Page 10 of The Lonely Hearts Book Club

“You don’t have to ride up with me. I just need you to use your key so I can get one of these…blasted buttons to work.”

He said the wordblastedas if it tasted foreign on his tongue. That was when I noticed his posture. It was that of a man prepared to flee at the first sound of a harsh word—not because he feared me, but because he was trying desperately to ensure thatIdidn’t fearhim.

“Blasted?” I echoed.

“Gosh-darned? Son of a biscuit?” A tinge of red touched his cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m not very good at this. What can I do to convince you I’m not a murderer?”

I didn’t tell him that he’d already done it, mostly because talking with strangers wasn’t something I excelled at. Especially not strangers who would rather lock themselves inside an elevator than scare an unwitting librarian with sentiment where her common sense should be.

“You should’ve said something,” I said as I brushed gently past him into the awaiting elevator. “I’ve been down here for twenty minutes.”

“Twenty-five, by my count.” Instead of joining me, he reached down and scooped up my address book. Holding it out, he added, “I would’ve looked for a stairwell, but I didn’t want you to think I was lurking around the basement.”

I accepted the address book and tilted my head in a gesture for him to join me. He did, but with an exaggerated step that carried him to the opposite side of the elevator, where he hunched himself into the corner. I noticed him noticing my brooch, but neither one of us mentioned it.

“Which floor?” I asked politely as I turned the key. When he didn’t answer right away, I pressed the button for the fourth floor, which would take him back to his Airbnb. “I don’t recommend you confront the people in 512. It won’t end the way you’re hoping.”

“I wasn’t going toconfrontthem,” he said, but with another of those tinges of red, this one creeping up toward his ears. I thought, but didn’t say, that the next time he wanted to make a woman feel less like he was going to murder her and hide her body inside a storage bin, all he needed to do was blush like that. “I was going to ask them politely to stop.”

“That won’t end the way you want it to, either.” The elevator lurched as it reached its destination. “They’re not bad people. They just…”

I let my voice trail off, uncertain of what I want to say. Actually, that was a lie. I knewexactlywhat I wanted to say. The words had been building up inside me for decades. Two decades, in fact, twenty long years in which I’d been forced to bear their emotions all by myself.

“They’re unhappy. Miserable. So wrapped up in their mutual antipathy that they don’t take any notice of the world around them.” I smiled and held the door open, gesturing for the man to step out. Only the knowledge that he was a temporary guest—that after a visit like this one, he wasn’t likely to book a return stay—kept my mouth moving. “You could spend a lifetime trying to break through to them, but it wouldn’t make any difference. You don’t matter. You never have, and you never will.”

“That’s…weirdly specific.”

There was no chance to explain myself further. The doors were already starting to close. “I’ll talk to them for you, but if you want my advice, you’re better off staying at a hotel,” I said.

And as far from this place as possible.

4

I didn’t notice the time until Octavia poked me on the shoulder with a pencil and ordered me to take a lunch break.

“Go. Eat. Breathe some fresh air.” She drew the pencil down the line of my white blouse. White was always a risk, but this particular top was my favorite, floaty and ethereal even after several hours of hard wear. It looked quite nice with the amethyst brooch I’d pinned to the lapel. Ever since my essay into the condo’s basement, I hadn’t been able to take it off. I hadn’t gotten up the nerve to contact any of my old college friends, either, but that part went without saying.

“You know what?” Octavia continued. “You should bring me back something with chocolate in it. Preferably of the cake variety.”

I glanced up from the printer I was trying to unjam. “You want cake? What time is it?”

“Half past twelve and well past time for you to eat lunch.” Octavia’s face lit up in a grin. “Oooh, you should go to that bakery across the street. Here—I’ll get my purse.”

I stood still as she bustled away, hearing rather than seeing her go. Octavia was a woman of textures, most of which came from the layers of clothing that crackled as she walked. I’d suffered many an electric shock from touching her without first grounding myself.

“Twelve thirty…” I echoed blankly. “Twelve thirty.”

It wasn’t until I looked up at the clock that the importance of the time sank in.

“Where’s Mr. McLachlan?” My glance skimmed the entire top floor of the library, no chair left untouched. “Why isn’t he here yet?”

I wasn’t sure why I felt such a quick spasm of alarm. Considering how cruel he’d been to me the last time we spoke, I’d been dreading our next meeting. Mateo thought I should pointedly ignore him, but I wasn’t sure I could. Did you ignore the car barreling down the road to run you over? Did you ignore the bear growling at you from across the forest floor?

Of course not. If you knew what was good for you, you tucked and rolled.

“All I have is a fifty.” Octavia flapped the bill at me, heedless of how conspicuous it was to throw large bills around a public library. “You might as well pick up a whole cake. We can put it in the break room to boost morale.”

What she meant, but was too tactful to say, was that it could sit in the break room to boostmymorale. I’d always been partial to eating my feelings.