2019-08-04 - Story Time, Sorbet, & Secrets

By the time 2pm rolls around, Harper has been at the library nearly 45 minutes. She wasn't scheduled to work or to run the Story Time today, but a certain collection of texts changed that plan. This means she's not dressed like a librarian as she usually would be. She's dressed like a woman out running errands on a hot, lovely summer Sunday.

The point here is that parents and kids start arriving up to thirty minutes before anything is set up to begin. Usually there are animal crackers and juice available to children. And that's why the 'picnic blankets' laid around the Children's area are there. Spills don't require carpet cleaning. It all gets thrown into a washing machine at the end of each Story Time.

Harper's already seated in one of those adorable tiny chairs that fit the tiny tables in the Children's section of the library. A half dozen picture books rest beside her on the floor. And she's leaned forward with her forearms atop her knees, hands folded together as she listens to one five year old tell her a story about his trip to the grocery store earlier in the day. "... and then we got cookies. And I got to choose which kind, but I only get cookies after nap time. And only two. But I get to choose my own cookies. I like the pink ones better than the white ones. And I drove the car while mommy pushed the cart, and ..."
Harper listens to this runon-sentence epistle as if it were the most fascinating tale ever told, nodding now and then, listening with rapt attention and a little half smile on her lips. Her hat is over on the circulation desk. She lifts fingertips to idly push her hair back out of her eyes, curving a strand of brown-black hair behind her ear. Perhaps six groups of kids, most of whose parents are out in the other parts of the library because they saw that Harper was the 'Reader' today and they know she can hold thrall over their kids for the thirty minutes of Story Time.

A little boy is running around the periphery of the 'picnic' blankets, making train sounds. Two little girls are comparing books with one another. A pair of four-year-old identical twin boys are both sucking their thumbs as they watch patiently from their seats on the blankets, waiting for Miss Harper to pick up the first book. One little girl walks up to Harper and tugs on her white shirt. The grocery-store-narrator stops as Harper turns to the girl. "Hi Priscilla. Are you going to be my helper today?" Priscilla has big brown eyes and pretty braids; she gazes adoringly at Harper and nods slowly, somberly. "Why don't you choose one of the books I brought." Harper motions to the pile beside the chair.

Dressed in his finest apparel, Everett enters a library, maybe for the second time in his life. The usual present scowl on his lips, carried into his eyes, isn't there when he ducks under the door frame as is his habit, even if he clears it by a few inches. It's maybe a few seconds after two, he knows because he waited outside, under the shade so the day star wouldn't burn him, constantly pulling out his cell phone to check the time like a nervous teenager.

She may have dressed differently for him, he would figure, seeing her the way she's dressed. But then, so did he, a little. Rather than loose, his hair has been gathered as much as he was able to and is being kept in place behind his head with a single leather thong. From torso down to hips, a long sleeve rustic brown button shirt with the sleeves rolled up to large forearms. A belt, and then his fancy pants; black leather with a strip of not more than two inch wide black denim running down the sides.

A pause at the doorway, flight or fight to kick in, but also, with that dark color and leather, time to wipe the sweat from his brow with the back of his right forearm, as the left hand is currently holding something. Story Time. Probably a children's activity, so he'll start there, leaning in to peer towards the sounds of wee folk horsing around, curious. A smile blossoms to his lips, as wide as the single gold chrysanthemum in his left hand. Children, or their adult supervision.

He's a big man, but still, he tries to sneak past and to the circulation desk, maybe Melinda's there. And maybe he can convince the fifty-something young woman that it's for Harper, and ask if she would put it aside for her. A gift, is he's sneaky enough, she won't notice until later. Depending on Melinda's scruples.

Then. Then he turns around face and boot clad strides towards the back of the reading semi-circle, arms crossed over his chest, self-soothingly, and smiling, merely watching.

Harper's full attention is on the children, asking questions of those she seems to know from previous occasions, drawing out shy newcomers. Giving each child opportunities to be seen and heard before story time officially begins. Priscilla picks up a book and presents it to Harper who looks at it, then exclaims with sparkling eyes, "Priscilla? How did you do that? You picked my very favorite book." 'Library Lion' is the title. Most of the kids find places to sit and Harper asks Priscilla, "Would you be my official page turner?" Priscilla nods her head quickly, her eyes lighting up.

Melinda recognizes the hulking man from the visit only two days prior. Harper told her what the business owner had presented to her. So Melinda swallows back any ill-ease to greet Everett. "Mr. Woods. I'm glad you made it. Miss Price is just getting things started." The assistant librarian takes the flower with a hint of something positive. "I'll just put it over here, then." Somewhere that it won't get crushed by incoming and outgoing books.

As Harper looks to her wristwatch then tips her gaze up toward the entrance to the children's section, she catches sight of Everett and offers him a delighted glimpse of a smile. "Boys and Girls," she murmurs with hushed excitement that draws the children's attention better than any loud voice might. "We have a very special guest today for Story Time. Everyone say Hello, Mister Woods." Most of the children join in with a chorus of the greeting, innocent eyes looking up at the giant man who moves to the back of the blanketed area.

"Robbie?" Harper asks of the boy still choo-chooing around the area. "Would you sit with Mr. Woods and help show him how we listen since it's his very first time here?" Robbie eyes Everett, then answers, "Yep yep yep yep!" and he shuffles over toward Everett. "You gotta sit on the blankets and be a quiet coyote." Robbie tells him, touching his thumb to his third and four fingers and leaving pointer finger and pinkie up as ears. Robbie reaches up to grab at Everett's giant hand as if to tug him down to a seat. The identical thumb-sucking twins scoot over to flank Everett on the other side. If he does sit, the closer twin rests an elbow over his knee.

Harper watches all this with a growing warmth, meeting Everett's eyes with a glimmer to her own. "Marvelous. Priscilla has picked out one of my favorite books today." Harper goes on to show the book, talk about the title and tease the book a little so that the children's attention is on her. Then she begins to read, her voice taking on the different characters' personalities, with pauses for Priscilla to turn pages as needed. There's a little magic in the air as she reads.
And by the time she's ending the first book, the two girls who were sharing books before things began have also moved over to Everett. Robbie was 'in charge' of showing Everett the ropes, and although his little body wants to go-go-go, he somehow wangles his way into Everett's lap unless the large man is able to fend him off. Harper's voice rolls with laughter as she finishes the book and asks the children if they liked it. Instead of going directly to the next book, she draws the children in with questions about the plot and the characters' motivations. "What did you think, Mr. Woods?" she inquires, arching a brow just so, a hint of a capricious challenge to her words.

