I got there.”
“Ah,” said Foggy, and sighed. “Sounds like another group of kids has discovered that drawing books have nudes in them. I saw some kids leave a few minutes ago, it was probably them.”
Karen looked disgruntled. Foggy raised his eyebrows.
“I don’t care if they want to look at nudes, Foggy. Who are we to judge?” she said. “But leaving a mess like that for someone else to clean up, that I will judge the shit out of.” He grinned, and she looked quickly around to make sure no one else had heard. She didn’t mind swearing in front of Foggy, who was her best friend at work, but she didn’t want anyone else to catch her.
“Speaking of messes,” he said reminiscently, “remember when that drawing book got returned with the pages stuck together?”
Karen shuddered. “Foggy, I thought we had agreed never to speak of that again. I touched that book.”
“I’m just saying, maybe we’re better off if horny kids just look at the books here, and don’t take them home. Enjoy your shift!” He gave her a cheerful wave and disappeared into the workroom.
There was a cart full of reserves behind the desk, patron i.d. slips sticking out of each one, ready to be shelved. The reserve shelves were right next to the circulation desk, so she could shelve the items from the cart while still keeping an eye on the desk.
She had to do some shifting in one section to make room, and when she glanced back at the desk, she saw a man standing there. The desk was right inside the main entrance, so someone standing there could be someone just pausing to look around as easily as someone needing her help. His back was turned toward her, but she hurried back to her workstation behind the desk, just in case.
He lifted his head and turned—although surely her feet had made no sound on the thin carpet tiles of the floor—and she saw that he wore dark glasses, and carried a white cane.
“Hi,” she greeted him. “Can I help you?”
“Hi,” he answered, and stepped toward her, tapping ahead of him with his cane until it touched the desk. He was about her height, and looked about her age. He wore a suit, and had short brown hair and a very attractive smile.
“Can you tell me where the audiobooks are?” he asked.
“Sure. They’re toward the back, right near…” she paused, realizing that right near that grey pillar with the poster on it wasn’t going to be much use to a blind man. “I’ll walk you over there,” she amended. She picked up the phone and called for backup, in case anyone else came to the desk while she was away, and came out from behind the desk. “It’s right this way.”
She kept talking as they crossed the floor, so he could follow the sound of her voice. “We have books on CD here in the library, and there’s also downloadable audiobooks available through our website.” She wondered if he even used their website. She knew assistive technology existed to help the blind use the internet, but had no idea how user-friendly the library’s website was for him. She went on, “On CD we have fiction and nonfiction, but the collection does skew pretty heavily toward best-sellers. If you like John Grisham, we’ve got you covered.”
He wrinkled his nose. “I’ve never been much interested in legal thrillers,” he said. “I’m a lawyer myself, so I’d rather read something else in my free time.”
“I can understand that,” she answered. “If they get stuff wrong I bet it would drive you nuts. It would, if it were me. Here we are,”’ she added, as they reached the audiobook section. “Are you looking for something in particular, or would you rather…oh.”
He tipped his head and raised his eyebrows.
“Sorry, I was going to say would you rather just browse, and then I realized you won’t be able to. We really should have braille labels for the audio materials.” She sighed, feeling embarrassed. The public library was supposed to be about equal access to information for everyone, not just people who could see.
“I’m guessing you don’t get many blind patrons.” He sounded unsurprised, and not particularly bothered.
“No, but that’s not the point. We’re supposed to be doing our best to accommodate—“ she broke off again, remembering that the word disability might be offensive. She went on hurriedly, “We have JAWS on the public computers, but nothing to help you use the collection, except the actual braille books. That’s not right. And the braille collection isn’t very extensive.”
“I know, I’m pretty sure I’ve read all of them.” He smiled, seeming to sense her embarrassment. “You don’t have to apologize, the library is more accommodating than a lot of places.”
He really did have a nice smile. And he was very good-looking. They were standing close together, keeping their voices low, and she was near enough to see as she gazed at his face that the dark lenses of his glasses had a red tint. She wondered what color his eyes were.
“Have you been here before?” she asked curiously. “I’ve never seen you.”
“I usually go to Memorial, it’s closer to home. But this branch is closer to work. I’m on my lunch break, I thought I’d stop by and see what you have.”
“Did you have any particular titles in mind?” Belatedly it occurred to Karen that maybe she should have passed him off to a reference librarian. But then again, she knew the collection pretty well simply from handling it on a daily basis. If he knew what he wanted, she could manage. And there was a public catalog station nearby if she needed to look something up.
