the end, he was lured back to the line by the promise of a snack with his friends. “Mommy said she packed me a chocolate cupcake.”
Her stomach growled at the thought of Debbie’s chocolate cupcakes . . . and her black-and-white cookies . . . and her pies . . . and her—
Shaking off the mental inventory of her friend’s bakery, she tapped the tip of Jackson’s nose. “Then you better hurry along before I take a taste and end up eating the whole thing.”
“Okay.” He took three steps toward the door and then stopped once again. “But you’ll really check, right?”
“I’ll really check. Now run along before Mrs. Tierney gets worried.”
And with that Jackson was gone, his little white and blue sneakers smacking softly against the tiled floor that led from the children’s room to the main library, Tori’s own heels making a pitter-patter sound just a few steps behind. When he turned left toward the door, she continued on, her gaze riveted on her assistant’s face.
Her worried face.
Tori hurried across the room and over to the information desk, her eyes making a quick sweep of her surroundings. “Nina? Is everything okay?”
The woman shook her head, her finger pointing in the direction of a solitary figure hunched over a stack of books. “I tried to help but it was no use. She kept saying she had to come up with something special. Something better than last year’s.”
Tori bobbed her head to the left, the long dirty blonde ponytail registering in some dusty corner of her brain alongside Jackson’s sweet voice . . .
“She didn’t even seem to notice that Sally’s class just walked out the door,” Nina continued, her eyebrows furrowed. “And she’s not the kind of mamma that doesn’t notice her own babies.”
“I’ll take care of this, Nina. Why don’t you go ahead and take your lunch break.”
Nina pulled her attention from Melissa’s weary form and fixed it on Tori. “Are you sure, Miss Sinclair? Because I can wait if you need a moment to relax after the class visit.”
She touched her assistant’s shoulder with a reassuring hand. “I’m sure. The kids were great, they really were.”
“Okay. But if you need anything I’ll be right outside.” Reaching down, the woman pulled a brown paper sack from the bottom shelf of the information desk and held it into the air. “I’m hoping a little fresh air will help chase away this sluggish feeling I’ve been having lately. Though the thought of food doesn’t sound terribly appealing at the moment, either.”
“Are you feeling sick?”
Nina shrugged. “A little under the weather, maybe, but nothing to worry about.” Flashing the shy smile that was as much a part of her as the thick hair that hung to her shoulders, Nina made her way across the room and out the door, her lunch sack clutched tightly in her petite hands.
Turning back to the object of both Jackson’s and Nina’s worry, she made a beeline over to Melissa’s table. “Melissa? Is everything okay?”
Slowly, the thirty-something mother of seven lifted her head from the eight-book-high stack and shook her head. “I’m done.”
“Done?” Tori echoed as she plopped into a chair on the opposite side of the table, her eyes skimming the various titles in front of her friend.
Melissa gestured toward the books. “Sally’s birthday is next week and I can’t find a birthday that will impress without having to take out a double mortgage on the house.”
She stared at her friend. “I don’t understand. You threw a great birthday for Lulu a few months ago. Why can’t you just do one like that again?”
Raking her hands across her makeup-free face, Melissa shook her head. “Because Lulu doesn’t have to invite Penelope Lawson. Sally does.”
“Penelope Lawson?”
Melissa nodded. “Penelope’s last party was a circus. Literally.”
“They hired a clown?”
“And a lion tamer . . . and a master of ceremonies . . . and someone to run the cotton candy stand . . . et cetera, et cetera. Of course there was also the mother elephant with her baby, the pair of snow-white horses, and a lion for the tamer to tame. Oh, and let’s not forget the firework display that evening. The kids all liked the ones that looked like smiley faces the best.”
Tori’s laugh died on her lips as Melissa stared back.
“You’re serious?”
“Completely.” Melissa sat back in her seat, her hands running down the spines of the books she’d considered and apparently discarded. “And the year before that? Her mother had a truckload of beach sand