The three men simultaneously sucked in sharp breaths. “Minerva Hamilton,” Pug thundered. “You take that back.”

“Not a sport,” Ryan said.

Hunter nodded. “Religion. Didn’t you ever read Norman MacLean? Izaak Walton?”

“On my list,” I said automatically. Because surely, somewhere on my long mental list of To Be Read books were A River Runs Through It and The Compleat Angler. Way down on the list, but on there. Probably.

Ryan’s eyebrows went up. “Is that so? How about a quiz on the Angler next week?”

I suddenly understood why my childhood friends had complained about their little brothers. But it wouldn’t hurt me to read the thing. And if I was interpreting Ryan’s smirk correctly, he didn’t think I’d pick up the book at all. Hah. I’d show him. “Give me two weeks.”

Ryan, Hunter, and Pug did a group knuckle bump. “We’ll make her a fishing fan yet,” Pug said, slapping Ryan on the shoulder.

Three men bonding over the possibility of me becoming more like them. Outstanding. I shook my head, but on the inside every bit of me was smiling. This was a classic bookmobile moment. Things like this just didn’t happen in a brick-and-mortar library, and this was why I loved the bookmobile so very much.

Eddie chose that moment to jump down from the dashboard and bump his head against my shin. Obediently, I scooped him up and watched fondly as the men chatted about the end of ice-fishing season. Sillies. Didn’t they know you could buy fish in the store?

There was a muted chirp. Ryan slapped his hand to his back pants pocket and pulled out his phone. “Sorry,” he said, reading. His face went still. For a moment he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. He looked up and, though his gaze met mine, it didn’t seem as if he saw me at all. “Sorry,” he said again. “I have to . . . I have to go.”

We watched Ryan rush out of the bookmobile and hurry across the parking lot to his truck, jump in, and roar off, all without looking in our direction even once.

“Well, that was odd,” I said.

Pug cleared his throat. “Didn’t mean to snoop, but I did see it was a long text from his mother.”

“Hope everything is okay.” It had looked like an emergency of sorts, and after the stop was done and we were driving back to Chilson, I tried to come up with reasons for Ryan’s actions that weren’t serious.

His mother’s car was making funny noises and she wanted his advice. A long-lost girlfriend of Ryan’s was in town for a few days, and had contacted his mother, wanting to see him. He’d scheduled a routine doctor’s appointment, forgotten about it, and the doctor’s office had called his mom to remind him.