“Do you have The Scarlet Pimpernel?” He asked.
Karen was intrigued. The tale of a mysterious man who defies the French authorities to rescue the condemned from the guillotine was an unexpected choice for a lawyer. Although, to be fair, in this case the law being defied was the French Revolution’s infamous Reign of Terror.
“I know we own it,” she answered. “I’ve seen it on the shelf before. And it’s probably not in high demand…” she walked along the row, muttering “Baroness Orczy…” How on earth was the name spelled? Never mind, there weren’t that many authors starting with O.
“Here it is,” she said in satisfaction, pulling it from the shelf. “I’ll check it for you and make sure all the discs are in order.”
“Thank you, I’d appreciate that.”
Discs in audiobooks were often out of order when they were returned. Staff checked them before shelving them to make sure no discs were missing, but there usually wasn’t time to put every item in order. Sure enough, this one had several discs switched around. She put them back in order, and made sure they were all turned printed side up in their sleeves.
“Here you go,” she said, handing him the set. “Anything else?”
“Just this today, I need to get back to work.”
“All right. Come on back to the desk and I’ll check you out.” She blushed a little as she said it, because she had already been checking him out, if she was being honest. She led the way back to the desk, relieved that he wouldn’t see her pink cheeks.
Jessica was covering the desk, explaining to a patron that they no longer had tax forms—both the IRS and the state had stopped supplying paper forms and booklets to libraries this year. Her manner was professional, as always, but Karen knew how much she disliked working with the public, considering desk shifts a necessary evil. The patron walked away as Karen came back behind the desk, and immediately Jessica grabbed the shelving cart she’d been working on when Karen called for backup, and stalked off to the graphic novels.
Karen’s patron got out his library card, and she checked out his audiobook. “It’s due in three weeks,” she told him. “You can return it here, or at Memorial, or any other branch, whatever’s convenient for you.” She found herself hoping he would come back here. “Have a nice day,” she added, a little more warmly than was strictly necessary.
“You too,” he answered, with another charming smile. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She watched him walk out the door, and told herself firmly to stop staring. He was just a patron. Just a very attractive, polite patron who read the classics. She might never even see him again.
* * * * *
Three weeks later, he was back. Karen happened to be working the same desk shift, and saw him come in. Matthew, her memory helpfully provided. She had seen his name on the screen when she checked him out on his previous visit, but she was surprised she remembered it after just a single interaction.
He paused inside the doors, and she realized he must be listening to see if anyone was already at the desk being helped before he approached. Someone was there, as it happened. One of their regulars, a middle-aged man who carried library cards for himself, his wife, and their son, but always came in by himself. There were usually reserved items on all three cards, which he would check out on whichever account was below the borrowing limit on that particular day. Transactions with him were apt to take a bit of time, and before she was finished with him a second patron had come up and was waiting impatiently. Karen called for backup.
As soon as her patron gathered his items and moved away from the desk, the impatient woman stepped forward, apparently oblivious to the man who stood waiting.
“There’s a book still showing on my account that I already returned—“ she began, but Karen broke in firmly.
“Excuse me, ma’am, but he was here before you,” she said, directing the woman’s attention to Matt.
The effect was remarkable. She looked at him, and immediately her whole demeanor changed. She blushed deeply, apologizing and stepping back to make room for him. “I am so sorry, sir, that was terribly rude of me. Please, go ahead. I’m really sorry.”
“Thank you,” he said, politely, but with a touch of coolness his voice and manner. He stepped up to the desk, his lips pressed together. Foggy appeared from the workroom and went to the second workstation, waving the woman over.
“Hi,” Karen greeted Matt, smiling. “It’s me, I, uh, I helped you when you were here a few weeks ago.”
His face brightened, and he smiled back. “Of course, I thought I recognized your voice. Hi.” He placed The Scarlet Pimpernel on the desk.
“Returning, or did you need to renew it?” she asked.
“Returning, sorry.” He smiled again, and she checked it in.
“Can I help you find something else today?”
He nodded. “I hope so. Do you have Isabel Allende’s Zorro?”
Another tale of a man who adopts a secret identity to fight corrupt authority. Interesting.
She checked the catalog. “Yes, we have a copy checked in. Let’s go see if it’s on the shelf.” She came out from behind the desk, glancing at Foggy’s patron as she passed behind him.