A quiet coyote. Everett looks down. Down. So very down at the little man, a hint of his smile widening while he nods. He's very good at not speaking and, for the most part, looking like he ought to crawl from under a bridge to extract tolls. Very good with directions, Everett returns the sign to Robbie, with a little play of crooking his fore-finger so as to make it appear as if the quiet coyote's ear twitches thrice. And since he's so large, there's a look behind him before sitting down, legs crossed at the ankle.

It isn't long before he notices he's been bookended, and while his smile softens, it's the closer thumb sucker who's introduced to the twitchy eared thick-fingered animal for a moment, or longer if it holds the child's interest. That is until Harper speaks up again, and Everett leans back, using both hands to prop himself up, leaving his core defenseless and open. And when he looks up, his smile returns, more fiercely on the right corner of his mouth.

As the story progresses, and his knee is claimed, then thigh, then Robbie plants his flag in Everett's lap, the big man watches the progression with nary a discouragement. It isn't until he's lap is taken, that Everett takes a large hand and throws it over his little guide, a protective promise against the antagonists of Library Lion.

When challenged directly, he looks around at the gathered children. "I think it's very apt," is his quick reply, before he adds in a hushed, soft tone the way Library Lion doesn't, "Rawr," he sits up and strokes Robbie's back. Then his voice raises back to its normal cadence, "It's very important for us to follow the rules and be quiet coyotes," the hand around Robbie lifts to make the hand gesture again, "and not to judge things for what they appear to be, but on their actions. Right, boys and girls?"

Everett's responses to the children only draw them more. His 'rawr' draws some giggles and laughter from the children. "Right, Mister Woods," several of them chorus in response to his lesson.

It continues. They go through 'Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day', 'Dinosaur vs. Bedtime'and end with 'The Not So Quiet Library'. By the time they reach the last book, nearly all the children have scooted over to be close to Everett. He looks like a child-magnet. One of the girls is using his broad back to lean against, her hand and chin resting on his shoulder.

Harper meets his eyes now and again, but the larger portion of her attention is on making the stories interesting and fun, luring out laughter and 'ooohs' from the children. Not one of them find her non-traditional knotted tee and long skirt to be abnormal for Story Time.

Parents start moving in, given the time on the clock. They know they have to be there for the kids to get animal crackers and juice after the stories. Everett earns a few long looks, but there's clearly something special about the man if all their children were drawn to him. And Miss Price wouldn't allow a pervert in at Story Time.

Then it's over, and parents are coming in to help the kids with snacks and all the children except Robbie are talking and eating and happy. Robbie doesn't look like he intends to leave. And his step-father hasn't shown back up for animal cracker time. Robbie leans his back against the front of Everett and hums a little to himself.

He tries to look like he's being so put upon; like being covered in a youth blanket is just the worst thing ever, but the goofy crooked grin, and deeply hooded eyes betray his inner feelings. Especially when some dirty, unseen, tiny assailant hugs his broad back. Without moving an appendage to cause a disturbance in the pile, he tries to give an affirmation by physical touch each time he's clung to.

When children are snatched away and given their reinforcement for being good, and Robbie remains, Everett returns to quiet coyote hand puppet, separating thumb from middle two fingers when his hand has the little man's attention. "Aren't you going to get snacks too?" asks Everett's hand, before the owner of the hand looks up, inquisitively to Harper. He mouths two words: 'What do?'

Harper watches the children all eventually head over for animal crackers and juice with their parents or babysitters except for Robbie who remains calm and cuddled in Everett's lap. Leaning forward in the little chair where she's sitting, she seems lost in some thoughts, her forearms loosely crossed and resting atop her skirted knees. A faraway smile touches at her lips as Quiet Coyote converses with Robbie. Robbie, who has gone from energy-boy to relaxed little man in Everett's lap, smiles a sad little smile and twists to look up at Everett, one of his little hands grasping at Everett's pant-leg as he does so. "We can only have snack with a grown-up," he answers gravely.

It's only when Everett lifts his gaze to hers that Harper murmurs to Robbie, "I know your step-dad's not back yet, Robbie. He must have found a really good book to read. But I'll bet Mr. Woods would get snack with you." Robbie twists back to look at Miss Harper before looking up once more at the giant man who holds him in the safety of his lap. He would? It's almost heartbreaking how uncertain Robbie looks that even Mr. Woods might not want to get snack with him. The little boy stubbornly sets his jaw in preparation for Everett to say no. One little hand, the one not grasping Everett's pantleg, patpats liightly at Everett's other thigh as if reassuring him it's okay to not want to get snack with him.

Putting away quiet coyote when he's told the reason why Robbie's remained in his lap, Everett makes a sad face while also understanding. "Aww-ohh," is the pitiable sound that comes from his lips at the explanation. He, too, looks up to Harper then smirks on the right side of his mouth at the suggestion and when he opens his mouth again, whatever pity he had had is gone and replaced with exuberance.

"Hey!," Everett exclaims softly, still in a library after all. B"That's right, I am an grown-up. I totally forgot." Robbie would have little time to give him that hopeful look before the big man's hands are on Robbie's sides and the child's hoisted up as he moves to a knee, then up to his legs. Summary carried over Everett's right shoulder, right hand over his little body to make sure the kid doesn't fall from such dizzying heights, Everett winks once at Harper then carries his prize towards juice and crackers.

"Just one for me and my pal, Robbie." Then, his head looks down. To the right. To the left. He looks bewildered or at least a passing example of so. At all the other children and their guardians, but no Robbie. "Hey. Where's Robbie?" Everett turns around, twirling in place, then turns the other way, cognizant of little Robert's feet and flailing limbs. "Anybody seen Robbie?"

