Winston jumps onto the bed, curling against my side as if sensing my emotional turmoil. I scratch behind his ears absently, my mind still full of blue paint and almost-kisses and the look in Cal's eyes right before Diana arrived.
"What do you think, Winston? Am I setting myself up for heartbreak?"
He purrs loudly, kneading my thigh.
"Yeah, you're right," I murmur, closing my journal. "Some stories are worth the risk."
I turn out the light, but sleep is a long time coming. In the darkness, I replay every moment with Cal, every conversation, every almost-touch. And for the first time in years, I let myself hope that maybe, just maybe, this story might have a happy ending after all.
CHAPTER SIX
CAL
I lay the final fairy door against the workbench, pleased with how the miniature brass hinges catch the morning light. Three days of careful work—each door unique, each with its own secret compartment behind it. Molly's idea had been brilliant: tiny rotating book displays that children could discover and change themselves. It gives them ownership of the space in a way most library furniture never could.
The thought of Molly brings an involuntary smile to my face. Two weeks since our near-kiss under the constellation canopy, and I still catch myself drifting into memories of it at odd moments. The way she looked up at me, fearless and hopeful all at once. The slight tremble in her hand as she touched my face.
We haven't spoken about it. Haven't needed to. Something has shifted between us, a current of understanding that runs beneath our conversations about wood finishes and installation schedules. A shared secret that makes every accidental touch electric.
My phone buzzes with a text.
Molly
Still on for final installation today? The kids are BUZZING about the grand opening tomorrow!
Cal
On my way in an hour. Bringing the fairy doors.
Molly
!!!!!!! Can't wait to see them!
The five exclamation points make me chuckle. Molly's enthusiasm spills over into everything, even text messages. It used to overwhelm me—all that emotion, all that energy. Now I find myself looking forward to it, like stepping into sunlight after too long indoors.
I load the completed doors into my truck, along with my tools and the final hardware needed for installation. The reading nook is nearly complete—just these finishing touches and the project that's consumed my life for the past month will be done.
The thought brings an unexpected pang. When the nook is finished, my reason for seeing Molly every day disappears.
Unless I find a new reason.
The library parking lot is unusually full for a Tuesday morning. I recognize Margaret's car and several others belonging to board members. As I gather my materials, Harold Finch emerges from his Mercedes, briefcase in hand.
"Rhodes," he nods curtly. "Here for the final inspection?"
"Final installation," I correct. "The fairy doors are ready to go in."
Harold makes a noncommittal noise. "The board's doing a walk-throughthis morning. Standard procedure before any new feature opens to the public."
Something in his tone puts me on edge. Harold's been the only consistent critic of the project, questioning every design choice and budget item. But Molly hadn't mentioned a board inspection today.
I follow him into the library, materials balanced carefully in my arms. The main area is quiet, but I can hear voices from the children's section. As we round the corner, I see a cluster of people gathered around the reading nook. Molly stands in the center, gesturing animatedly as she explains something to the assembled board members.
She spots me and her face lights up. "Cal! Perfect timing! I was just showing everyone the final structure before you add the fairy doors."
I set my materials down on a nearby table, nodding a greeting to Margaret and the others. Molly's wearing a blue dress patterned with tiny yellow books, her hair pulled back with a matching ribbon. She looks like she belongs in a children's story herself.
"It's certainly... creative," says a woman I recognize as a board member. "Very whimsical."
