Firefly Hollow by T. L. Haddix

never expected to find something else where I could potentially share that love. But I’ve seen you all do it here. When you help someone find a book they’re looking for or show them how to use the card catalog, it opens up a new world for them.”
    Shirley smiled. “It can be a bit like holding the keys to a new kingdom. Oh, the job isn’t perfect; no job is. But it has its rewards. Plus, in a library, the people who walk in the doors typically want to learn something, more often than not. As a teacher? Some of your students are only going to be there because they have to.”
    “True,” Sarah said. “Do you think Ms. Cornett will let me help with the literacy program?” The new literacy program had started to gain a little momentum. In an area where a good number of the population was illiterate or barely literate, the program had the potential to do a tremendous amount of good.
    “She might. You should also ask her about going around to the schools with me when I go. With your background, that would probably be a good fit for you.”
    Callie Barger, the other library assistant, came around the corner of the bookshelf. “Excuse me, Ms. Combs. Owen Campbell is here, and I can’t find that book that came in for him.”
    “I’ll be right there, Callie.” Shirley handed the book she was holding to Sarah. “Owen’s one of the most voracious readers we have. I’m surprised he hasn’t been in since you were hired. He’s usually in here every week.” She headed for the front desk.
    With a frown, Sarah put the book in its place, then eased to the end of the row of bookshelves. She kept the rolling cart in front of her, but surreptitiously looked toward the front desk. Though she’d technically lived next door to the Campbells her entire life, she had never laid eyes on the man, and she was curious.
    Instead of the scrawny, wizened recluse she’d been expecting, Owen Campbell was tall. He stood straight, his shoulders looking as broad as a hundred-year-old oak. Dark hair, left a little long, brushed his collar. Sarah knew she was staring, but she couldn’t stop. There was something very appealing about the way he stood, and as he moved to give Shirley his library card, Sarah caught a glimpse of his hand. It was a nice hand—long, tapered fingers, square palm—and Sarah would have given her eyeteeth at that moment to see if his face matched her impression of the rest of him. She didn’t glance away until Shirley sent her a questioning look.
    When Owen started to turn, Sarah quickly shifted her gaze to the cart and the one book that still needed shelving. She moved to put the book away, and by the time she came out of the stacks, he had gone.
    “Do you know Owen Campbell?” Shirley asked as Sarah parked the cart at the end of the front desk.
    “No, I’ve never met him. His property borders ours, though. He isn’t what I expected.”
    “Owen’s a complicated young man. What were you expecting?”
    When Sarah described what she had expected to see, her friend laughed. “Oh, my. No, that’s certainly not Owen. He causes a stir whenever he comes to town. Didn’t you know that? And it isn’t because he’s a recluse.”
    Perplexed, Sarah shook her head. “No. What do you mean?”
    Callie sidled up to the desk. “You’ve really never met him?”
    “No.”
    The bottled-blonde sighed. “Well, he’s a dreamboat. Big brown eyes that make a girl melt. And he’s completely unaware of the effect he has. One of these days, I’m going to ask him to go for a root beer float.”
    Shirley frowned. “Callie, you know the director frowns upon that sort of fraternization with the patrons.”
    “I know. But one of these days, I’m going to do it. He’d be worth getting fired over.”
    Sarah blinked. One of the first rules Shirley had explained to her had been to respect the privacy of the patrons who used the library. That included asking them out socially.
    “People don’t want us commenting on or judging