Page 45 of Sugar & Shadows

One moment of weakness. My conscience had taken over for half a second, pushing me to do the right thing.

And now I was paying for it.

In my small-town Vermont municipal library purgatory.

I tidied a bit, then wandered over to the circulation desk to refill my coffee mug and steal a pack of Post-it notes.

For a minute, I hung out there with my mother, quietly scrolling through Instagram while she busied herself with paperwork.

“Mom,” I asked, looking up. “Did you make this Instagram post?”

She laughed and waved at me dismissively. “You know I don’t do that stuff.”

I tapped on the caption so I could read the whole thing. It was great. A cute book pun, and it had more than ten thousand likes. “Who runs the account?”

“Harper,” she said, focused on her work again. “She asked if she could a few months back. I was happy to let her take over. One less thing on my plate.”

“Mom this post has ten thousand likes.”

Looking up, she frowned. “What does that mean?”

“Ten thousand people saw it and liked it.”

Her hands froze, the papers stilling. “But only twelve hundred people live in Maplewood.”

“Exactly,” I said. “Will you point out Harper?” I scanned the space. I’d known most of the library employees since childhood, but after twenty years, there had obviously been some turnover.

“Oh, she doesn’t work here. She comes in after school most days. Sits in the reference room.”

I wheezed. “She’s a kid?”

“Yes. Smart girl. Stays out of trouble. Her mom works third shift at the Sugar Moon plant.”

Nodding, I went back to scrolling through the library’s social media feed. Previously, they posted once or twice a week, with boring content about new acquisitions or events.

But since December, there had been multiple posts and reels each day. With hashtags, trending audio, and fun camera angles. It was chaotic, but this Harper person had good instincts.

The filters, distortion, and silliness she used probably made it easier for the average person to connect to.

This was the exact energy I was looking for.

So a few hours later, after school had let out, I tracked down the elusive Harper.

She had a blunt bob with thick bangs and she wore glasses. Her plaid shirt was draped over the back of her chair, and her combat boot–clad feet were propped up on the chair next to her.

As I pulled the chair out across from her, she gave me a thoroughly unimpressed glare that was standard for an inconvenienced teen.

I liked her already.

“I’m Sabrina Monroe,” I said.

“You’re Laurie’s daughter.” She focused on her book again.

“Yes. My mom speaks highly of you.”

“She’s the best,” she replied, even as she kept her expression cool.

Right answer, kid. Regardless of the wall she’d erected around herself.