Read Libby the Librarian: A Rom Com Novella for Free Online Page B

through your initial wall of resistance is going to find you to be—“ He stopped. I thought he wasn’t ever going to finish that sentence, but he finally did. “I guess the word I’m looking for is—responsive.”
    He left right after that, thank sweet Aphrodite. By the time I shut the door behind him, I was feeling so responsive that I spent the next half an hour lying on the couch with frozen flan on my forehead in hopes of freezing out the lurid figments of my imagination.
 
    Saturday morning I got up and took every pair of kakis and every button-down I owned and put them in a big garbage bag. Then I drove to the nearest charity shop and donated them.  I was immediately sorry, but it was too embarrassing to ask for them all back, so instead I went home and ate up the rest of the Pavlova.
    I usually use Saturday to get all the things done that I’d rather put off, that way I can enjoy Sunday. Friday night—during the frozen flan incident—I’d realized it was time to defrost my freezer . I found the ice chest and emptied everything out. Then I waited for the ice to melt.
    While I was waiting , my phone rang—I didn’t recognize the number.
    “ Remember me? Tom. From The Presidio.”
    I did remember him. I was shocked he’d called.
    Did I want to go out for coffee? He asked.
    No, I did not.
    “Sure,” I said. “I’m free this evening.”
    I met Tom at a coffee shop down -town. It was excruciating. Even worse than the blind dates Adam sets me up with.
    I tried to be warm and engaging. I encouraged him to talk about himself. I laughed at his jokes, even though they were completely devoid of originality.
    “Let’s do this again, sometime,” he said.
    “I’d love to.”
    I’m pretty sure neither of us meant a word we said.
    I was just getting back in my car when I got a text from Adam.
    U HOME?
    NO
    COME HOME
    WHY?
    He didn’t answer, but when I pulled into my driveway I understood why. He was sitting on my front step waiting for me.
    “You know, I never just show up at your house like this.”
    He ignored my scolding.
    “You look terrific ,” he said.
    I did. Despite the fact I was wearing those horrible ninth-grade glasses. I was starting to see it, now. Not that it mattered too much, one way or another.
    “I was out having coffee with Bar Guy.”
    “Who?”
    “You know, Bar Guy. The one you made me talk to.”
    “I thought you were going to fake-number him.”
    “Well, I didn’t. I panicked and gave him my real number by accident.”
    I thought he might admonish me for that, but he didn’t.
    “How did it go?”
    “I tried really hard to like him.”
    “And?”
    “I couldn’t.”
    “That’s OK. I didn’t like the looks of him , either.”
    I unlocked my door and went inside. Adam followed me without being invited.
    “What are you doing here?” I asked.
    “We’re friends,” Adam said. “Do I have to have a reason?”
    The friends part is starting to feel a little blurry, at least as far as I’m concerned. I imagine, to him, I’m just what I have always been: a goofy woman he is terribly fond of who needs his assistance in order to function as a normal human being—in other words—a project. My theory is that he’s between girlfriends and has way too much time on his hands. Maybe it’s time I encouraged him to take up woodworking or reading to the blind.
    I was wearing a new pair of skinny jeans and one of the silk blouses that Shasta had picked out for me.
    “Do you always wear those buttoned up like that?” Adam asked.
    “That’s what buttons are for.”
    “I’ll admit it has a certain appeal,” Adam said. “Whenever I see buttons, all I can think of is unbuttoning them.”
    I didn’t like where this was going. I mean I did like it, but it wasn’t—
    “I just think you might consider—“ He was actually attempting to undo my top button.
    “Excuse me,” I said, pulling away. “You can’t just go around undressing people.”
    “It wouldn’t be