It's likely that Robbie won't soon forget the short time he spent in Everett's company. He giggles and stuffs his face with animal crackers, guzzles juice and tells Everett all about trains. Someone really likes trains. It won't be until a dour looking man in his early forties shows up to pick Robbie up, his words curt and snappy, as if he were calling the dog, that Robbie's entire demeanor changes. He rushes to the man's side, then peeks over his own shoulder at Everett. "Bye, Mr. Woods," he says in such a tiny voice, trying to say it without his step-dad hearing him.

The two are the last from Story Time to depart. Did Everett notice the bruises high on the boy's arms, just beneath the collar of his shirt? Harper watches Robbie go with a warm smile and a wave before she leans down to pick up the books to begin re-shelving them in the picture book section. Melinda has nearly all the animal crackers and juice put away and is rolling up the blankets for a run in someone's washing machine that night.

When the little man's gotten his juice and cookies, Everett sits down on the floor again, aware that the height difference can hurt from having to tilt their little heads back. He gives the boy his nearly meticulous attention, nodding along and 'Uh huh'ing about the trains, and giving Harper a look whenever he feels her eyes on him, charier with his brows raised. It's not a topic Everett knows much about, but the questions, and there are questions, are framed to keep the boy talking: which are his favorite, which color of train car is his favorite, will he work with trains when he grows up.

And when the step-father arrives and Robbie heels, Everett smiles, waving his finger-tips. He heads over to Harper, while brushing cracker crumbs, or at least those he perceives are there, from his lap, before looking up and jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "Cute kid." Melinda's efforts don't go unnoticed either, while he asks Harper, "Can I help out with clean up?"

Harper straightens from re-shelving the last picture book and offers Everett a warm smile. "Looks like we're mostly done. Unless you want to help move the table back over there." Over there being further back into the kids' section where all those kid-sized chairs are sitting around in a circle around no table. She steps over to the table and starts to push it against the carpeting, as if planning to slide it all the way over to its usual spot. Even that, she's not so good at. There's not a lot of mass to Harper to move furniture. But she's determined. And determination counts. "You didn't want any animal crackers?" she asks with a little hint of a new smile.

Oh good. A chance to prove how strong he is. Brows peek, "Yeah. Happy to help." He flashes a smile he hardly ever uses before quick walking to the table. While she pushes, he approaches the middle of the table having sized it up on the way there and with both hands, lifts. It's more cumbersome then weighty, as he rests its weight against his hip to walk it over to where she directs.

Show off.

Putting the table down, Everett gives a small shake of his head, "No, not me," he pats his stomach, "I'm saving my carb intake for ice cream. Plus, I wasn't the one reading, and talking. You must be thirsty."

Harper simply stops and settles her hands to her hips as Everett moves the table like it's a toy. "Well, that's ... just not fair," she states mildly after glimpsing that rare smile. The librarian simply watches the hulking man stride back her way and purses her lips to keep from beaming at him. "I think you missed out," she tells him. "The giraffes are my favorite." No, she didn't eat any, either. "I definitely hope to use the drinking fountain wherever I end up next," is her capricious reply. "What did you think? The children adored you."

Right hand to his chest, finger tips spread, Everett rolls his eyes, and with a dreamy smile, gives a sigh of infatuation, "I love kids. Love, love. Love." He brings his army green eyes back down to her and cants his head, "And there wasn't an accident on one of them, and I didn't get bitten once. So I consider that a success, wouldn't you?"

He side-steps, and falls in line with her, "Well, if the giraffes are your favorite, then I say we pick them out and keep 'em. I happen to have an in with a certain someone," his cadence takes on an air of superiority, deserved or not, while he continues to smile. Lifting his head, pointing upwards with his far hand, and an attempt at regal demeanor, "I'll see to it that she gives you what you're after, or," his far arm drops, the near arm raises, crooked and flexed, the bicep bulging, "we'll take them by force!" he adds with faux conviction.

His display lasts only a moment before the ape puts his arm down, "I think the next stop you wanted was a charitable donation of ice cream at my behest." His brows raise, the sentence turned into a question leveled at her to see if he's right.

"Well, that much is apparent," Harper replies of him loving kids, her brown eyes dancing. "I think the love affair was mutual. If I'd read any more stories, they all would have climbed onto you in some fashion or another, I'm quite certain." She laughs, the delight finally getting away from her. "We haven't had a biting incident in almost --" She actually stops to think about it "-- three years now. Now that you're a familiar face, don't feel like you have to find me to come to Story Time. Melinda seems to like you, too." That's stretching it just a tad. It's likely more accurate to say that Melinda doesn't dislike Everett. But then, that might just be how Melinda rolls.

As for giraffe theft, "I'd never steal my favorites from the children." She lightly thumps one of his arms with a hand pulled from her hip. "I enjoy their enjoyment." Clearly the giraffe preference is a thing. He earns himself an arched brow at the 'take them by force' statement, then she grips that arm a bit more after the pat and pats the man high in the center of his chest. "I don't think you should even joke about that." She shakes her head as her hands fall away. "Too believable."

Harper folds her arms across her white tee-shirted chest and regards Everett thoughtfully, her brown eyes still sparkling. "I was promised ice cream, yes?" Behest. He used the word 'behest'. "It's a perfect day for ice cream. Let me grab my purse."

Harper turns away from Everett and heads over to the circulation desk, leaning down to pull open a drawer: she withdraws her small, black purse and rests the strap on her shoulder. That's when she spies the flower. "What's this?" Melinda says something far less audible and looks over in Everett's direction. Harper turns a surprised expression his way and mouths, 'For me?' brows up-tipped again. Maybe Melinda misunderstood. Harper thinks a gesture to the older librarian is a wise strategy.

"Mutual," he agrees, repeating the word, "and if there had been any left over kids, I mighta taken them home with me." He pauses, turning his head away; a lightly lifted shoulder to shrug, "What if part of the reason I come to Story Time isn't the juice and crackers, or being a jungle gym to kids, but to hear you talking?" When he looks back its a brushing gaze, a dallying smile, and over to Melinda, since she's the topic of conversation. "She's alright too," he says after a moment's consideration, "I think she puts up a front to push people away," like he ought to know.

