“If that impressed you, you should see me do the old woman who lives in a shoe,” I say. “I’ll clear my Saturdays,” he says. “I was kidding,” I say. He grins. “Not me.” I gesture toward the stacks. “Can I help you find something?” “I was hoping you could spell out every word of a love poem to me,” he deadpans. “That guy already called today,” Ashleigh pipes up from the reference desk. “Yeah, I’ve hit my limit on daily X-rated flower metaphors, so that’s the one thing I can’t help you with,” I tell him.
