With a shiver, she grabbed an old sweater off one of the stacks of sorted vintage clothes on the stage. The sweater was several sizes too big and a dingy coral acrylic that didn’t go at all with her sunflower-colored sundress but she wouldn’t need it for long before the library warmed up.
She’d planned to shelve books and catch up on paperwork but instead went up onto the stage and sorted a box of clothes that had come in over the weekend. For the most part, donors had respected the specifications for the show and weren’t just dropping off junk, although not everything could be used—including the awful sweater she’d thrown on.
The front door creaked open at the stroke of nine-thirty. Phoebe looked up from her box, filled with a colorful collection of maxi skirts, fringed vests and headbands from the early 1970s. She expected to see her administrative assistant, but instead it was Noah Kendrick entering the library.
Phoebe stood up, realized she still had on the old sweater. She wished she’d taken it off, then decided it was just as well. She hated the stereotype of the dowdy, introverted librarian and knew it didn’t fit her or most professional librarians she knew, even if Noah was thinking exactly that right now. She was practical. She’d been cold and the sweater had been handy. She wasn’t a princess.
Not that Noah had recognized her as the woman he’d danced with.
She certainly had no intention of telling him.
He smiled, maintaining a stillness about him as he approached the stage. “I half expected a ghost.”
“Lots of people have said they’ve encountered ghosts in here, going back to when the library first opened in 1872.”
“What a surprise,” he said mildly.
She went to the edge of the stage. She expected to jump down to him on her own, but he caught her by the waist and lowered her to the hardwood floor with the same ease and sureness with which he’d swept her across the dance floor on Friday night.
Glad for the dim light in the library, Phoebe pushed back strands of hair that had come out of its pins. Her oversize sweater had come off her shoulders. She let it drop to the floor and shoved it aside with one foot, then got control of herself.
“Good morning,” she said politely, stepping back from Noah. “What can I do for you?”
It might have been her imagination, but she thought she saw a spark of pure male sexiness in his deep blue eyes, as if to say that she could do a hell of a lot for him. But he simply said, “I was thinking I might borrow a book or two. Is that allowed?”
“Sure. We’ll figure it out. Wander around.” Phoebe realized she wasn’t cold anymore. “Let me know if I can help you find anything.”
Noah peered up at the stage. “The fashion show is shaping up well?”
She nodded. “Some of the clothes we’ve received are amazing. Others, not so much. The historical society is interested in checking out some of the unique items.”
He shifted his gaze back to her. “Are you involved in the historical society, too?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact.”
She didn’t know why she felt defensive. There was nothing condescending in his tone or manner. His eyes were half closed, almost navy in the dim light by the stage. They lingered on her shoulders, then lifted to meet hers.
He knows.
She couldn’t pinpoint what had tipped her off, but there was no question in her mind that Noah Kendrick had figured out that she was the woman in the Edwardian gown on Friday.
Had he known yesterday?
She felt the heat of embarrassment but hoped he didn’t notice her discomfort. “The fashion show is turning out to be a lot of fun for everyone.” Her throat was dry, tight, as she suddenly tingled with the memory of their brief kiss just two nights ago. They’d gotten carried away. No question about it. She added, “Every donated garment has a story behind it.”
“What’s the story behind Maggie’s and Olivia’s dresses?”
“And yours?” Phoebe could almost hear him ask.
“They’re copies from movies,” she said. “As I’m sure you know.”
“To Catch a Thief and Breakfast at Tiffany’s.”
“That’s right.” She didn’t explain further. She had no intention of telling him about the hidden room when she still hadn’t told her sisters and Olivia—anyone—about it. “Maggie and Olivia had a great time at the ball.”
“So did I.” His eyes held hers. “More than I ever imagined.”
Phoebe reminded herself that she was a professional, experienced librarian, accustomed to dealing with tricky situations with the public. She would think of Noah as just that. A member of the public. She motioned toward the stacks. “I’ll let you get on with your browsing.”
“Thanks.” He walked over to the fireplace, then glanced back at her. “Ever light a fire in here?”
“Not in years.”