Page 25 of Love is a Game

Tyson laughed. “I would love to see you try.”

With the tension gone, the conversation turned to other things. Julie seemed to be appeased by their deal, but Sadie could only think about the work that would be waiting for her when she got home. She would have to stay up late if she was going to make it to the library the next day.

Andrew had caught her off guard with his tight shirt and his suddenly visible chiseled cheekbones, but she was not about to be distracted from her goal. If he was waiting for her to give up, he was going to be disappointed.

Chapter Nine

The smell of freshly baked bread led Sadie to the kitchen where her mom was making lunch. Her stomach gurgled loudly at the sight of the food, and she realized that she’d forgotten to have breakfast in her rush to start working that morning.

“Hi, honey, have a seat,” Camille said. “I’ll make you a sandwich.”

“I don’t think I can. I’ve got to get to the library,” she protested, but the smell already had her mouth watering.

“Of course you can. Sit. I’ve barely seen you this week,” her mom scolded.

It was true. She’d started the week with three long days in Port Angeles, in a row, arriving home in time for a late dinner and then going straight to bed after. She’d had to cancel an evening golf game with her dad a couple of days earlier, and then she’d stayed out kayaking with Julie and Tyson the night before. Not only that, she hadn’t made it to the library even once, which was why she had to hurry over there to get a few hours of work in before her conference call in the afternoon. She couldn’t resist her mother’s offering, though, especially with her stomach growling the way it was. She sat down on a stool and watched Camille cut two thick slices of the still warm loaf and load them with toppings.

“Here you go,” Camille said, pushing the plate across the island.

“Thank you, this looks amazing,” she told her before taking a bite. It tasted even better than it smelled.

Her mom cut a few more slices and then began to construct two more sandwiches.

“Just one for me,” Sadie told her. “It’s so good, but I really do have to run.”

“One of these is for you to take with you, for Andrew,” she explained.

Sadie froze mid-bite, a piece of cheese dropping from her lip. “Mom, I am not bringing him food.”

“Why not? He has to eat, doesn’t he?”

“He’s a grown man. I would hope he packed his own lunch.”

Camille gave her a disapproving look. “You’re a grown woman, but you sure seem to be enjoying the lunch I made for you.”

“It’s not the same,” Sadie mumbled before taking another bite.

“You’re right, it’s not. You’ve got a mother to pack lunches for you; he doesn’t.”

Sadie swallowed, not sure if the lump in her throat was food or something else. Her mom really knew how to aim when she was going for a guilt trip.

“We all try to take turns feeding him now and then,” Camille went on, looking through the cupboards for a container. “The book club, I mean. He’s our token gentleman; we don’t want him wasting away. That’s why I invited him over for dinner the other night.”

Sadie rolled her eyes when her mom’s back was turned. That was most definitely not the reason she had invited him over for dinner, but Sadie wasn’t about to call her on it.

“Fine,” she agreed, finishing her sandwich and wiping her hands. “I’ll bring it to him.”

Camille boxed up his food but hesitated before handing it over. “He’s a nice man,” she told her, “and just as clever as you are. I really think the two of you would get along if you tried.”

Sadie picked up the food and gave her mom a weary smile. “I’ll try when he tries. See you in a few hours.”

She slipped out the kitchen door before her mom had a chance to say anything else. First her dad had lectured her and now this. Of course, her parents thought she was the one causing a problem. To them, Andrew was all charm. He seemed to save all of his snark for her. He always had.

In the two weeks since their agreement, he had mostly kept up his side of the bargain. If he was at his desk when she arrived, they usually exchanged a few snide remarks, and then he would leave her alone until six o’clock, but if she wasn’t walking out the door when the library closed, he seemed to take great pleasure in hurrying her along her way.

Still, just because he wasn’t speaking to her didn’t mean he wasn’t a disruption. For a librarian, he was incredibly noisy. He greeted everyone who came into the library and chatted them up as they checked out. She would hear him laughing and telling stories. It was worse when the library was empty. He would sing as he reshelved books, or turn on the radio to a classic rock station, muting it as soon as he saw someone approach the doors. Other times when it was quiet, she would look up just in time to see him turn away, and it left her wondering if he’d been staring or had just briefly glanced in her direction. She hoped it was the latter.

She was also pretty sure he was intentionally rearranging things after she left. She had spent a lot of her time going through the boxes and trying to get them organized. She needed things like financial records and maintenance reports, and she often found them in poorly labeled folders tucked between guest ledgers and old newspapers. During the first week she had sorted through most of it and separated things into categories. Initially, she had given each category its own stack, but when she came back to the library, none of the boxes were where she’d left them. At least he left the contents of the boxes organized, otherwise she would have been really upset. He needed the documents too, so she had probably done him a big favor in organizing everything.