The Nice Guy Next Door (When In Waverly 1)

“Well, what have you learned in the last few days?”

“I’ll be doing story times, after-school activities for older kids, ordering new books for the kid’s and teen’s sections, that kind of thing,” I say with a shrug. He probably thinks it sounds silly with a job as important as his. I’m not saving people or stopping crime, just supplying a steady flow of free books for all of my fellow bookworms.

“What made you want to be a librarian?”

“I love books. I spent a lot of time in the library as a kid. A nerdy amount of time,” I say. A blush spreads across my face, remembering how big of a dork I was in high school. This guy has probably never been laughed at in his entire life. His size alone would deter anyone from making fun of him.

“I like books too.”

“Really? Because your friends seemed to think you had never stepped foot inside the library until the other night,” I say.

“They don’t know everything about me. I’m an enigma.”

A burst of laughter escapes my mouth, and heads around the room turn to look at me. The waitress comes to our table and places our food in front of us with a sneaky smile on her face. I know what she’s thinking. I know what everyone in this room is thinking. Oh, look at the cute, budding romance happening over there in the corner.

Wrong! Just friends!

There’s zero space in my life for romance. I’ve just started a new full-time job, I’m trying to figure out how to take care of a teenage girl without letting her know that I’m taking care of her (because she doesn’t need me—she told me so this afternoon), and I’m secretly writing a novel in whatever free time I have at the end of the day.

I don’t tell anyone about that last part because it may very well be garbage. I don’t want to embarrass myself.

The burger and fries sitting in front of me look greasy and delicious. I cut it in half because there’s no way I’ll be able to eat the whole thing in one sitting. I pop a French fry in my mouth and barely contain the moan begging to escape. Best French fry ever.

“Oh, you did good, lover boy. You should definitely bring your next date here. I mean, if she eats carbs and isn’t too high maintenance,” I say, glancing around the homey restaurant.

“I told you Bob’s is delicious,” Jameson says with a smirk.

We spend the rest of the meal talking about our families and find that we can sympathize with each other over our MIA mother or father. He tells me about all of the mischief he and his friends got into as teenagers. Basically, if you can think of it, they did it.

“We’re part of the reason I decided to get into law enforcement,” he says. “I have to protect the world from mischief-makers like that.” He’s funny, and it surprises me. I can picture him skulking around town behind groups of rowdy teenagers, ensuring they don’t put dish soap in the fountains or fork the perfectly manicured grass in front of the courthouse.

After sitting in the corner booth with him for two hours, we decide it’s time to leave, but I find I don’t want to. I want to talk to him for two more hours. It feels good to have a friend to talk and laugh with. And he’s a lot easier to get along with than the emotional teen at home.

When I get home, I knock on Lo’s door to let her know I’m home. She just yells, “I know,” through the door, and that’s the end of that conversation. Why won’t she talk to me? We've never had problems talking before. She has always come to me when she’s going through hard things. I hate that she’s shutting me out now. We are so going out for ice cream tomorrow evening.

I go to my room to get myself ready for bed. I put on my favorite pajama pants that are covered in unicorns and rainbows. Yes, they’re ridiculous, but Daddy bought them for me for Christmas a few years back. I wash my face and put on eye cream. No idea if eye cream actually does anything to prevent wrinkles, but I figure it’s worth a shot. I’m not getting any younger. Lo has aged me at least three years this week alone.

I glance around my room to make sure there are no ninjas lying in wait to sneak a peek at my novel in progress. I pull out my laptop and plop down on my bed to get to work.

The two love interests have just met after she accidentally spilled a latte all over the poor guy's shoes, and the woman is completely tongue-tied in a totally cute kind of way. Not the ditzy, has-no-brain-function kind of way. Surely no one could blame her for being flustered when the most gorgeous man to have ever lived is standing right in front of her. I kinda know how she feels.

I lay my head back against my pillows and think about how nice butterflies in your stomach feel. I wonder who pegged that term? When I met Jameson, it felt more like a stampede of wild horses. That could have been due to the fact that I initially thought I was getting hauled off to the slammer, but that doesn’t explain why I still felt it long after he explained himself, or why I felt them all evening, sitting across the table from him on our not-date.

Lo woke up this morning determined to fight with me. Everything I’ve done from the moment we saw each other in the kitchen has been wrong, wrong, wrong. The coffee that I lovingly sat in front of her at the breakfast table was too strong. I moved her backpack off the table so she couldn’t find it. And I had the audacity to look her in the eye…

Now, at the very moment that we need to be leaving, she’s yelling at me because I won’t let her drop me off at work so she can take the car. The arrangement has always been that I drop her off, and after school, she either gets a ride from a friend or takes the bus home. It has never been an issue until this very moment. This very moment that I do not have to spare.

“I don’t understand what the big deal is! I get out of school way before you get off work. I could just pick you up.”

“I don’t understand either. Why are you all of a sudden pushing me on this?”

“You don’t listen to me! You never do anything I want or ask! It’s always your way or nothing!” she yells as tears pool in her eyes and then slide down her flushed cheeks. My heart is aching, and I wish I understood what she’s going through.

Just then, the doorbell rings, and our heads snap to the front door. I see the patrol car in the driveway just as Lo runs down the hall back to her room.