“That woman who tried to cut in front of you looks mortified,” she said uneasily as they walked back to the audiobooks. “I didn’t think I was that harsh with her, was I?”
“Not at all,” he assured her. “It wasn’t you. It was me.” He pressed his lips together again, looking irritated. “I’d guess it’s because she suddenly realized she’d been rude to a blind man.”
“You’re right,” she said. “Her whole attitude changed as soon as she actually looked at you, and saw the glasses and the cane.”
“Being rude to the disabled, you see, is far more reprehensible than being rude to normal people,” he said drily. “I suppose I shouldn’t let it bother me, she didn’t mean any harm. I just hate it when people make a big deal of my blindness, or treat me like I’m fragile.”
“I get that,” she answered. “I don’t blame you. That’s how I feel about men who make a huge production out of courtesy to women, or think they’re being helpful when they’re really just being condescending, just because I’m female and young and blonde. And then if I get annoyed I get told they mean well, so I should be nice. It’s such a load of toxic bullshit—“ her eyes went wide, and she clapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I’ve already gotten in trouble once for cussing, that was completely inappropriate.”
His eyebrows had risen in surprise, but his mouth was twitching while she apologized. “I won’t tell,” he promised with a grin. “And you’re right, it is bullshit.”
“I mean, being a woman isn’t the same as being blind. Obviously. I probably shouldn’t compare the two.”
He shrugged. “I’m not offended. Women do get treated like they’re fragile, all the time.”
They had reached the audiobooks. “Okay,” she said, relieved. “Good. Let me just find your book.” She turned to the shelves and found Zorro, right where it should be. She opened it up and put the discs in order, and said, “My name’s Karen, by the way.”
She would never normally tell her name to a patron, in fact it always made her uncomfortable when people read it off the i.d. card hanging around her neck, and then called her by name as if they knew her. But, she realized, she wanted him to know her.
She knew the perils of getting too familiar with patrons, as did any young woman working in a customer service position. The job required her to be welcoming and approachable, and some people took it personally and thought they’d found a new best friend—or worse.
But this guy really didn’t seem like a creep. He wasn’t a sexist jerkwad, and he wasn’t shocked by her swearing. And (just admit it, Karen), he was really attractive. There was no harm in telling him her name, which he could have read for himself if he could see. No harm in enjoying her interactions with him, and hoping he actually was as nice as he seemed to be.
She handed him the book, and he smiled and answered her, “I’m Matt. It’s nice to meet you.”
She smiled back. He sounded like he meant it, not like he was just being polite. “Yeah,” she agreed. God, he was cute. She looked at his face, taking in every detail. There was a faint shadow on his jaw that suggested that by evening, he’d have stubble, and she could imagine all too easily how sexy he would look with a bit of scruff. His lips were red and parted slightly, and she stared at them, feeling her heart beat a little faster.
And then a young voice said, “Um. Do you work here?”
She turned, and saw a teenage boy standing there.
“Yes, I do,” she answered briskly. “What can I do for you?”
“It’s, uh, well. There was this girl? Over in the teen section. She, uh, she got sick.”
“Is she all right? Does she need help?”
“She left. With some other girls. But, uh, the computer where she was working, it, uh…”
Karen waited, but the boy seemed to have run out of words. An unpleasant possibility occurred to her. “Did she throw up?” she asked.
The boy nodded. “All over the keyboard.”
Karen groaned. “Okay,” she told him. “I’ll take care of it. Thank you for telling me.”
He nodded awkwardly and walked away. Karen turned back to Matt, who was looking like he didn’t want to believe what he’d just heard.
“What can I say, it’s a glamorous job,” she said, making a face. “Come on, let’s get you checked out.” They started back toward the front desk.
“Do you need to go…?”
“It can wait five minutes. The girl already left, and the vomit isn’t going anywhere. Actually, I should probably tell my supervisor, we’re supposed to report damage to library equipment, and I’d say this qualifies.”
When they reached the desk, she she asked Foggy, “Have you seen Misty anywhere? Someone threw up in the teen area.”
“Lovely,” he answered, wrinkling his nose. “Yeah, I think she’s in her office. I’ll go give her the good news.”
“Thanks, Foggy. Tell her we’re going to need to replace a computer keyboard, if we have a spare.”
