2 YEARS LATER
“Here you are, dear. Those book recommendations you asked me for.” Lynette, the plump old lady who ran the local library, dropped a stack of books on the large oak table in front of me, startling me and forcing me to divert my attention from peering over the top of the guide on how to build your own birdhouse.
“Thank you so much, Jemima,” I smiled widely, wondering if she knew that I had absolutely no interest in carpentry. “I can’t believe how quickly I’ve run out of reading material.”
That was an absolute lie. I’d read about half of one of the books she’d given me. The truth was that I needed an excuse to come to the library every day for the past week, so I was pretending I was some sort of speed reader and asking the librarian for more recommendations on each trip. Wh
