Between the Stacks

Chapter 42

Nevertheless, the word relationship jumped out at me from the screen. The pixels blared on my screen.

I would read the policy in detail later. For now I skimmed the important parts.

Personal relationships between employees in the Cherryhill Public Library system are permitted on a case-by-case basis, the document read. Something unclenched in my stomach. Perhaps this wasn't the end of the world. I'd fill out a few forms, submit them to HR, and be on my merry way.

Then I read a sentence further down: Relationships between supervisors and their staff are strictly prohibited.

"Cool, cool, cool," I whispered, doing my best to Not Freak Out.

"What are you looking at?" Matteo asked from behind me, and I officially started to Absolutely Freak Out.

I didn't need to Google anything - as it turned out, Matteo was the Canadian form of the FBI.

"Nothing," I said, clicking to another tab at random. Thankfully it was just the weather, and not, say, pictures of Wesley's Instagram. (No comment on whether I had ever done that on a work computer.) "Literally nothing."

"Suspicious," Matteo said, perching on the end of my desk. He casually brushed a stray piece of ear behind his ear, looking far too relaxed for my comfort. "It looked like you were looking at one of our policies. I'd recognize our terrible website from fifty feet away."

"The policy on not eating things in the fridge that don't belong to you," I said pointedly.

He held up a hand. "That happened one time. Months ago. And I replaced your sandwich. But I see through your distraction techniques, and I'm not letting you get away with it." He leaned in so close to me that I could see the faint line of contact lenses surrounding his pupils. "Spill the beans."

"There are no beans to spill." I crossed my arms.

"False! There are many beans."

"Why are we talking about beans?" Melissa had rolled up; I'd been so focused on Matteo that I hadn't noticed. He jerked his head in my direction.

"I smell a juicy secret," he said.

"Look," I said, glancing at the clock on my wall. My shift had ended two minutes ago. "There's really nothing going on."

"Liar," Matteo said, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Don't listen to him," Melissa said. "I trust you."

"Something is going on between her and our fearless new leader," Matteo said, pointing a finger at me. "I have a sixth sense for this."

"You have a sixth sense for finding cheap pizza places," Melissa said. "You're way off on this. Emma would never do anything with a traitor like Wesley."

I found a nice smudge on the wall to stare at. What a lovely smudge.

"Emma?" Melissa said slowly. "This is the part when you agree with me."

"I absolutely, one-hundred percent agree," I said, cutting myself off before I could babble any further. I stood up. "I need to run. Do a thing. A chore."

Perhaps I wasn't so good at cutting myself off after all.

I escaped into the storage room and took comfort from the familiar smell of craft supplies and burnt popcorn from the time Melissa messed up how much time to put on the microwave. I pretended to sort through buckets of markers as I worked out my thoughts.

Relationships between supervisors and their staff are strictly prohibited. I had read that sentence only a moment ago, and somehow each word was already branded on my brain.

I liked Wesley. I liked his laugh, and his smile, and the way he crossed his arms when he made a dumb joke. I liked his honesty and his family and the way he made me feel. I liked being around him. With him.

On the other hand, there was my job. I was lucky to have landed a librarian role so early in my career, and I would be Extremely Dumb if I blew this opportunity for a guy.

Although he wasn't just any guy.

I didn't want to make a decision too quickly. I needed more time to sort out my headspace. I pulled my phone from my pocket and started my text.

Then I realized that I was texting on the job – and he was my new manager. Was that bad? Would I be punished? Not in like, a fun way, but in actual trouble at work?

Screw it.

Congrats on the job! I wrote, deciding the exclamation mark would make me seem cool and confident, even if I felt the complete opposite. I saw the policy. Maybe let's take a brief pause as we figure everything out?

A pause. That was a safe word. Not a break – this was no Ross and Rachel situation – just a pause. I paused my Netflix shows all the time.

I hit send, and I did my best to ignore the ache in my chest.