"I enjoy the innocence; their enjoyment of things that seem so. Insignificant compared to paying rent and buying clothes. Speaking of which," he leans in, and down, "that's a very fetching dress." The pair walk together towards the circulation desk, Everett's hands come out, palms defensive, the first two words spoken quickly, and with respect, "Yes, ma'am. I didn't mean I wouldn't take. It. By. Force," nor is it his fault that her grip on his arm keeps it stiff, flexed.

Leaning against the desk once they arrive, Everett watches the desk get opened, and when there's one look in his direction, he turns to look behind him. Why surely, they can't be talking about him. He rolls his head back, taking the long way to return his gaze to Harper, a small smile on the right side of his mouth, and at the mouthed question, the smile widens to envelope it all before he nods twice, short bops of his head, shield his face with his right, least Melisa see. His lips repeat the words, but not as a question.

Harper laughs as Everett speaks about taking kids home. "Careful when and how you say that," she murmurs teasingly. "Children wouldn't cramp your carefree lifestyle?" The librarian shakes her head, "Fail," she chides playfully. "My speaking or lack of speaking had nothing to do with the love affair I just saw." The dallying smile is so new a thing, Harper simply stops and stares at the man and the expression on his face. "You read people pretty well, has anyone ever told you that, Mister Woods?"

As he speaks of innocent minds, she's nodding, but then he's abruptly in her space and Harper can only catch her breath. He uses words like 'fetching' and he all but bowls the librarian over. "You are full of surprises, aren't you, Everett?" He can only hear the words because he loomed in close. Once they've reached the desk, her hands are off of him, and she looks at him bemusedly as if trying to figure out what he did mean would be taken by force. She smiles a startled little smile in response to that.

Again, he catches her unsuspecting with that playful smile. This Everett today has some things in common with the man she met on Friday and some entirely new aspects. Harper holds the chrysanthemum up to brush against her cheek as she watches Everett. "I'll see you tomorrow, Melinda," she murmurs. Melinda offers a hushed farewell to both of them, and they are on their way toward the exit.

Harper turns around to face him at the doorway then backs into the bar of the glass door, pushing it out and away with the small of her back as she continues to brush the silky flower petals against her cheek with that little, half-smile. "I suppose we should get the inevitable out of the way," she murmurs once they are outside. Dramatic pause. "What are your favorite and least favorite flavors of ice cream?" She's definitely playing with the man, now. The afternoon sun is quite warm, but Harper turns her face up toward it, eyes closed for a long few moments before she pulls her sunglasses from her purse and dons them. Strange how sometimes not seeing a person's eyes makes them look like a total stranger from the person you knew before that. Her car is in the small library parking lot, but she's willing to walk -- it's not so far away -- or take some other mode of transportation, depending on what Everett says.

"Carefree?" he asks and the question is repeated, this time more incredulously, "Carefree? Hey, I run a business. I'm hardly carefree. I assure you, mmm-adamewaselle-eee, I doth have care," as he says the word, he both extends the beginning and end, just to show, with his expression, how much he's teasing. "Still, I figure it's safe to say it in front of you," and then he nods to Melinda, "and her. You're bound to keep my secret. Librarian-patient confidentiality, right?"

There's a shrug before he adds, "Besides, I think I already told you I wish I had had my own," unaware, perhaps of the tense in which he uses. More bending rather then leaning over the desk, Everett puts his forearms on it to support his weight, makes a pouting-thoughtful face, while his green eyes roll up and to his left before he shakes his head softly and returns his gaze to Harper and smiles, "No; I don't think that anyone's quite managed to blame that on me just as yet. I'm just. You know. ... me. Miss Price," he adds, since she addresses him formally.

When Harper gives her farewell to Melinda, Everett stands tall, and offers a fingertip wave good-bye to her as well, waiting long enough for Harper to have to break eye-sight walking around the desk so he can mouth 'Thank you' to the older woman, if she even is still looking. Following her out, after her hip-check of the door, he reaches up to push and hold the door open for her, the remainder of her passing, once more, ducking under the door jamb even though he need not.

It's a curious look he gives down to her when she mentions inevitable, canting his head slightly, but then she's asking him a different question. "Huh," is the start of his reply, an answer that signals thought. He waits there, for her to get her sunglasses, he leaning back, noting where the flower went. "Mmm, I suppose there's nothing wrong with a vanilla. Or a chocolate. I'm not a fan," he starts to say, until her hand is free, slides his first two fingers into her palm, the hand holding stage broken days ago, but the placement of the flower preempted his hand at the small of her back. He continues, inclining his head towards the walk path, prepared for the walk that was mentioned prior, "of the practices they do to cocoa farmers."

Everett's playful attitude buoys Harper's mood. Carefree. Librarian-patient confidentiality, aside. He uses the past tense with so much weight. "There's still time," she murmurs, reassuring him about his opportunities to have children of his own, careful not to press him on his past at this new stage of their friendship. "I myself only plan to enjoy children vicariously through --" She gestures dramatically to the library. "-- the library. I'm not mother material." There are some far more serious reasons for her light-hearted statement, depending on the man's perception. "Why do I doubt that?" she inquires of his sidestepping either being a good read of others, or of being full of surprises. "I cannot dispute whether you are you, Ev," she murmurs teasingly as they make their way to the door, returning to the name he asked her to use. "I can only speak to the two occasions we have crossed paths, one still in progress. Only you can tell me if you think I've seen enough of a cross-section to make such weighty judgments about your identity."

It's charming how easily he holds the door for her even as she tried to push them through on her own without breaking eye contact. She falls into the role of 'old friend' quite easily.

Harper smiles at the way he trips into her inevitability trap, then she's moving along beside him, wandering from downtown toward the boardwalk, her skirt fluttering around her legs in the warm breeze from the sea. Having trimmed the stem of the flower, she's tucked it above and behind her ear, managing to look even more summery than she already did. Her hand closes around his fingers and she tangles her own with his much like she did when leading up to the conference room a couple days previous.

"So you avoid all chocolate?" the librarian inquires, sounding faintly aghast. "I suppose one can stick to such principles. I find myself hoping that my chocolate comes from dream-filled, utopian farms where hopes are realized and fears are held at the gate." Harper's not certain about whether he truly dislikes chocolate or not. He could be teasing her, couldn't he?