“Better and better. I’m on it.” He left, and Karen checked Matt out, wishing she had an excuse to talk with him some more. “Bye, Matt,” she said, pushing his audiobook across the desk. “Have a good day.”
“You too, Karen,” he answered, and then grinned. “Someone throwing up on library equipment has got to be the low point, right? It’s bound to get better from here.”
“I was actually having a really good day, until that happened.” Especially once he came in, although it would be entirely unprofessional to say so.
“Well, I hope the rest of it is just as good. Bye.” He smiled, picked up his book, and walked out.
* * * * *
When he brought back Zorro a few weeks later, Karen remarked, “So, you like men who take the law into their own hands. As a lawyer, shouldn’t you disapprove of that?” She was teasing him a bit, but was also honestly curious.
“I disapprove of injustice,” he answered, as they walked back toward the audiobooks. “There’s nothing wrong with enjoying a story about someone who can right the world’s wrongs, when the established authority can’t get the job done. Or worse, is the source of the problem.”
“No, I guess not,” she answered thoughtfully.
“And who knows better than a lawyer that sometimes the law falls short?”
“Not all lawyers care, though, as long as they get paid. I take it you’re not—“ she broke off and flushed. At his inquiring look, she went on, “It’s just, lawyers have kind of a reputation. For being assholes. But you don’t seem like that at all,” she rushed on, feeling flustered. “You seem really nice. I was going to say, you’re not just in it for the money? But of course you’re not, you really don’t seem like that kind of person.”
He looked taken aback at first, but was smiling by the time she finished.
“Well,” he said, “I can’t deny that a lot of lawyers are assholes who are just in it for the money. But if we’re talking stereotypes…” his voice took on a teasing note. “Don’t librarians have kind of a reputation for being models of propriety?”
“Meaning I’m not?” She put a hand on her chest and puffed out a breath in mock insult. Then she grinned. “All right, fair enough. Fuck propriety.” She said it very quietly, though, close to his ear, because an f-bomb on the public floor was definitely something she didn’t want anyone else overhearing. It startled a laugh out of him, and he grinned back, a conspiratorial expression that made her feel warm all over, suddenly keenly aware of how close he was.
As they reached the audiobooks, he paused, and turned more serious. “I got into law because I wanted to help people,” he told her. “I interned for a while at a big firm, but…” he sighed. “They were only interested in protecting their clients’ interests. Which, to be fair, that’s what they’re paid to do. But they didn’t care who else got hurt in the process. Sometimes their clients were wrong, morally wrong, even if they were completely within the law. I couldn’t stomach it, so I left.”
“Good for you,” she said warmly.
“You don’t think I’m an idealistic idiot?”
“Idealistic, sure. But definitely not an idiot. I happen to think idealism is a good thing. It’s easy to talk abut principles, but actually living by them, especially when it goes against what’s expected of you, takes guts.”
“I didn’t do what was expected of me, that’s for sure,” he said ruefully, and she could imagine how hard it must have been to walk away from a large, successful firm.
“You did what you believe in,” she said firmly.
He looked surprised, and pleased, but said nothing.
She realized she was staring at him again, and gave herself a firm mental shake. “So, uh, what can I help you find today?”
“I actually don’t have anything specific in mind this time,” he answered. “I don’t know what I want to read next.”
Karen wasn’t trained in Readers’ Advisory, and she knew she should hand him over to a reference librarian, as much as she wanted to keep helping him herself. But then she remembered a book she had read recently, and asked him, “How do you feel about teen fiction?”
He raised his eyebrows. “I hadn’t really thought about it. Should I?”
“It’s not all Twilight, trust me. And I just read a book that I think you might like. Let me just check the catalog…” she went to the nearby computer and did a quick search. “It’s in, good.”
“And what is it?”
“It’s called The Female of the Species,” she said.
“…is more deadly than the male?” he quoted.
“Exactly. A teenage girl kills a man—that’s not a spoiler, you find it out in the first chapter—and she isn’t caught, the murder goes unsolved. You find out why she did it, what he had done, as the book goes on. The story happens later on, during her senior year of high school. And it’s just…the psychology of it is really interesting. She knows that it isn’t normal, to be able to do what she did. She thinks there’s maybe something wrong with her, and keeps a low profile at school, not getting close to anyone. But senior year two of her classmates finally do get to know her, for different reasons, and things happen as a result of that. It’s really all about the consequences of violence, and the choices people make.”
