Page 36 of Checking Out the Librarian

Connor breathed in and out while Ribby leaned a shoulder into the side of his leg.

Wait. Read quietly.

The morning had been emotional, but Jonathan’s instructions settled over Connor like a heavy blanket.

He felt the sun warming his neck, and pictured himself a half-hour in the future, sitting with an empty iced latte and a dog sleeping at his feet. He would look up from his book to see Jonathan walking toward him. He would stand and give him a swift brush of lips across his cheek like people who dated people did, super casual but intimate. Then, they would sit down together.

He and Jonathan.

Connor

Yes I’ll do that

9

TINY HOPS

Jonathan had fussed with his hair in the staff bathroom, sniff-checked his armpits and unfastened and refastened the second and, embarrassingly, at one point, the third, button on his shirt.

Work was one button, clearly, but a coffee shop with Connor should be two. Three was for bars, Palm Springs, and after dark.

Connor

Would you like a latte

Iced or hot? Or something else

It looked like Connor was typing a third message, but nothing arrived. The phone informed him it was already 4:08. If he didn’t reply, then leave this bathroom, Connor might assume he’d ghosted.

Jonathan

A small cold brew with a splash of cream, please and thank you.

Failure is not fatal, he reminded himself. If you don’t try anything, you won’t fail, but you can’t succeed, either.

Last year he’d written out twenty sayings about failure, practicing them in architect-style block print, fancy calligraphy, even Gen Z failed cursive, until he’d memorized them. His former therapist had suggested he consider being less of a perfectionist about this, too, but at least they’d laughed over his very nicely composed lists.

He hadn’t had a professional to talk to since he’d moved to Eugene, but he was capable of recognizing that reciting motivational sayings to bolster his nerve to cross a street and meet a former hookup was being a bit of a drama queen; the only thing he needed to do was go.

Just go.

He took three tiny hops. Not two. Not one. Three.

The familiar performance ritual felt good, so he gave a full body shake-out in front of the mirror, from his shoulders to his fingertips to his spine. Flexed his fingers and toes three times.

If he and Connor had nothing to say to each other, if Portland had been a one-time-only thing, that would be fine.

He followed the usual leaving routines, starting with a finger wave to Lily, who smirked and whole-arm waved in reply. The air outside was warm and close after the artificial cool of the library.

At the corner, he pushed the walk sign button with his elbow like he’d been doing since 2020, then concentrated on maintaining a relaxed posture as he crossed the street and approached the café.

He paused to let himself absorb the scene.

Connor was a remarkably good-looking man in an effortless jock way, and he was performing that reading-a-book-in-public thirst trap meme that always caught Jonathan’s attention. His T-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, the fabric glowing with the slight translucence of well-worn cotton in bright light, and his legs sprawled in a pose that showed his firm calves and thick thighs.

From this distance he could see that Connor’s dog also sprawled, half under the table, half on top of Connor’s foot. The two color-coordinated in golden tones like a soft-focus ad for pet food.

Connor had acquired a bright blue ball cap from somewhere, and his blond hair fluffed from under the sides of it and down onto his ears, which made Jonathan want to shove his fingers into those remembered curls and pull a little bit.