It was nice hearing good things about the Witt family around here for a change.
“Thank you. We’re, uh, just getting to know each other, but she seems smart and independent.”
Annnnd hopefully not too damaged.
“Wanna see her in action?” Sloane offered.
“I want it even more than a visit to your coffee bar.”
Sloane’s ruby red lips curved. “Follow me.”
I followed Sloane up the open staircase to the second floor, which housed even more book stacks, more seating, more plants, and a few private rooms off to one side.
In the back was another long, low desk under a hanging sign that said Community. Waylay sat on a stool behind the desk, frowning at an electronic device. The device’s owner, an elderly Black man in a crisp button-down and trousers, leaned on the counter.
“That’s Hinkel McCord. He’s 101 years old and reads two books a week. He keeps messing with the settings on his e-reader,” Sloane explained.
“I swear it’s the damn great-grandkids. Those sticky-fingered little punks see an electronic device and they go after it like kids went after sticks and candy in my day,” Hinkel complained.
“She started coming in here a couple times a week after she and your sister moved here. One afternoon some virus software update was giving the entire system shit, and Waylay got tired of listening to me yell at the computer. She popped behind the desk and voilà.” Sloane wiggled her fingers in the air. “Fixed the whole damn thing in less than five minutes. So I asked her if she minded helping out a few other folks. I pay her in snacks and letting her check out double the number of books everyone else is allowed. She’s a great kid.”
I suddenly just wanted to sit down and cry. Apparently my face telegraphed just that.
“Uh-oh. You okay?” Sloane asked, looking concerned.
I nodded, willing away the damp from my eyes. “I’m just so happy,” I managed to choke out.
“Oh, boy. How about a nice box of tissues and an espresso?” she suggested, guiding me away from a group of senior citizens settled around a table. “Belinda, I have the latest Kennedy Ryan novel you were asking for.”
A woman with a puff of white hair and a large crucifix nearly buried in her impressive cleavage clapped her hands. “Sloane, you are my favorite human being.”
“That’s what they all say,” she said with a wink.
“Did you say espresso?” I whimpered.
Sloane nodded. “We have really good coffee here,” she promised.
“Will you marry me?”
She grinned, and her nose stud sparkled. “I’m mostly into men these days. There was that one time in college.”
She guided me into an annex with four computers and a U-shaped counter. There was a sink, dishwasher, and a small refrigerator with a sign that said FREE WATER. Coffee mugs hung from cute hooks.
Sloane headed directly for the coffee maker and got to work. “You look like at least a double,” she observed.
“I wouldn’t say no to a triple.”
“I knew I liked you. Have a seat.”
I planted myself at one of the computers and tried to compose myself. “I’ve never seen a library like this,” I said, desperate to make small talk that wouldn’t render me an emotional lump of feelings.
Sloane flashed a smile at me. “That’s what I like to hear. When I was a kid, the local library was my sanctuary. It wasn’t until I got older that I realized that it still wasn’t accessible to everyone. So I went to school for library science and public administration, and here we are.”
She set a cup in front of me and returned to the machine. “It’s all about community. We’ve got free classes on everything from sex education and budgeting to meditation and meal-prepping. We don’t have a huge homeless population here, but we’ve got locker rooms and a small laundry facility in the basement. I’m working on free after-school programs to help families who can’t swing the cost of daycare. And of course there’s the books.”
Her face
went soft and dreamy.