Page 76 of Charlotte

“Younger men hang bunting as if trying to lasso cattle,” Mrs. Hanford said. “We require steadiness.”

Mrs. Beck clasped her hands. “And height.”

Lottie looked down at the ledger.

Height was unfortunately true.

Peterson’s attention moved from Mrs. Schulte to the high beam above the meeting hall door. “Tomorrow?”

“After the church service,” Mrs. Schulte said. “It will not take long.”

“Nothing ever goes quickly when women say it won’t take long,” he muttered.

Cornelia’s shoulders shook.

Mrs. Schulte chose not to hear him. “Excellent. Charlotte will be here with the ribbons.”

Lottie lifted her head. “I will?”

“You are the librarian. The meeting hall is temporarily under your influence.”

“That sounds official and dangerous.”

“It is both,” Cornelia said.

Peterson’s gaze met Lottie’s. “Perhaps Wild Rose Ridge needs a proper library? It should be its own building.”

“Someday, but for now I’m grateful for use of the meeting hall.”

The thought of working beside him tomorrow should not have warmed her so much. They would be hanging bunting, not walking through a meadow. They would be surrounded by churchgoers, Busy Bees, children, and at least one man complaining about nail holes.

Still, he would come.

Perhaps.

“I can help a little,” he said.

Mrs. Schulte wrote his name down before he could reduce the offer further. “Good.”

Peterson looked at the pencil as if it had trapped him. Lottie almost laughed, but she was too fond of him in that moment to do it.

He tipped his hat and left before anyone could assign him lemonade duty.

The women waited until his footsteps had crossed the porch. Then Mrs. Beck whispered, very loudly, “He called her Lottie.”

“I heard,” Mrs. Schulte said.

“So did everyone,” Mrs. Hanford added.

Lottie lifted the botany volume and held it against herself. “I am going to the back table.”

“Why?” Mrs. Beck asked.

“To check the flower.”

“He told you not to open it here.”

“I know.”