Rom-Com Collection. Kristan Higgins

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      CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

      THE MANNINGSPORT PUBLIC LIBRARY was closed on Saturday afternoons, but Faith had the code. Levi probably did, too, but he stood back and let her punch it in.

      There was something magical about being in a library when no one else was around, she thought as they went through the darkened rooms to the children’s section. That, and Levi’s strong, calloused hand holding hers as the rain pattered on the roof. Holding hands for the first time. Funny, the sweet shock of such a small gesture.

      “So it’s all done, then?” Levi said as she opened the back door to the courtyard.

      “All done. The dedication is Wednesday night.” She paused. “Maybe you’ll be there?”

      “I hope so,” he said.

      His answer, while noncommittal, made her cheeks prickle with a blush just the same. “Well, here it is. Take a look around.”

      The courtyard had been a bit of a challenge, since the space was so small. Previously, it’d had a cement bench and an anemic flower bed of red geraniums (cemetery flowers, Faith always thought), as well as a germ-laden birdbath. Few people had ever used the space.

      Now, watching Levi take in her work, Faith felt a warm swell of pride. In each corner was a Japanese maple tree, chosen for their manageable size and gorgeous foliage. Next week, Julianne had said, the kindergarten reading group would be making wind chimes to hang in the branches, and Topper Mack had already made four birdhouses, miniatures of the library.

      In between each tree sat four mahogany and chestnut benches, made by Samuel Hastings. Faith had kept the carpenter busy this fall. Each bench had been donated by a founding family of Manningsport—the Hollands, of course, the Mannings, the Meerings and the van Huesens. The southern wall had no window and, since it got the sun all day, had made the courtyard stifling; this was the wall where Faith had designed a sleek waterfall that ran in a smooth, fluid sheet, the sound soft and soothing.

      In the bulk of the space, Faith had created a circular path lined with low boxwoods and paved with old brick, which led to the object that, in Faith’s opinion, made the courtyard great: a life-size, bronze statue of Dr. Seuss, reading a copy of The Lorax as the furry little creature looked on.

      Levi stood there now. “Dr. Seuss, huh?” he said. His hair had darkened in the light rain. “Why him?”

      “Because he’s the greatest children’s author in the world,” she said. “In my opinion, anyway. The library board seemed to agree.”

      “Happy Birthday to You was my favorite,” Levi said, brushing a fallen leaf off Dr. Seuss’s foot. “I used to read that after—I read that a lot.”

      “After what?” Faith asked, pulling her jacket closer.

      He glanced over. “After my father left,” he said after a pause, looking back at the statue.

      Right. She’d always known Levi’s dad wasn’t in the picture, but he’d never mentioned it before. Her heart tugged, picturing Levi as a little boy, reading the joyfully exuberant book to counteract the misery he must’ve felt. “How old were you?” she asked.

      He didn’t answer. “This is really nice, Faith,” he said after a minute. “The kids’ll love it.”

      Looked like the subject of his father was off-limits. “Thanks.” She paused. “The idea was to take a space that no one really saw and make it beautiful. Get people to appreciate what nature has to offer, get them away from their phones and computers and take a breath and listen to the birds and the water and just...be.”

      “Is that what all your projects are supposed to do?”

      She shrugged. “I guess so. Yes.” Now that she’d said it out loud, it sounded a little dorky. Dorktastic, maybe. Hopefully.

      Levi was looking at her steadily. “You hungry?”

      “Sure,” she said. “Want to go to O’Rourke’s?”

      “Nope,” he said, coming back to reclaim her hand. “A picnic. I checked with Honor, and she said the Barn at Blue Heron was free.”

      Twenty minutes later, they were hiking up the hill. Levi held a good-sized brown bag with “Lorelei’s” stamped on one side, as well as a blanket. The late October rain had petered off to a drizzle, and it was incredibly romantic, a Saturday afternoon picnic on a chilly autumn day.

      Despite the fact that she’d worked on the barn for six solid weeks, the sight of it was still a small shock. The plants had withered from the cold—it’d been thirty degrees last night—but it was still beautiful. Leaves had gathered on the roof in one corner; she’d have to come up with a ladder and take care of that.

      Levi spread out the blanket on the floor of the barn, then got to work, grabbing kindling from the little alcove next to the fireplace. Once the fire was blazing, he sat down. “Hungry?”