Matt was looking very thoughtful. “You’re right, that does sound like something I might like. Should I be worried, that you’ve already got me figured out so well?”
“Oh, there’s still lots of things I don’t know about you.” She looked at him curiously. “Are you worried?” Was he bothered by the idea of her getting to know him?
But he smiled. “Not at all. Find me this book, and I’ll give it a shot.”
She led the way over to the teen section. She found the audiobook, made sure the discs were in order, and handed it to him, saying lightly, “Here you are, sir, I hope you enjoy it.”
“Thank you very much, ma’am, I’ll let you know what I think.”
* * * * *
He came in again just a few days later. Karen was out on the floor, with another rattling book cart, working on the request pull list. As she passed the reference desk, she was surprised to see Matt, deep in conversation with Marci, who was paging through a large reference book as they talked. He turned his head as she passed, as if he were listening; probably trying to hear Marci over the annoying noise of Karen’s cart.
She shuffled through her pages of printout, and wheeled her cart over to the end of the nonfiction, which happened to be near the reference desk. Once he was finished with whatever Marci was helping him with, maybe she could say hello. That was a perfectly normal thing to do, wasn’t it? She definitely wasn’t just lurking around near him, she had legitimate work to do. Which happened to be near him.
She went slowly down the row, pulling the books on her list and putting them on the cart. And a few minutes later, Marci closed up her book and Matt stepped away from the desk. He stood still for a moment, both hands clasped on the handle of his cane, looking irresolute.
Karen reminded herself that he couldn’t see her, would never notice her unless she made the first move.
“Oh, hi Matt,” she said, trying to sound casual. His head turned in her direction, and he smiled.
“Karen? Was that you I heard go past a minute ago?”
“It was. I think all our book carts either rattle, or squeak, or both.” She grimaced. “I’m working on the pull list, pulling items that people have requested.”
“That’s what you do when you aren’t working on the desk?”
“That, or shelving, or sometimes I’m in the back unpacking delivery, or running the machine. We have a machine that checks in and sorts the returns.”
“Is that what I can hear behind the circulation desk?”
“Yes. In theory, it’s fully automated, but in practice someone needs to be back there to keep things running smoothly. Library materials come in a lot of different sizes and shapes, and that can cause all sorts of problems. And as the thing ages, it’s just getting more cantankerous. We’ve had it ten years now, and that’s like 70 in technology years.” Wait, no, wasn’t that dog years? Get a grip, Karen.
But he just laughed.
She went on, “I’m actually only on the desk one or two hours a day, unless we’re short-handed.”
“I must just be lucky, then, that you’ve always been there when I come in.” He said it matter-of-factly, not flirtatiously at all, but she still felt herself flush pink with pleasure.
“I’m not on the desk now,” she pointed out.
“True, but today I’m here for work, not for fun. I needed someone to look up some local building codes for me, for a case I’m working on. Not everything is available online, unfortunately. Not that I’m sorry to have a reason to spend more time here, but it would be faster if I could look things up for myself at the office.”
“Well, you’re in good hands. Marci knows all about local materials and government documents. Do you need to get back to work?”
He brushed his fingers over his wristwatch, and nodded. “I’ve got a meeting later, and I need to prepare.”
She tried not to feel disappointed that he was leaving so soon. “Well, good luck with that. I guess I’ll see you next time?”
“Yeah, definitely.” He gave her a warm smile, and her heart fluttered unexpectedly in her chest. “Bye, Karen.”
“Bye, Matt.” She watched him turn and head toward the door, then turned reluctantly back to her pull list.
* * * * *
As it happened, she didn’t see him the next time he came in. She was in the workroom, helping Jessica figure out why the sorting machine had stopped working. Karen stood in front of the computer monitor off to one side, the troubleshooting screen open, clicking on various manual commands for the parts that weren’t moving, while Jessica watched the machine and told her what happened.
Karen swore under her breath as one command after another did nothing, but finally she heard the aging air compressor wheeze into life, followed by the solid clunk of an internal magnet re-connecting to a loose part.
“Okay, Jess,” she called. “I’m going to try resetting it again.” She clicked the button, and Jessica called “It’s moving, you got it,” as the stuck element rose smoothly back up into place.
And later, when she was eating lunch with Foggy in the break room, he said, “That cute blind guy was in earlier. You two on a first-name basis now?”
“He was?” she asked, feeling a pang that she had missed him.
