“I was going to head into town later this morning. Go to the library, return books and check out new ones. Probably grab lunch at one of the cafes.” I glance at her over my bowl. “You wanna come with me?”

She smiles. “Absolutely! I haven’t been to the library yet.”

“Great. I like to take my time there. Read bits of the books I’m gonna check out. I kinda make an event of it, I guess. Just so we’re on the same page. I don’t just pop in, find books, leave again.”

Another smile. “I haven’t been to a library in ages, actually. It sounds fun.”

“I mean, I dunno if fun is the right word, but I sure enjoy it.”

We’ve been browsing separately for an hour. We cross paths now and then; she has a small stack under one arm: a biography of Amelia Earhart, a Jack Reacher novel, and something by Nora Roberts; I have an Agatha Christie mystery, a Tom Clancy novel, and two small sci-fi space operas by writers I’ve never heard of, chosen for the blurb, the cover, and the first few pages.

I find her, later, sitting in a corner with her books on the table beside her, reading the Nora Roberts book. I sit next to her, place my books on hers, and dig into one of the space operas.

We read quietly for…well, I’m not honestly sure. It’s quiet, only a few other older folks browsing here and there, the librarian gliding around with a cart of books to be reshelved, and there are no clocks.

It’s easy to sit here with her, in the silence, reading.

It’s not until I hear her stomach growl that I glance at the windows and see that, judging by the movement of the shaft of sunlight, we’ve been here reading for several hours.

“You wanna go get lunch?” I ask, in a whisper.

She nods. “Yeah, I’m hungry.”

I smirk. “I heard.”

She gives me a droll eye roll. I take our whole stack of books, carry them to the check-out. This is when she realizes she doesn’t have a library card here.

“It’s fine, I’ll check them out for you,” I tell her. “No worries.”

“But…” she starts, and then trails off, appearing to reconsider her protestation. “Okay, thank you.”

Lunch is cheeseburgers and beer at the bar, with ESPN running highlights of college football. The books are in my truck. The bill arrives, and Nadia frowns.

“I don’t have my purse,” she says, her frown deepening. “I didn’t even think about it. It’s been so long since I’ve even needed it.”

“Nadia,” I say, tossing my card onto the tray. “It’s fine.”

She shakes her head, and seems unduly upset. “It’s not. You shouldn’t pay for me.”

“It’s like forty dollars. No big deal.”