At once the same person he initially met yet, with something entirely different about her, Harper is a bit more complex than the cheerful librarian he first met as they walk down the sidewalk together. They pass the place where the sewer accident happened and all the construction that's tied to it. "Can I confide something in you, Everett?"

"Oh. Yeah," Everett softly exclaims, his eyes rolling up to the sky, the blush a moment before he reaches his white, sunlight-phobic cheeks. "I'm young and everything, I'm sure there's. You know. Plenty of time," he says with a halted speech. His held hand squeezing hers tenderly, like she's made of porcelain and could shatter in his. "But I wouldn't count yourself out either." Dark green eyes fall down to her, deeply hooded with endearment, "I saw you with those children, Harps. You're something of a natural if I ever saw one. If you ever did, you'd make a great one. But, let's hear it," he isn't willing to let go of her, so he uses his other hand to make a c'mere gesture, "why do you think you wouldn't make a good, no, great, no, fantastic mother? As for that other stuff," he says, turning around to walk a few paces backwards, and meaning his identity, "I guess you'll just have to stick around, put up with my eccentricities, and find out, hmm?" His rhetorical question is punctuated with a wrinkling of his nose.

She's the townie, him the tourist. But even still, he's not looking around or at the new sights or shops. It's emphasis with his eyes, or looking to her, the ground so he doesn't trip or step in gum, or the flashes of leg the slits in her dress divulges. While they walk, a strand of his long hair frees itself from confinement and falls over his forehead, a crescent curve down to his temple. "I don't avoid it, per se," he says, with a little shrug. "If it's there, in front of me and it's a cheat day and I feel like it, then sure. And I can't avoid getting non-framer friendly stuff for the store. Maybe when we're more of a success, but not completely right now, though I do try." His strong chin lowers, as does his already deep voice as he touches his chest with his fingertips. "Far be it of me to push my views on to others. If you, or anyone else wants chocolate, then go ahead. But I'm around the stuff all the time now, and the tastes, after awhile they all blur together. Some ice cream is better than others are, for sure. I could go on." And on. And so on. "But I don't want to bore you. You asked me," he lifts his chin, and subsequently his voice, "so now I get to ask you. Is chocolate your favorite? Or, maybe a triple chocolate? Rocky road?"

With her last question, Everett stops, and doesn't relinquish her hand. Even if it means baking in the sun. His jovial expression, while the humor is still there, turns serious, brow creasing ever so slightly, "Why, Miss Price. You may confide in me anything you wish." He gestures between them with his large, sausage forefinger, "Candyman to Librarian confidentiality." Thus sworn, he resumes walking, his longer legs making wide steps to catch up, then returning to smaller steps.

"How old are you, Everett?" Harper asks, watching the progression of that blush yet again. "I'm quite certain there is plenty of time." A shadow passes behind her brown eyes before she regains her amiable tone and aspect. The squeezing of her hand draws that smile out a bit. "I may be good with children, but I never want any of my own." She sounds almost militant about this. He gestures her closer, so she curves around and steps into his space, a curious up-tip to her brows. Then he's walking backward and she's following with little glances past him to make sure he doesn't destroy small cars or knock over a fire hydrant. "Your eccentricities," she echoes. The words that come from the large man's mouth. "I'm sticking, I'm sticking. See me stick?" She lifts the hand held in his to show him so.

"You really do not like chocolate. Everett Woods, you are a mystery." she shakes her head slowly. "Sure, I like Rocky Road. My favorite is raspberry sorbet, but I don't know if the -- if you carry that flavor."

They stop walking, or rather he stops walking. Linked to him by hand, she stops walking, too. After he promises confidentiality, she tugs on his arm when he goes to move once more, preferring to stand still while she speaks the next words. "I think someone is hurting Robbie. And after days when I've asked him about it, he doesn't show up at the library for a few weeks. I don't want to be the reason why he gets hurt." Those sunglasses might be a little maddening now, given the lack of ability to measure her expressive gaze.

There's an audible gasp from her partner, his eyes opening wide before he looks absolutely mortified for her. Again, fingers touch his chest, projecting such indignation. And not a lick of it is real. "One does not ask a lady how old she is." And to punctuate his point, he turns his head violently, whipping his ponytail over his shoulder, to include a rude, "Hurumph!"

The gesture, the one to c'mere, was meant to bring out her reasoning and not have her physically come to him and certainly not in his space. Big, clumsy, stupid, they're usually words synonymous with each other, and it's either that, or something else that has his free hand down, fingers widely spread over her bare midriff, covering a large amount of her real estate. His hold hard and unforgiving, ready to catch in case it was a trip that brought her near. "Careful," he murmurs softly the word of caution without any real conviction.

Returning his hand to his side, then thinking better of it, tucking his thumb into his pant's front pocket, Everett just adds, "I still think it's a shame, but I will forever respect your choice. I think the world could use more children that are beautiful in it. And yours would probably be among the most." And as to her stickiness, he smiles, "Good," his mouth stays open a moment longer before he's thankful he's replying in text, and not saying the first thing that's entered his mind. Instead, the evidence she lifts rewards her with another soft squeeze.

Then he's on the defensive, shaking his head, "I didn't say I don't like chocolate. I just don't like what the cocoa cartel does to the farmers. Chocolate's great. It's fantastic. It's fattening, it's carbs, and," he gestures with his hands, both of them, including hers since he's not letting go, "I keep my intake to a premium," she let the last one go, so he ends the sentence with a new one, "Harper. A sorbet, now you're talking. That's getting closer to my speed. And a raspberry is good," he draws his eyes down to her stomach, "you're wearing the right outfit for it."

The next words knock the wind out of his sails. Stunned, modified, Everett stands where she tugged on him, mouth a little agape. "Whaa?" is his quiet question. He frowns, softly, and shakes his head, "Who?" he asks his reflection in her sunglasses. He jerks his head back, his frown going from confusion to dark while he looks back in the direction they came. The process of elimination seems pretty clear, but still he asks, "You think it's his step-father? What's the guy's name?" Do you do research, she'd asked him. Maybe he will with the right name, and pay someone a visit in the long, dark night. His eyes turn back and, there's something dark there. His eyes moving back and forth, already plotting how to get this child abuser alone and...

