Page 39 of Carter

“You know how to,” he says. “You just feel guilty that you can and he can’t.”

I grit my teeth, my throat burning. “Yeah.”

“I don’t know him, but I can see how much you love him.” He said love. Not loved. “And I know enough about you to know you wouldn’t love someone who treated you badly. That tells me he’d want you to be happy, Carter. He’d want you to have fun. To live your life.”

A choked sound leaves my throat, and I try to hide it by clearing it. Don’t think it works.

“You know, you’d think he and I had been married for our whole lives with the way I don’t know how to live without him.”

“Things like that aren’t measured in time. Sometimes you feel your life doesn’t start until you meet someone special.”

“Is that emotion I hear?” I joke.

“Don’t get used to it,” he mutters.

I smile, reaching for the blankets to cover myself. I’m no longer sweating, and the cold is seeping in through the windows.

“So how is your team? Did you come up with a name for them?”

“Don’t be silly,” he scolds. “And they’re competent, so that’s a start. They’ve been around for a few years, partners for one. Been looking for promotions. They got me.”

Sounds like a promotion to me.

“Well, I know enough about you to know you wouldn’t say something that wasn’t true, so this sounds like a good thing.” I yawn, unable to hold it back. “I should go back to bed. Work in the morning.”

“Call me back if you can’t sleep.”

“You should sleep.”

“I will. Soon.”

A smile tugs at my lips as my eyes fall closed.

“Good night, Nash.”

“Night, Carter.”

I push the cart down the aisle and slip books back into their spots. The library is quiet this morning, with Eileen out on an appointment. She’ll be in before noon, but she isn’t really needed. This place can usually run on one staff without a problem, it’s only when we have events that we need more people.

Something about this place, about being around books, makes me comfortable. It’s one of the only places I feel at peace. I think it’s something about the smell. It has to be a chemical thing, right? Like actually calming down my brain? I know it’s a commonly enjoyed scent—books. People crack them open and smell them all the time. It’s why libraries are always quiet. People don’t always follow rules, and of course there have been problems, but there is something about a library that makes people calm and want to be quiet.

Some people smile as I pass them with the cart. Others are so occupied by what they’re doing they don’t even notice me.

Then I get to the romance section to put away a few books. There’s a man there, roughly about my age. Taller than me, dark hair and light eyes. Always dressed in a button up and slacks, like he has a fancy job somewhere. I’ve seen him here a few times. He smiles brightly.

“How are you?” he asks softly.

“Well, and you?”

“Just great.”

I nod and pause a few feet away to put the books back onto the shelves.

“Could you help me find something?” he then asks.

“Of course. What book do you need help finding?”

“My book club chose for us to readWuthering Heights, since most of us haven’t read it or don’t remember it.”