Check Her Out (His Curvy Librarian Book 2), Frankie Love [feel good books .TXT] 📗

own life hasn’t been easy—far from it—and I’ve never been lucky in love, but things always seem to work out in the end. When I was growing up poor, my family never had much but they always managed to have just enough. And when both of my parents died when I was just fifteen years old, Nora and Cassidy’s parents took me in and treated me as their own.

So I’ve got to believe that when the time is right, love will find me—and the same will be true for Nora.

“Ugh, I should go,” I say, checking the time. It’s a quarter to three and there’s no way I’m going to get all these books back out of the van and set up at the outreach center before the teens arrive.

“You sure you don’t want one of us to ride along and help you unload?” Cassidy offers.

I shake my head. “Nah, you’ve got your own work to do, and at this rate, I can probably just ask the teens themselves to pitch in. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, good luck,” Nora says. “Have fun!”

“Thanks,” I say, walking toward the driver’s side of the van. I call over the hood, “Hey, see you two tonight for the seven o’clock showing?”

“You bet,” Nora answers, and Cassidy gives me a thumbs-up.

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

Golden Creek is having its annual street festival starting tonight, and the three of us made plans to make it a girls’ night out, starting with a screening of a classic movie that has become a bit of a tradition at the town’s one-screen theater. This year, it’s Casablanca.

I’ve seen that movie at least twenty times and it never gets old, but more importantly, I can’t wait to hang out with my girls. Now that Cassidy has Chuck, I’ve lost a roommate and I’ve been jonesing for some us-time.

I hop in the van and drive over to the outreach center, which is an unassuming cinder block building within walking distance of all the public schools. Unfortunately, it’s not walkable from the library, which is why Prescott reached out to me about setting up a little satellite library.

I’ve suggested ‘field trips’ to the library in the past, but these kids act like they’re allergic to reading, he said in one of his emails. With your help, I’d like to bring the joy of books to them.

If I’d been at all on the fence about this project before, that line had instantly melted my heart.

By some miracle, I actually arrive before the teens, and the building looks quiet for the moment. I pull the van right up to the door to make unloading easy, then kill the engine. I get out and go around back, opening the van door and picking up the first box of books.

“You must be Brooklyn,” a deep, velvety voice says from the other side of the van door. “Can I help you with those?”

“Sure,” I say, turning around.

And I damn near drop twenty pounds of books on both our toes.

Standing right in front of me, arms out to take the box, is Tall, Dark and Handsome incarnate. His dark, nearly black hair is slicked back on top and faded meticulously on the sides. He’s wearing black-framed glasses that make nerdy little me quiver a bit… and is that a hint of a tattoo I see peeking out of the bottom of his tight-fitting T-shirt?

As they say in Casablanca, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

“Prescott?” I ask, my belly still quivering.

“At your service,” he says and takes the box out of my hands as if it were filled with feathers instead of books. He takes one more from the back of the van, brushing past me and leaving behind the scent of his cologne—leathery and rich. “Follow me—I’ll give you the grand tour.”

I’m feeling a little lightheaded as I pick up another box and follow him inside.

What was it I was just telling Nora about meeting the right guy at the right time?

Pinch me, I’m dreaming.

2

Prescott

My heart pretty much stopped the first moment I laid eyes on Brooklyn.

Up to now, all our correspondence has been electronic, and I knew from those emails that she has a cute sense of humor, but the picture I’d been building of her in my mind got ripped to shreds the moment she turned around and locked eyes with me.

Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t imagining some silver-bunned, shushing stereotype of a librarian—but I’m not sure anything could have prepared me for… her.

Wavy golden locks. Dazzling sapphire eyes. Curves for days.

I had to snatch a couple boxes of books and turn around just to keep myself from blatantly checking her out.

Now, inside the outreach center, I lead her over to the little reading nook the kids and I have been setting up this past week. Right now it’s just a soft rug, some beanbag chairs, and a couple of empty bookshelves, but with Brooklyn’s help, I hope it’ll become something really special that the kids grow to love.

I set down my two boxes on the floor, then take the one Brooklyn’s carrying. “Here, let me.”

“Thanks,” she says, looking up through her lashes at me. A smile plays on her soft lips and she asks, “Do you think I overdid it? I wasn’t sure how many books to bring.”

“I don’t think it’s possible to overdo it when it comes to books,” I say. “And I know I mentioned it in an email already, but I really appreciate your enthusiasm about this project. When I first contacted the library, I sort of figured the director would give me a flat-out no.”

“My whole mission is teen outreach,” Brooklyn says. “Doesn’t matter to me if that happens in the library or somewhere else, as long as they’re reading.”

“I feel the same way,” I say, my body involuntarily swaying a little closer to hers.

We’re alone in the building—at least for the moment—and every time this woman looks at me, with those big blue eyes, I can feel