Page 45 of Check You Out

Which makes think of Aidan. I wince.

I haven’t talked to him since our argument after the committee meeting. Almost as soon as I closed the door behind me that night, I slunk to the floor of my apartment and cried. I pull out my phone to see if he’s texted me, but I only see the exchange from before.

Charlotte: I’m sorry. I pushed where I shouldn’t have and I’m sorry.

Aidan: Thanks, I appreciate it.

I fucking blew it. Aidan was right. I pushed too hard and harmed him, completely violating what little trust we had formed, and I blew it. He probably hates me now. Or at least thinks less of me.

Not that he thought much of me before. He’s been so reserved and hard to read that I have no idea if he thinks of me as just a friend or maybe something more. I thought that maybe if I got to talking to him in a neutral manner, like we have with the committee, that I could get a read on him. But I haven’t. He’s not entirely like a Vulcan. He doesn’t suppress his emotions nor is he incapable. He’s just so incredibly hard to read.

Maybe I should’ve made a move like Nicole said. It is the 2020s. I can stop holding onto this internalized misogyny and ask a dude out.

Nicole insists that Aidan finds me attractive. Am I’m too oblivious to even realize it?

But then what if she’s wrong? What if he doesn’t find me attractive at all? What if he thinks I’m a pushy and bitchy woman who creeps him out? That rejection would require some major wallowing involving ice cream, sushi, and pizza. Definitely another cat. Maybe another cat named Sushi?

I’m comforting myself by browsing the local animal shelter for cats when the bell above the door twinkles, and I absentmindedly call out, “Sorry, we’re closed.” I continue working, hoping that they just leave. Fuck, I forgot to lock the door after closing again.

A London Fog appears in my vision. I blink and lift my gaze up slowly. Half-hoping, half-agonizing that Aidan has just made a delivery. A million more apologies stack in my throat.

I’m sorry. I really am. Please don’t be mad at me any longer. I really like you, and I want to get to know you better.

But it’s not Aidan.

It’s Nicole.

I blink. “What are you doing here?”

“Gee, nice to see you too. We have a problem,” she says with a disgruntled expression on her face. Her long red hair is tied up in a messy bun, and she’s wearing a shirt of Grumpy cat wearing glasses that says, “After a closer look, I like you even less.”

I raise an eyebrow. “What sort of problem?”

“Drink your latte first.” She points at the paper cup. “You’re going to need it.”

Sighing, I remark, “Why do I get the feeling that I’ll need something stronger than black tea?” I clutch the cup and take a sip, letting the goodness of the bergamot and vanilla fortify me for whatever is coming next. Although there’s something else. Something fruity. Apple maybe?

Based on the tension in her face, I can guess it’s something not good. What kind of fuckery is afoot? Did the Douglass County Council decide to accept the budget without listening to the public? Is the Summerfest canceled because the port-a-potty vendor backed out? Was there a giant toxic waste spill, and we all must evacuate immediately? Did Jeff Bezos buy Summerville?

Palming the counter, Nicole flashes me with a pointed glance. “Are you saying that you want coffee?”

Rolling my eyes, I reply, “No. By stronger I mean booze, dummy.”

Her mouth rounds. “Sadly, I didn’t have time to swing by the bar.” She practically slams her phone on the counter, and I jump back. She slides the phone toward me and nods. “Take a look at this fuckery.”

“Well, aren’t we violent today.” I look at the phone for a heartbeat before glancing back at her. I take it and slink away, swiping my phone out of her reach. “Slamming your phone around like you can afford a new one. This must be serious.”

She taps on the counter with a sharp rap. “Read.”

My eyes scan the phone, and I read what she pulled up for me. My heart stops. “No!” My gaze darts back to her, and my mouth drops.

Nicoles nods. “Yes.”

“No!” I shout. Poor Thelma lets out a trill and darts out the back to my apartment upstairs, scared at my outburst. “Bridgett Hartlett is leading a countermovement against the library?” Air escapes through my lungs. Fuck! Of course, our old high school bully would do something like this. “How? Why? She’s never shown any interest in politics. Why the fuck would she lead an entire movement to close our library?”

“I don’t know. I just found this.”

“Fuck!” I breeze through the petition again. I flip the phone around. “She’s claiming that the library provides children with porn.” I shake my head. “What kind of fuckery is this?”