"You're not going to tell me, are you." she states rather than asks regarding his age. His hair baffles her, so she just watches the swinging of it around.

Harper stops when the hand presses up against soft, warm skin as they stand facing one another in the sunshine. She misunderstands his 'careful' and takes half a step backward. "Sorry."

The compliment about what sort of children she would have skates a brow above the sunglasses. "Are you always this ... complimentary?" She's seemingly oblivious to his pause in response to her 'sticking' statement.

Now quiet laughter skims past her lips, rolling in her throat. "Don't tell me you diet, Everett. I'm guessing --" She looks him over from head to feet and back again. "-- that you could consume thousands of calories and still be well within your daily allotment." It's his turn to skate a gaze down to the scant bit of abdomen between the top edge of her skirt and the knot of her white tee. This implication she catches. "You wouldn't dare." Another half step back and she tries to untangle her fingers from Everett's, readying herself for battle.

But the play ebbs as she confides in the man. "I honestly don't know. I've never seen his mother. And he's very reticent to share where the bruises come from." Here is where she's conflicted. Does she share a name with Everett? That information should be confidential. "It helps to tell someone. Thank you for letting me air my worries." The smile is gone from her lips but she sways inward a little, then gives in to the urge to step up to Everett and give him a hug -- unless he sidesteps her somehow -- raising hands to slide around his neck and pressing the side of her face to his shirtfront for a moment before she's sliding back down off her tiptoes, hands falling back away.

With a soft grin, Everett leans towards her, and nuzzles forearm to shoulder, "Twenty-five," he says plainly, surrendering to her easy request. The lean causes that free strand to drift into his field of vision enough for him to tuck it behind his ear with his free hand, absentmindedly.

His smile remains, and when he opens his mouth again, he makes that soft tsk of broken vacuum. He could say he was meeting her gaze, staring into her soft brown eyes, when he says the next thing, but he can't see them, so instead he focuses on her nose, "Only when I've been properly provoked." His answer satisfies him enough that it tucks the left corner of his mouth, making his smile wider.

"Only rigorously," Everett confesses about his diet. He nods as to her guess, "A few, but I don't want to tempt fate. It's best I don't, and have those calories to spare, then do, and have that much longer to burn at the gym, or running, or something altogether else. A moment on the lips," he starts to say and then somewhere the popular witticism goes south, "makes Everett a lard butt." Her protest that he wouldn't has him replying, "Oh," a twinkle of mirth in his eye, "but wouldn't I?" He releases her hand on request. All the better, after all, to lift his up as though he were going to pounce, dropping into a small crouch. Head turns away so he can affix but one eye, his left, on her. Wide. Wild. Daring her to give him a reason.

And the reason is short-lived; as he starts tall again, dropping his hands to his side and he listens in earnest. Opening his mouth, he's about to say something, when the hug comes in. Shut up and take it, idiot. Big mitts slide around her torso, and his fingers interlace at the small of her back. Tilting his head, then shoulders down, he puts his lips on the crown of her head and then slides further down to the nape. There's an effort to return the hug without hurting ribs or bruising, and drawing in a breath; the scent of her before she's gone.

He clears his throat, "That was nice. Anytime you feel like confiding in me again, if I get one of those at the end, you go right ahead." The smile that follows is a little coy, as he offers his hand again. "Maybe there's something we can do for Robbie? Some service we can report to?" We.

A younger man. Harper's lips quirk but she doesn't comment on it. He follows her step backward and nudges her with his arm and Harper catches her breath. Properly provoked? But then there is that quirked smile again, distracting her.

"You don't look like you struggle." At all. He doesn't look like he struggles at all with caloric over-reach.

The giant of a man crouches down and wiggles fingers at her with that side-glance that says he would do just that, and right here in the middle of downtown. Harper crosses her arms over her stomach and shakes her head. "Okay, you would. But you won't." Laughter traces through the breathless words. No reasons!

With his nose against her hair, that rosemary-mint shampoo scent is prominent. But that cinnamon scent about her remains. A tin of cinnamon Altoids graces her purse even now. She might linger a few moments if he's pressing soft kisses to her head and then the nape of her neck. "Hmmm." she murmurs.. Then she pulls back and drags off those sunglasses, sliding them up to rest atop her head somehow without unseating the flower from behind her ear. "So noted," she murmurs, brown eyes warm and expressive as she meets his green gaze. Because of this distraction it takes her a moment to notice the offered hand. She slides fingertips down over the inside of his wrist and into his palm before fingertips tangle again.

"There's Children's Services. But if I call I have to give them a reason. And if they follow up, I don't think that he'd be brought to the library anymore. And they so rarely find anything when they 'investigate'. They begin walking once more and near the boardwalk.

"Believe me, baby, the struggle? It's real. I'm around candy and ice cream and fried food all day, when I'm on the floor, that is. The temptation." He pauses, moving his eye line from looking, squinting, from the distance, to turning back down to drink her in. He ends up at her nose again, which nearly receives a tap, ending instead a hairs width from her, "is very real."

"No," Everett says, agreeing with the word and a wide grin and nodding his head twice, bobbing his ponytail. "I won't," and then there's a caveat, for which he leans a little towards her. "Not unless you start something that I'm going to have to finish. Or let you win, I'm not above that," the last words spoken with pride and an examination of his fingernails of his left hand from arm's distance. Then he peeks in her direction before his grin turns toothy, his mood teasing.

When the sunglasses come off, or uplifted, he smiles again, finding her eyes and returning her gaze. His hand in hers, his thumb strokes softly a lazy back and forth pattern over the back of her hand, silent a moment while the resume walking, him with a thin smile while he ponders the problem. He saw the man. He could follow them from Story Time tomorrow, to their house even. Wait for Robbie's bedtime. Lure the fuck to the door.

Everett's smile falters before he shakes his head and turns it her way, "I know. It's a tough problem. You're probably more educated in it then I am, with children's things, I mean. But I guess I figure: what's more important for Robbie? If you, we, do call CPS, there are wheels put in motion. Right? Even if they don't find anything, they have a record. If something does happen, if you're right, and I believe you, then they're in the system already and Robbie can get the help that's best for him, that he needs to make that little man into a big one." He nods his head and exhales long, "It's a hard problem." And then his head rolls in her direction, "I know, what do other professions do when this happens? What do teachers do, or priests if they suspect a child is being hurt? I-i-I think you're morally obligated to do something, for his sake, even if it turns out you're wrong. Because you're doing it for him." Everett frowns, "I'm rambling. But am I making sense?"

