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Chapter 1
Tootsie
I stare at the flip calendar on the checkout desk. It’s officially February. It’s a pretty quiet day at the library, but my thoughts aren’t on my job. Nope, I’m thinking about my sad love life. Another year without a Valentine. Not that I care about getting chocolates or flowers, though it would be nice. What I actually care about is having someone to love and who loves me in return. Valentine’s Day is just a reminder that I don’t have that yet.
“Hey, Tootsie.”
“Hi Dot!” I offer a friendly smile to one of our regulars.
“Any recommendations or new books this week?” Dot works at a law office down the street and occasionally comes in on her lunch hour to pick up a stack of books. We’ve bonded over our shared love of romances.
“Actually, yes. This C.L. Cruz story just came out and it’s absolutely delicious.”
“Great. I’ll just go browse the shelves for a few more books, and I’ll grab that one when I check out.”
My gaze lingers on her as she heads to the romance section. She’s adorable. Short, blond, curvy, with a bright smile. Friendly. And she’s still single. I’m almost ashamed to find it comforting that I’m not alone. There’s obviously something wrong with the guys in Fairview if Dot is still single. She’s not letting it get her down, either. She’s back there choosing her boyfriends for the weekend—of the book and paper variety.
Unfortunately, I’m not feeling so peppy today. There’s a thought that’s been nagging at the back of my mind the last couple months—that maybe I’ve been spending too much time reading about romance, and not actually living it. It’s not that I haven’t dated. I have. But in my hometown, I was always the chubby girl. My mother always said I would blossom. Now that I’m in Fairview with a job that I love, maybe I have. Maybe it’s time to allow some romance in my life to happen outside of the books.
An idea sparks in my mind. I’ll be my own Valentine this year. I’ll get myself flowers, chocolates, and a bubble bath with a glass of wine. And I can start the process today—I open a new tab on my browser and search the catalogue for love poetry. I save the results.
Dot approaches the desk. “I think I’m ready.”
I glance at the books in her stack and grin. “It looks like you’re going to have a fun week of reading.” I add the C.L. Cruz book to her stack and start scanning. “You’ll have to let me know how you enjoy this one.”
“Absolutely. By the way, you look so cute today. I love how you work that retro look. I could never get my hair to do that sexy, wavy thing you’ve got going on.”
I blush a little and smile. “Thanks, Dot. And you look super cute too!”
She rolls her eyes and grins as she picks up her books. “Thanks, Tootsie. I’ll see you next week, okay?”
“Enjoy those books,” I call out. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”
Feeling better after chatting with my friend, I gather the info on the love poetry and head to that section of the library. There’s something so special about working in a library, surrounded by books every day. It’s a miracle I get anything done when I’d rather be reading. I know I’m lucky to work somewhere that makes me happy just by walking in the door.
Stopping in the poetry aisle, I scan the shelves for books about love and romance. One quickly catches my eye. It’s bound in red leather and is simply titled, “Love.” I take it off the shelf and open it to a random page. The aged, yellow pages fall easily open. Obviously, I’m expecting to see a love poem or two. Instead, I see a folded piece of paper that looks like it’s been there for fifty years. Carefully, I unfold the paper.
It’s a letter. I briefly skim the contents—a love letter.
My heart speeds up with anticipation. I can’t read this here in the aisle. This deserves my full, seated-at-a-desk attention. I walk back to my desk as quickly as my pencil skirt and vintage heels will let me.
I sit and gently spread the letter open so it lays flat on the glass of the checkout counter. Adjusting my glasses, I begin reading the decidedly masculine handwriting,
My dearest love,
It’s been too long since we saw each other. Has it already been a month? Time spent with you flies with the speed of hummingbird wings; time without you moves like a garden slug. Every morning when I wake up, my first thought is of your smile. Every night I dream of holding you in my arms.
Has your family changed their mind about our courtship? I eagerly await your response.
With all my love,
Roger M.
Holy heavens. So romantic. My hand automatically shifts to rest over my heart as I read the letter again.
Suddenly, I’m gripped by the the need to discover who the author of the letter is. There’s no date on it, no address. I flip to the first page of the poetry book, looking to see if he might have checked the book out. I run my finger down the dates. It hasn’t been checked out in over fifty years. I can barely believe it’s still in the library. It must have been overlooked. There—my finger stops over a name from fifty-two years ago, Roger Murray.
Within moments I’ve entered “Roger Murray Fairview” into the search engine and come up with a local address. I slump back in my seat. Now I have a choice to make. Do I go to the address and learn more about this mysterious love letter? Or do I go home, pretend I never found it, and watch Netflix?
It turns out to be an easy decision. I check the clock. I get off work in an hour. Nifty. I know exactly where I’m going.