“Yup. It was while you were in the back, wrestling the machine into submission. We could hear you and Jess calling back and forth to each other, and he said, ‘Is that Karen?’ and I told him the machine was down and you’re the best troubleshooter we have.”
“Oh,” she answered, pleased at the praise, and even more pleased that he had praised her to Matt.
“He said you recommended a book to him,” Foggy went on, “and he asked me to tell you he really liked it.”
“Oh,” she said again, feeling absurdly gratified.
“You’re blushing,” he informed her. “What are you not telling me, Karen?”
“There’s nothing to tell,” she protested half-heartedly. “His name’s Matt, and I’ve been helping him find audiobooks to listen to. He’s nice.”
“Yeah, he is. And really good-looking.”
Karen rolled her eyes. “You didn’t need me to tell you that.”
Foggy gave her a long look. “You like him,” he said with conviction.
She didn’t answer, but she felt her cheeks heating once again. Foggy smirked, and she threw her napkin at him.
* * * * *
Matt came in several more times to consult with Marci on various local statutes and government documents, as well as his continuing visits for audiobooks—he’d taken an interest in mysteries, favoring amateur detectives who weren’t part of the police force, and was working his way through Dorothy Sayers. Karen wasn’t always on the desk, but when other staff were helping him he could still usually manage to find her for a quick word and a smile, if she was anywhere on the public floor.
It never failed to brighten her day, and she was forced to admit that Foggy was right. She really liked Matt. And he seemed to like her, too, but it was hard to know how much, or in what way. Their brief exchanges were increasingly warm and friendly, but he never flirted, and neither did she. This was her job, and he was a patron, so she was careful to stay within the bounds of professional conduct.
* * * * *
And then one day, she found a flower on the circulation desk. Matt had come in for an audiobook while the library was full of children, a field trip from a local elementary school.
She greeted him cheerfully, but as they headed back to the audiobooks she said apologetically, “I can’t leave the desk for long, we’re mobbed.”
“So I hear,” he answered, tipping his head at the sound of dozens of young voices, no doubt audible in every corner of the library. She quickly found Unnatural Death for him, and checked him out amid a flurry of first-graders, as a few teachers attempted to keep some kind of order.
She wanted to apologize again for not having more time for him, but he just smiled, and wished her luck, and made his way out, the sea of children parting before him once one of the teachers noticed his cane and cleared a path.
And later, once the school group had left and quiet had been restored, she saw it, tucked in between the barcode scanner and the receipt printer: a small flower, made of folded paper, intricate and beautiful.
“Oh, wow,” she said, and Foggy, who had been staffing the desk with her during the rush, came over to look.
“Nice,” he said, impressed.
“I just helped about four thousand people, any one of them could have dropped it.” Origami seemed a likely craft project for school kids, although this piece looked pretty advanced for seven-year-olds. “Could have been one of the teachers,” she pondered.
“Or it could have been Matt,” Foggy suggested.
“Matt? Why would Matt be making origami flowers?”
Foggy shrugged. “Everyone needs a hobby. I’m just saying, it was placed in a spot where it wouldn’t get knocked to the floor, and it’s at your workstation, not mine. Looks deliberate to me.”
“You think Matt gave me a flower.” she sounded skeptical, trying to ignore the way her heart skipped at the thought that he might be right.
“Like you said, he’s a nice guy. I like him. He likes me. But he doesn’t smile at me the way he smiles at you, Karen. Yeah, I think he gave you a flower.”
“Are you sure?”
“Well, no. I didn’t see him do it, or anything.”
“That’s what I thought. I don’t know, Foggy. He doesn’t flirt with me.”
“But that’s a good thing,” he argued. “Flirting with someone at their job, where they don’t have the option to tell you to get lost, is tacky as hell. Maybe he likes you, and he has manners.”
Karen smiled, wondering if he was right.
Foggy stared at her soft expression. “Oh my god, you really do like him!”
She didn’t answer, but she looked at him, and looked at the flower, and smiled again. She walked back into the workroom, and put the flower in her mail basket.
* * * * *
A couple of weeks later, she wheeled a particularly squeaky cart down the rows of fiction, shelving. Matt hadn’t been in again since she had found the flower, but he often went two or three weeks between visits. She couldn’t help wondering if he would behave any differently the next time she saw him, but all she could do was wait and see.
