Overdue

I'd been coming to the public library every Saturday for six months before I finally worked up the courage to talk to her.

Her name was Ms. Ashford, at least, that's what the little placard on her desk said. She worked in the rare books section, which I had absolutely no reason to visit, but I'd started making up reasons. Research for a novel I wasn't writing. Interest in local history I didn't have. Anything to walk past her desk and catch a glimpse of her.

She was in her late thirties, with auburn hair she always wore up, glasses that made her look stern until she smiled, and the kind of quiet elegance that suggested a life full of books and secrets. She wore cardigans and pencil skirts and sensible heels that clicked against the marble floors in a rhythm I'd started listening for.

I was completely, hopelessly obsessed.

* * *

"Can I help you find something?"

I jumped. I'd been pretending to browse the Victorian literature section while actually watching her re-shelve books with the careful attention of someone who loved her job.

"I was just... looking."

"You've been 'just looking' in this section for three Saturdays in a row." Her voice was low and warm, nothing like the stern librarian I'd imagined. "If you're trying to find something specific, I can help."

"I'm not sure what I'm looking for."

"Aren't we all." She smiled, and my heart did something complicated. "I'm Margaret. Most people call me Maggie."

"Hannah."

"Nice to officially meet you, Hannah. You're one of my regulars now."

"You noticed?"

"I notice everything that happens in my section. It's a small kingdom, but I rule it absolutely."

She said it with a hin

t of humor that made me laugh, too loud for a library, and she shushed me with a finger to her lips, but she was smiling.

"Come. Let me show you something."

* * *

The "something" was a small reading room I'd never noticed before, tucked behind the stacks, with leather armchairs and tall windows that let in the afternoon light.

"This is my favorite spot in the whole building. Most people don't know it exists."

"Why are you showing me?"

"Because you seem like someone who appreciates quiet places." She sat in one of the armchairs and gestured to the other. "Sit. Talk to me."

"About what?"

"About why you keep coming to the rare books section when you clearly have no interest in rare books."

I felt my face flush. "I could be interested in rare books."

"You could be. But you're not." She leaned forward slightly. "So what are you interested in, Hannah?"

There was something in the way she asked, something that suggested she already knew the answer and was waiting to see if I was brave enough to say it.

"You. I keep coming back because of you."

Her expression didn't change, but something flickered in her eyes.