Something Unexpected by WENDY WARREN

hold?”
    â€œSounds great,” he boomed for anyone nearby to hear. And then quietly, “What kind of hold do you have in mind?”
    Rosemary’s gaze flew to his.
    He winked. “Because I was rather fond of the hold you used when—”
    â€œShh! Shhhhhh!” She shushed like the classic librarian. Unable to stop herself, Rosemary glanced wildly around, noting that her library was beginning to fill with the noontime regulars. When a couple of people looked over, she peeled her puckered lips back in a toothy smile.
    Dean turned and smiled, as well. “Hello, Mrs. Covington,” he called out, nodding to an older woman who owned more hats than anyone else in Honeyford. Today she had on a short-brimmed blue straw with morning glory and a purple butterfly springing from the wide band. “You look particularly charming today.”
    The octogenarian beamed, leaving her place in front of the large-print section to join them at the reference desk.
    â€œGood afternoon, Mr. Kingsley. Miss Jeffers.”
    Some of the older folks in Honeyford preferred a more formal style of address, Rosemary had discovered. Ordinarily she enjoyed conversing with EthelAnne Covington and being swept into the woman’s more gracious era, but today she’d give anything to clear the library of all humans. How much simpler life would be if she were left alone with her books! The most complex tome seemed like kid stuff compared to the tangled web of her current circumstances: pregnant and single only two and a half months into her job in a conservative small town.
    â€œIs there anything I can do for you, Mrs. Covington?” she asked, hoping that if she became involved with her customers Dean would disappear.
    â€œWhy no, thank you, dear, not at the moment. I came over to speak with Mr. Kingsley, if I may.” Drat. “I hope I’m not crossing too many boundaries by accosting my pharmacist in the library,” she said to Dean with a near-girlish laugh, “but you were my next stop today.”
    Sensing an opportunity after all, Rosemary stood. On the verge of excusing herself, she felt her wrist caught in a masculine hold. Surprised, she gazed down stupidly at Dean’s fingers as they curled around her.
    â€œIf you’ll wait just a moment, Ms. Jeffers, ” he said. “I’m not quite finished with my…questions.”
    To EthelAnne, he inquired graciously, “What can I do for you, dear?”
    The elderly woman obviously adored the endearment.
    Rosemary’s wrist—no, her entire arm—began to feel hot. She needed an avenue of escape right now. Dean was practically sitting on her reference desk, holding her arm as if such a gesture were nothing out of the ordinary. Even if EthelAnne didn’t think that was odd, someone else was bound to walk by and take notice. Then questions would begin. Questions Rosemary was nowhere near ready to answer.
    When she attempted to extricate herself, Dean’s casual hold tightened briefly, as if in warning. She considered picking up her stapler and wrapping him on the knuckles. Before she could make her move, his fingers began to lightly stroke the underside of her wrist, away from Mrs. Covington’s view. Goose bumps shivered up Rosemary’s arm.
    Darn him!
    â€œI’ve just been speaking to Gabrielle Coombs,” Mrs. Covington said, blithely unaware of the drama in front of her. “She’s on the July Fourth entertainment committee. Lovely young woman, so civic-minded.”
    â€œYes,” Dean murmured. His fingertips began to trace tiny circles while Rosemary considered the various ways she could either break free or murder him in full view of her patrons. Unfortunately her brain grew fuzzier with each slow, tantalizing circle.
    â€œI know you’re aware that your brother is Grand Marshall of our Honeyford Days Spring Festival,” EthelAnne said to Dean. “We’re so appreciative that