She pushed her cart around the corner into the romance aisle, and frowned when she spotted a mystery among the romances. She pulled it from the shelf and put it on her cart, and kept shelving. But there was another one, and then another. She scanned the shelves, and realized that what looked like an entire cart’s worth of mysteries had been shelved in the wrong section.
“Shit,” she muttered. She began going through the section systematically, looking for anything without a Romance label.
“Karen?”
She looked up at the familiar voice, and there was Matt.
“Matt, hi!” She tried to sound like she always did, friendly but not too friendly, suppressing a sudden fluttering feeling in her stomach. “Are you here for work today, or pleasure?” Yeah, that didn’t sound like flirting at all. She blushed.
“Pleasure,” he answered, with a small smile. Her heart beat faster.
“No one’s helping you?” she asked, seeing he was alone.
“Foggy was busy at the desk, and I knew someone was back here, I could hear your cart.”
“They could probably hear this cart in the coffee shop next door,” she interjected, making a face.
He grinned. “So I came back here on my own.” The audiobooks were the next aisle over from the romances. “I thought maybe whoever was here would be able to help me. I didn’t know it was you, of course, until I heard your voice.”
“Of course,” she laughed. “You heard swearing, and then you knew it must be me.”
He laughed, too. “I knew you by your voice, not just your vocabulary. What’s the trouble?”
“Oh, just a bunch of books shelved wrong. We’ve got a new volunteer shelving fiction, he probably didn’t understand how they’re organized. There’s separate sections for different genres, and I just found a whole lot of mysteries shelved in romance. But yeah, I’ll be happy to help you find something.” She parked her cart at the end of the row, between the romances and the audiobooks. “Are you still reading Dorothy Sayers?”
“Yes. The Unpleasantness at the Bellona Club comes next,” he said, “although I’m not sure how much it matters if I read them in order.”
“It matters for some of them,” she answered. “There’s some personal relationships that develop from one book to another. Let’s see…” she checked the shelves. “Here it is, good.”
He leaned on her shelving cart, running his hand idly over the books on it, while she checked the set to make sure the discs were in order.
“Here you go,” she said, handing it to him.
“Thank you,” he said, and smiled. Was Foggy right, that he only smiled like that at her?
He went back to the front to check out, and Karen turned back to the romances, pulling the mis-filed mysteries as she shelved the books from her cart.
But there was now something else on her cart besides books, tucked in at the end of the top shelf: a folded paper flower.
* * * * *
“I knew it!” said Foggy.
“No, you didn’t, you only thought it. But now we know.”
“He didn’t say anything, though? Still no flirting?”
“Nope. He treated me just the same as always, and snuck this onto my cart for me to find after he was gone.”
“Maybe he wants to give you the option of ignoring it, if you aren’t interested?”
“Yeah, maybe. I guess that means the next move is up to me.” She put the flower in her mail basket with the first one, and went to look at the books on origami.
* * * * *
Attempting to make a flower herself increased her appreciation of Matt’s skill. After a bit of practice she could make several simple shapes, but nothing like the intricately-folded flowers he had made. She reminded herself that it was the gesture itself that mattered, not the difficulty of the finished piece, and looked through the book she had brought home until she found what she needed: a flower that was fairly simple, but would still be recognizable as a flower when he found it; and flat enough to fit inside the case of an audiobook on top of the discs.
She paper-clipped the finished flower to the lanyard that held her i.d., ready to deploy the next time Matt came in. Foggy offered to keep an eye out for him, and to alert Karen if he happened to show up when she was in the workroom. He wanted to use elaborate code phrases, like spies, but Karen refused on the grounds that Matt might overhear.
And so, not long after, she was able to slip her flower into Strong Poison, surprised at how nervous she felt. Her heart was pounding, but her voice was steady, and she didn’t think Matt noticed anything out of the ordinary.
He thanked her, with a smile that made her heart beat even faster, and left, just as usual. The next time Foggy passed the desk, she held up her i.d. so he could see the flower was gone, and he grinned and gave her a thumbs-up.
* * * * *
The next day was Friday, and the library closed at 5:00. As the staff all came out the staff door and went their separate ways, there was Matt, leaning against the wall with his face tipped up toward the warmth of the late-afternoon sun. Karen stopped dead, and Jessica, following close behind, ran into her.
“Oh! Sorry, Jess.” She stepped out of the way, feeling flustered. Jessica raised an eyebrow, looked from her to Matt and back again, and rolled her eyes.
