Sometimes they didn’t feel very big at all.

He was opening the door to his SUV when his phone buzzed. Troy checked his phone. A text had just come in from Taylor.

Forgot to text from my car, but I am home.

He looked at the text a moment and smiled. Are you wearing that adorable robe with the big pink pigs? He texted in reply.

You’re just jealous that you don’t have one.

Troy grinned. Good night, book girl.

Good night, city slicker.

Chapter Nine

‡‡

It took Taylor a long time to fall asleep that night.

She wished she could blame caffeine or work worries on her inability to doze off, but it wasn’t anything like that. She wasn’t even worrying about Doug.

She couldn’t sleep because she had Troy on her brain and the rational, practical part of her brain was lecturing her that it was most impractical to be lying awake at twelve fifteen, thinking about him. But then there was this other part of her brain, a very small but rebellious little part, encouraging her to remember their conversation at Grey’s and then the fun, albeit brief, text exchange once she was home.

The little rebellious voice inside of her was reminding her that life wasn’t always fun so she should enjoy the moments that were positive.

Right now, curled up in bed with a howling wind outside, she was wanting to throw her weight behind the rebel voice, particularly as it was often smashed under the guise of being responsible and doing the right thing.

But honestly, was it such a wrong thing to think about Troy Sheenan?

It’s not as if she was really falling for him. It’s not as if she was imagining happy-ever-afters. She was still grounded, practical, sensible Taylor. Still committed to small towns, crumbling libraries, great books, and taking care of one’s family.

And it’s not as if, by thinking of him, she was going to create any drama, or influence fate.

No one knew she was thinking of him.

She certainly wouldn’t tell McKenna or Jane, or anyone else. Nor would she ever let Troy find out. (God help her.) But it was kind of fun to play tonight back in her head, skipping the uncomfortable parts like the whole McKenna-Troy-Trey conversation and jumping to the talking to Troy at the bar.

She could still see him leaning against the bar, smiling at her with those very dark, blue eyes. He had great eyes. A great face.

Great body.

Thinking about him made her feel warm on the inside. And just a tiny bit bubbly.

But no one had to know. And in the morning, when the morning arrived, she wouldn’t allow herself to dwell on the warm bubbly part anymore.

In the morning she’d go back to being practical and disciplined. She’d become sensible Taylor, Marietta’s librarian.

But that was the morning.

Tonight she was still free to wish…and dream.

Thursday afternoon Louise came bounding up the stairs to the second floor landing where Taylor was adding some of the photos and memorabilia of Marietta in 1914 to the second floor display cabinet. Taylor had found them in a box in the library’s storage vault and thought it was the perfect time to change displays with the Valentine Ball tomorrow launching the 100 year anniversary of the Great Wedding Giveaway.

“Does Margaret know you’re doing this?” Louise asked, stooping to get a look at the faces in one of the photographs.

“Nope.”

“She might not like it. She was very partial to the agriculture display. Her dad was a farmer.”

“Yes, I know. But the display was almost twenty years old. I think a change is in order.” Taylor sat back and dusted her hands on a soft cloth she’d picked up at the Mercantile on Main Street. “And what is she going to do? Fire me? She can’t. She didn’t hire me.”

“You’re feisty today.”

“I’m just tired of tiptoeing around, afraid of incurring Margaret’s displeasure. This library is in the dark ages. It’s time it embraced change and technology. Kids read on iPhones and tablets and we should at the very least have new adult and young adult books available for them as downloads.” And yes, Taylor silently added, she was still smarting after this morning’s meeting where Margaret rejected every single book Taylor had suggested as an interesting read for the local teenagers. Margaret still thought Nancy Drew was the leading series for girls. She couldn’t accept that young adults today might enjoy vampires, werewolves, witches or apocalyptic literature stories featuring strong heroines.

“Well, I support you,” Louise said. “And you’ll have a say in the librarian that’s hired to replace me, so be patient and know that change is coming.”

“I’m trying,” Taylor answered, positioning a new black and white photo of Marietta High with its graduating class of 1914 against a trophy dated 1914 before straightening.