The fingertip that nearly taps the tip of her nose is watched curiously before Harper looks back at Everett. "So you take a pretty active role in the business. Not a silent partner. I'm trying to imagine you serving ice cream." Harper curves that familiar smile.

"Unless I start something...," she echoes slowly. She cants her head to one side. "Let me win? I do win pretty frequently." Teasing Everett is fascinating. The brush of his thumb to the back of her hand does not go unnoticed, but one would have to be hyper-vigilant to see the response.

As far as CPS goes, "I'm not a mandatory reporter, but perhaps you're right. Starting a record could be useful in the long run. I'll call tonight." She sighs, a slow exhalation. "I'll miss him if they stop bringing him to the library."

"Dream on," he says with a smile. "That I don't do. I try to stay away from that kind of thing. I'm... not comfortable around new people." His inclined head suggests she may have some experience in this matter. "So, I take a table in the back and try to hide. That is, until things get busy. But I do help. I do the cleaning at the end of the day, you know: sweeping, moping, emptying the fry trap. I figure it's good for morale for the other guys to see me there, actually doing the menial stuff, the things nobody wants to do." He adds, "Keeps me humble too and I'm not afraid of a little hard work." His free hand spaces forefinger and thumb a tiny space apart, "but just a little," he adds with a grin.

Everett cracks a wider smile, "Good, I don't want a push over when I chase you down and blow on your stomach. Just make sure you know what you're getting yourself into." He winks down at her, machismo aside, he leans in again and whispers softly, "And let me win a couple of times. I don't wanna lose face in front of the guys when you win so effortlessly."

He sobers with her, nodding in agreement, "And I'll miss him too. He's a good quiet coyote. Don't be too sad, we don't know anything yet; you know, don't presume anything. Could be he keeps coming." Her hand is tugged, "Fortunately I know a way to cheer you up. We're almost there, now."

"So ... you're saying the man who silently handed me the note card Friday is more the status quo than the man walking me to the boardwalk?" Harper asks with an up-tipping at her lips of a teasing smile. The librarian listens to him speak about hard work and nods thoughtfully. "This, I don't have to work hard to imagine. Do you have lots of experience with the food industry?"

"You mean the blowing on my stomach that we agreed you are not going to do?" she inquires blandly. But her steps do slow when he leans in. "You let me know when we have an audience. I'll be sure to make you look good." That's the promise, anyhow.

The tug at her hand speeds up Harper's steps once more and she lets the boardwalk setting belatedly seep in to her awareness.

There's a soft hem and haw while Everett considers her question, his big paw giving her hand a gentle squeeze to fill the time. His head lists softly from one side to the other while he ponders that question or his reply. "I think," he says after a moment, his smile faded some but not gone altogether, and his cadence fill of ponderance, "that both men are me." He steals a look in her direction, to her calming brown eyes, "Even the one that texts you. It just takes me a while to come out of my shell and I have very good reasons for that." His free hand is swift to rise because he knows what's next, "And before you say it, maybe someday I'll tell you what those reasons are." The smile fades a little more, his tone draws more serious, "But please believe me when I tell you that today's just not that day, ok?"

The question about his job experience has the smile others find hard to see, but somehow she's managed effortlessly to draw out. A single chortle rings out when he tilts his head back. "God no. It wasn't even my idea," is his confession, and then sighs. A sly sideways glance is slid down towards her before he murmurs, "Aww, you're good. Ok," his volume rises, "let me ask you this since you're asking me all these questions. What would you do if you suddenly found yourself with a million dollars, tax-free?"

"You mean the blowing on my stomach that we agreed you are not going to do?" she inquires blandly. But her steps do slow when he leans in. "You let me know when we have an audience. I'll be sure to make you look good." That's the promise, anyhow.

Her assertion about blowing on bellies has him stealing a sideways glance down at her again and more specifically, at the aforementioned belly. "I don't remember that agreement," he rumbles softly. But he grins never the less. They're in public, just after story time and clean up with the children let them out, of course, they have an audience. And he showcases this factoid, taking a sidestep away, then twirling around slowly; slow enough that he can lift her arm up, and duck underneath it. At the end of his turn, he brings their hands back down, "The whole world is watching you, baby. Not just me. But I promise I'll do the same for you. I have no intention of causing you ill-will." He makes a cross over his heart with his left hand, "Promise. But I think you know that, or we wouldn't be here," he says, lifting their held hands, and giving her another soft squeeze.

'I'd like to hear your 'very good reasons'," Harper replies after listening for some time, her perceptive gaze weighted. "But I think you're likely not to --" She is caught, predictable. "I'm a patient, stubborn woman. I'll be here." When that day comes.

"A million dollars. Tax free?" Harper's brows lift and her animated smile is cast up and to the side to Everett. "Invest it in something I loved. Do something meaningful." He says she's good. She wonders at that.

Everett then chooses to twirl at the end of her arm and the librarian laughs musingly. He lifts their clasped hands and she steps toward him, head tilting up. "You're demanding your show now?" It's as if he receives a very finite number of claims to such moments. Does he want to squander one now? She lifts her free hand to trace fingertips along the side of his face while he thinks it over.

"At least one of those reasons," teases Everett, peeking in her direction, amused he caused her to halt, to skip her train of assault, "is what I like about you. I'm also attracted to women that are smarter than I am." He smiles a little wider, his head turning more in her direction. If not directly looking at her, then, now, stealing a peek. His blush, caused long ago, is starting to ebb.

"Exactly," he relies. She's smart, she can figure that out.

"Now, later, always?" it isn't something he has to think over for long. Seconds, maybe. What takes longer is when she touches his face, he tilts his head into her hand, stroking cheek with her fingers, like a cat would invoke petting by forcing the contact. His eyes droop, nearly closing. "Mm, why. What do you have in mind?"

