Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 128069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
That catches my attention. I don’t hear that often but I know exactly what she means. That’s an assistive technology the library offers in the kids’ section. The words light up on the screen, like karaoke highlights, as the book’s read to you. It helps readers follow along, and helps those who learn in different ways.
The night he told me he had dyslexia, Wesley mentioned he’d used tech like this as a kid. Right now, his face lights up—it’s a look I’ve never seen before. A sort of pure delight. “Dude. Me too,” he says to her, then offers a fist for knocking.
Ellie stands on tiptoes and knocks fists with him. “I read them all like that. With my app and my headphones.”
He leans closer, like he’s telling her a secret. “My dad made me read like that.”
“Mine too! Did you read them all that way? The moose and the dog and the mouse?” she says, rattling off the characters in the other books in the series.
My heart is so full I don’t even know what to do with it. The way it’s beating. The way I’m smiling. I steal a glance at Ellie’s dad. He’s looking down at her with pride in his eyes.
Wes nods. “Every last moose and muffin,” he says with a sigh, but it’s not an annoyed one. It’s more a sigh of solidarity—a been there, done that sound.
“Same!” Ellie gazes longingly at her plate of pancakes. “But I’m hungry so I should go eat. If you find any more books, let me know, Mister Librarian.” She’s about to leave when her brow knits and she adds, “But you might be a firefighter.” Then she looks to me. “And you might be a firefighter too. Whatever you are, thank you!”
She skips off to eat, and I turn to Wes, too delighted to even know where to start—the way he talked to her, or the way she talked to him. But I bet he won’t want me to home in on the tools he used as a kid, so I say, “She thinks you’re a librarian.”
“And that you’re a firefighter. Too bad Halloween’s passed. We could have dressed up like that…or maybe next year.”
Those last two words echo in my mind—next year. Is he imagining a future costume party with me? Or is that just what you say? No idea, so I stay focused on the present and that moment. “Also, I think you made her day,” I say.
He shrugs like it was nothing. But it wasn’t nothing. That was a real connection, and I want him to know that. Sometimes I think he demands perfection of himself, even when it comes to reading. He might not like it, but just letting a kid know that he learned the same way she did is a very big deal. “It’s great when a kid can meet an adult who learns and reads like they do.”
He gives me that generous smile that hits me straight in the chest like it did the night we met. It’s the kind that makes me think he wants to kiss me instead of talk. Which is fine by me, because it’s also an acknowledgment that he did make her day.
“Glad I was here then,” he says as bells jangle nearby, a sign that Thalia’s headed in our direction. “And honestly, maybe my dad made me, but damn, that was a good series. Personally, I’d recommend If You Give a Dog a Donut. It’s underrated, but might be the best of the bunch…Maybe add it to Your Next Five Reads book recs, and in all formats.”
Thalia arrives at the table, giving Wes an approving look. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea. The first ones in that series are always checked out. We should promote the next ones, Josie.”
“I’ll take care of it,” I say, beaming as I picture the display already. I can show the hardbacks but also put up a placard with info on where to download a free text-to-speech app as well as the audiobooks. And as a bonus, maybe all this effort I’m putting into the recs will make Thalia’s reference for me stand out even more.
Thalia smiles at Wes, then sticks out a hand. “I’m Thalia. Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too,” he says, shaking. “I’m Wesley.”
“Oh, I know who you are. And I’d appreciate it if you’d destroy Colorado tonight. I hate their team so much,” she says with a growl that reveals some serious vitriol for his opponent.
“Me too,” Wesley says. “So, count on that.”
She gives a crisp nod—my boss, who’s evidently a hardcore hockey fan—then heads off while Wesley turns from me to serve another family.
I’m a little amazed by this man and his hidden talents. But perhaps more awestruck at my matchstick reaction that came out of nowhere. At my unexpected desire to protect him.