“Don’t do anything I would do,” she advised, and walked off. Karen opened her mouth, and closed it again. Jessica was never seen to gossip, and yet she always managed to know everything that went on around her. Karen shook her head, and looked at Matt, who had turned toward her when he heard her voice.
“Hi, Matt,” she said, feeling a little breathless.
“Hi, Karen. Hi, Foggy,” he added, and Karen realized Foggy was still there, watching with interest.
“How did you know?” said Foggy. “I haven’t said a word since we came out the door.”
Matt smiled enigmatically.
Then he turned back to Karen, fidgeting with his cane, as if he was a bit nervous, too. “Do all your co-workers know…” he asked, and paused, as if he wasn’t sure how he wanted to describe what had been happening between them.
“I told Foggy about the flowers, he’s my friend,” she told him. “I have no idea how Jessica knows, she’s like that, she just knows things.”
Matt nodded and smiled, a little more relaxed. “Are you playing chaperone?” he asked Foggy.
“Just making sure your intentions are honorable,” Foggy answered, with exaggerated seriousness.
“Oh my lord, Foggy,” said Karen tartly, “I’m not some fragile Victorian maiden.”
“Which is why I’m making sure your intentions are honorable,” he said, with a huge grin. “Matt here is a fine, upstanding young man, I wouldn’t want you to lead him astray.”
Matt laughed. “No need for concern, Foggy,” he said. “I’m sure Karen isn’t going to lead me any further astray than I’m willing to go.” His tone was innocent, but his expression was not—the corners of his mouth curled up slightly, and good lord, Karen had been right about how sexy he would look with a bit of beard stubble. She felt herself blushing up to her hairline.
“Karen,” said Foggy, “I think now he’s flirting.”
“Foggy,” said Karen, “I think now you need to leave. We’ll take it from here.”
“I’ll see you next week,” said Foggy promptly, with another grin, and walked away.
“So,” said Karen, and didn’t know what to say next.
“So,” Matt repeated. “I hope you don’t mind me waiting for you like this. I just wanted to talk to you when you weren’t at work, and this was all I could think of.”
“It’s fine,” she assured him. “I’m, uh, I’m glad to see you.” Now that Foggy was gone, she was feeling nervous again.
“Good.” He smiled, and reached into his coat pocket, bringing out another paper flower and holding it out to her. She reached out to take it, and their hands touched. It was the first time she had ever touched him, and his breath sighed out of him as if he’d been holding it.
“Matt, this is beautiful,” she said, reaching out with her other hand to clasp his hand firmly. “Did you make them yourself?”
He nodded, looking pleased.
“When I found the first one, I wasn’t sure who had left it, we were so busy that day,” she told him.
“Yes, I knew that might happen, under the circumstances. So I made sure the next one you’d know it was me. I did worry I might be crossing a line—I’ve been wanting to talk to you like this for weeks, but I knew it would be unfair to corner you at your job, when you have to be there, and you have to be nice to people…”
Karen beamed. He got it, he understood. Foggy was right.
He continued, “And I thought even leaving you flowers might be inappropriate. But then you gave me one, so I figured I was safe.” He smiled.
“Absolutely,” she said. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you, too, but you’re right, work isn’t the place. This was a good idea. And thank you for the flowers, they really are beautiful. Making something like this must take forever.”
“It just takes practice,” he said. Then his expression slid into a sly grin she’d never seen before, and he added deliberately, “I’m good with my hands.” He ran his thumb over her knuckles, and her breath caught, her whole body flushing. Now he was definitely flirting. She swayed a step closer, and brushed her own thumb lightly across his fingers. His lips parted, and she was pleased to see his cheeks turn pink. He might be a smooth talker, but he was blushing as much as she was. Good.
“Are you?” she asked, glad that her voice didn’t sound as breathless as she felt. “Was your plan to just wait here for me so we could hold hands, or did you have something else in mind?”
“I did, in fact. Would you like to get coffee with me? I hear there’s a coffee shop right next door. We can get to know each other a little better.” He raised their joined hands, and turned his to lace their fingers together. “And keep holding hands, if you like.”
“I’d love to,” she said happily. She let go of his hand to slip the flower into her bag, and then offered him her arm, bumping it gently against his. He folded up his cane, and tucked his hand into the crook of her elbow.
He gave her his familiar charming smile, sparking a hopeful glow of warmth inside her, and they walked off down the street together.