"You not only know I'm patient and stubborn, but you like one of those traits?" Harper laughs upward. Then she echoes thoughtfully, "A million tax free dollars." A narrowing of her eyes and the direct query, "Are you in danger?" Because it's his well-being she wonders about when she thinks about how he might have ended up with such a sum? She rises to her the balls of her feet as her fingertips trace a line down over the man-slash-jungle-gym's jaw and throat before her hand falls away and she drops back down to her flat feet in sandals. "We should probably have a serious conversation before that, huh?"

"Yes," he says, his grin widening, "because those are all the qualifiers you used." He winks, leaving her to figure out there is also HERE. Right where he likes her. Living, breathing. By his side. Stable.

He doesn't smile any less at her question about trouble. Instead, supplying incredulously, "Oh, baby. I am trouble. But I'm not in any more than anyone else," he lies. Her leaning up has him leaning down. If she meant to give the impression he had earned a kiss, she was so successful. His lips purse on the way down, and his eyes close. When he's left wanting, he grins broadly, almost as wide as he would have if there had been contact. "Ooh. That's dirty. But fair," he adds, giving her held hand a squeeze. "I wait with baited breath for that conversation, and of what may come of it, darling."

Here? Absolutely? Stable? Less certain. Harper wears a fantastic front. Few people think there is something beneath it.

Everett claims to be trouble personified and Harper shakes her head very slowly. "You haven't been trouble to me," she argues. Then he's lying to her about his state of relative safety. "Why do I find that difficult to believe, Woods?" Harper re-lifts that hand to trace a fingertip over Everett's lower lip as he dips in for what he expects to be a kiss only to be denied a second time. "Sometimes you sound like two different people." As he straightens she lets her hand fall away but regards him for a long few moments before sighing. To his baited breath, "Don't rush too quickly to judgment."

Considering some of the people here at Grey Harbor, including the woman that threw a swing at him when she couldn't weigh more than a hundred pounds, the on-again, off-again relationships, Harper is a rock. A boulder. A, well... you get the idea. Unless there's something lurking under the surface with her too.

"Really?" perks Everett. He up-nods down towards her, still with that goofy smile, "so I can just go ahead and," he lingers at the end of that sentence, instead giving her midriff a meaningful look. "No trouble at all, huh?" He ends his tease with a wider grin, leaning in to nudge her with his bicep. He starts to answer, but her fingers to his lip is it. Enough. His mouth opens for him to take two fingers in. Who knows where they've been, but they're hers. Lip covered teeth hold her fingers in, his tongue is withdrawn to avoid wetting, sliming her.

"Grr," he muffles, "minef moew." he says with her fingers in his mouth. He'd have done the same thing with any of the children, but he's much happier its her in his mouth.

He gives his head, and her hand, a soft shake before his mouth opens, giving her the chance to withdraw without yanking. "That's because I am. There's something underneath you don't know about. But this Everett, this Mr. Woods, this is who I want to be, it's who she made me."

If Everett believes Harper to be what-you-see-is-what-you-get -- here in Gray Harbor? -- he's in for a particularly rude awakening.

Harper starts laughing at the up-nod, the 'really', and then starts to move to step back with a protective free hand over her abdomen. "No. No no no." The denial is threaded with low laughter. "Not yet," she equivocates playing along in regard to Everett's relationship to trouble.

Harper goes still and her lips part, falling out of the playful grin as he captures her two fingertips with his mouth. "You -- ah -- you should read the fine print before you take the car off the lot." But the playful! She regains her smile and some composure. "You can be yourself with me, Everett," Harper murmurs as she regains control of her two fingers. "Who is 'she'?" This is going to be one serious conversation over ice cream. That is, if they ever start moving again.

Harper doesn't mind standing in the sunshine, even without her sunglasses, whiling away the afternoon in Everett's company. Not one bit.

Everett's finding that a lot of Grey Harbor isn't what-you-see-is-what-you-get. Not to mention people with weird glimmering effects. Her protests and protectiveness over her abdomen he lets her have; it was just a tease after all. And he'll probably tan. Or burn. Or combust with all this sunlight, but it's for a good cause.

Taking a step forward, to make up the ground she took when retreating, Everett's gaze softens. And with it, slips his hands around her waist, even the one still holding her hand, to pin it behind her back, and use the hold, and the hold on her hips to narrow the space between them to nothing. Left-hand rises, following the contours of her side, slowly while he leans his head down, so much so that errant hair slides free from behind his ear again to sway free.

He leans down for a kiss. Almost.

"If we have to have a serious conversation, we better have it quick." His left hand, having finished its journey cups her cheek, thumb lightly caressing her cheekbone. "Because," he continues, whispering softly, "I'm going to kiss you. You say all the right things." He doesn't though, kiss her, merely holding off that last scant fraction of an inch before he would be, stroking her cheek. And since she asked the ape murmurs, "She's the other co-owner. Was. She never made it out of Florida." In his distracted state Harper gets more guarded information from him than two days of trying.

Harper watches him step with her, as if they were doing some sort of slow motion waltz. This close he actually hears her catch her breath as his hands slide around her waist, one dragging her own hand behind her back with it; her body is warm as the summer afternoon. Everett tells her what he is going to do even as his hands already lay a claim. And those hands learn the feel of her breathing given the hold he has on her.

So close.
Time slows down.

There is that hint of cinnamon on her breath from this short distance, her eyes blink a few times and her breath speaks volumes as she finally releases it past parted lips in a slow exhalation with him absolutely invading any piece of her space there is to invade. The hand still enfolded in his grips him more tightly and her free hand lifts to trace that bit of hair up and back behind the man's ear. "I'm not entirely sure if I'm available to date, Everett," she speaks on the edge of her breath. "But I won't say no to a kiss."

But that's when Everett derails her breathless line of thought with the revelation that the co-owner 'she' didn't 'make it'. "I'm so sorry," she whispers as she settles in to the embrace, her body bowing in against his with the gentle nudge of the hands tangled at the small of her back. She tries to pull her head back enough to be able to look Everett in the eyes so he can see how sorry she is for his pain, deep empathy limning her warm, brown gaze. Everything is as tangled in Harper's eyes as his divergent words are between them. The summer breeze buffets them. Passersby detour around the unlikely pair in the strange embrace.