Page 36 of Hottie on Her Shelf
Megan leaned against the doorjamb. Her eyes widened as she took in the disaster zone. “I don’t care what you say. You obviously are drunk, because…duh, you are a librarian.”
“Yes, but I don’t want to look like one.”
“Hallie, I love you, but I’ve harped on about your boring, staid librarian clothes for years. You insist that you don’t want to draw attention to yourself.”
“That’s true. I hate it when people stare at me.” Hated it so much.
Hallie preferred to blend in with her books. Be like the old-school leather covers. Nobody looked at them. If opened, amazing worlds were revealed, but to a casual observer, you’d barely notice them.
Megan came all the way in, took both hands, and squeezed tightly. “You’re no longer the know-it-all teacher’s pet that everyone teased. You own your smartness now. You’re a walking billboard for badass smartness.”
“I know.” School had been rough. College had fixed all that. There, Hallie had found likeminded people who worked as hard as she did. Who got an equal kick out of etymology and literature and picking apart themes. She’d found her lane and floored it.
Drawing her down onto a pile of nearly identical dark pants, Megan continued. “You’re also not the poor girl from the wrong side of the tracks. Lots of people here don’t care that you’re from Crow Harbor. They just know that you’re a kickass librarian with two degrees who knows every bookish thing there is.”
“What I don’t know, I do know where to find the answer,” she corrected.
It earned her an eye roll. “Exactly. I get that there’s lingering insecurity. Our childhoods mess everyone up in all sorts of ways, but you’re too strong to let it shape you anymore. Too strong to be held back by insecurity, or fear of being judged and mocked.”
Oh, God. Had she really been doing that? Still trying to blend into the background so nobody would point and snark and laugh? Still, at the ripely mature age of thirty?
What a waste.
How had she not figured this out a decade ago? With all of her vast—some called it obsessive—reading, how had Hallie not seen that she’d turned into a caricature of a librarian? How had her allergic-to-introspection bestie figured it out first?
Well, she wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Hallie threw her arms around Megan, rocking back and forth a bit. “You’re really smart.”
“Sometimes. On some things,” she said smugly. “Pretty much an expert at seeing what’s right in front of me. Aka, you, my favorite friend.”
She scooted back against the plethora of green throw pillows in all shapes and sizes. “Have you been dating a therapist? Or hanging out in the self-help aisle at the library?”
Megan stuck out her tongue. “The only place I hang out there is at the front desk to talk to you.”
“Well, however it came to you, thanks for the truth smack. I needed it.”
“A little tough love can work wonders.” The smugness was layered on as thick as the frosting on top of the Boston crème cupcakes from her favorite bakery.
That smugness rankled. And then it hit her. “Megan Eileen Lennox, did you put me on the ballot to shake me up and get me out of my rut?” If so, the payback would be ruthless and never-ending. A private intervention was one thing. This ultra-public, one-month humiliation of a campaign was something else entirely.
“No. No, of course not.” Megan sounded shocked enough that Hallie believed her, but then a slow, sly smile unfurled across her lips. “Although that would’ve been brilliant. Totally justified. I’m mad at myself for not having that as the reason.”
Hallie wanted to shove everything on the bed to the floor. She was practical enough, however, to know that would just create an extra hour of ironing for her this weekend. “I need a new look.”
“Truer words have never been spoken.” She crinkled her nose, picked up a cream blouse, then a white blouse. Then a taupe blouse. All with only two fingers, as though the clothes would taint her with their dullness if they touched her entire hand.
It wasn’t as if a fairy godmother would, well, first of all appear, and then flick her wand and turn these clothes into haute couture. “Like you said before, though, that’s for future Hallie to work on. Present Hallie needs a smoking hot outfit for dinner with Fitz.”
“Why? Why does it even matter to you?” Megan demanded.
Because he’d called her pretty. And interesting.
Because he didn’t seem in the least intimidated by her vocabulary.
Because he could quote Thoreau.
Because he had a charming and easy confidence that made her think he’d kiss like he had a PhD in it.
Hallie decided to summarize in reasons sure to resonate with her friend. “Have you ever seen the mayor? Talk about smoking hot. The man is, well, yummy.”
