“What a coincidence. I’ve been meaning to do that too. Mind if I tag along?”
“Not at all,” she says easily. “If you have nothing better to do, you’re officially invited to be the guide on this field trip.”
I check out her shoe situation, so I know whether we’re walking or driving. Her toenails—painted a deep pink—are on display in sandals with straps. I have neutral feelings about feet, but there is something super attractive about shoes with straps that wrap around a woman’s ankle.
“Should I drive, or …”
“I’m walking,” she says. “Low heel. I could go all day in these shoes.”
“Let the tour begin.” We fall into step in the direction of the library. “You have two options here. Either I make up history for the many, many parts of Serendipity Springs we’ll pass that I don’t know about, which I’m fine with.”
“Or …”
“Or you could tell me more about the new director of the museum.”
“She’s amazing,” Phoebe says. “Or so I’ve heard.”
“That tracks.”
She shoots me a grin as we separate to let an older woman walking her dog pass. “What would you like to know?”
Favorite kind of first date, preferred flower, and when do you think you’ll wear cutoffs again?I don’t say any of that, obviously.
“You went to Boston College,” I say. “You did your undergrad in museum studies. Master’s in art history with an emphasis in the early American industrial period, a job in an art gallery, and almost ten years in some capacity at the Sutton, the last six full-time.”
“I actually knew all that,” she says.
I roll my eyes. “Tell me what I wouldn’t see on your resume. Like,whyhistory? And what drew you to museums?”
“Hmm. I don’t remember having a defining moment when I decided I wanted to grow up and work in a museum. Let me think.”
I do, enjoying the weather and the walk, but mainly the company. I realize it’s the first time I’ve seen her with her hair down. It falls below her shoulders with a wavy almost-curl like mine.
“Do you remember thoseWho Wasbooks? That’s probably where it started,” she says, and I grin.
“I loved those books. My first one was about King Tut.”
“I read one about Annie Oakley in fourth grade, and I thought it was the coolest thing ever. I became a history nerd and read every single one the school library had. I passed a lot of my childhood that way.”
We spend the next several minutes trading our favoriteWho Wassubjects, and soon enough, we’re standing in front of the main library.
“That was a good warmup conversation before coming here,” I say. “You’re a genius.”
“That happens a lot.”
“Let’s roll in on the tide of good library memories.” I hold the door for her, then lead her straight to the reference desk.
An octogenarian with a full face of makeup and enough rhinestones to bedazzle a figure skating costume—or three—glances up, and treats us to a violet lipstick smile.
“Well, look at you, cute Jameson Martin.” She gets up to come around the desk with her arms outstretched. “It’s been too long since you came in to see me.”
I return her hug and meet Phoebe’s eyes, which are watching this with amusement.
“Sissy Mayhew,” I say, drawing back. “I’d like you to meetPhoebe Hopper, the director of the new museum. Phoebe, this is Sissy Mayhew, head librarian of the Serendipity Springs main branch.”
“Delighted to meet you, honey,” Sissy says, shaking hands with Phoebe. “I’m excited to see what you have planned for Foster’s place.”
“My head is full of ideas. It’s going to be fun.”
