Ronan O’Malley, 58, retired Puget Sound ferry captain, perched on his usual scuffed bar stool at The Salty Spur, twisted the neck of his IPA between calloused fingers. He’d spent the morning patching the hull of a 1972 Boston Whaler in his garage, salt still crusted in the laces of his work boots, flannel shirt dotted with wood stain. The weekly trivia night crowd hummed around him, fried clam grease hanging thick in the air, Johnny Cash’s baritone bleeding low from the jukebox in the corner. His team was up by two points, the category 90s indie film, when he heard a laugh cut through the noise, sharp and warm as cedar smoke.
The woman across the shared bar ledge was new to the island, he’d seen her restocking shelves at the tiny public library the week prior. Dark hair streaked with silver was pulled back in a braid frayed at the ends, navy nail polish chipped on her fingers as she gestured wildly at her teammate, arguing that *Empire Records* absolutely counted as a legitimate indie entry. She caught him staring, held his eye for three slow beats, the corner of her mouth ticking up before she turned back to her team. He looked away fast, heat climbing up the back of his neck, annoyed at himself for gawking like a teenaged kid. He’d sworn off dating seven years prior, when his wife moved to Tucson with her yoga instructor, had convinced himself all new connections were just more hassle than they were worth.
When the bartender set a bowl of salted pretzels halfway between their tables, they both reached at the same time. Their knuckles brushed, and he felt the rough callus on the side of her wrist, the kind you get from hauling heavy stacks of books for hours. “First come first served, captain,” she said, nodding at the faded ferry captain cap hanging off the back of his stool. She smelled like lavender lip balm and rain-soaked pine. He mumbled a half-hearted protest, pushed the bowl closer to her, and she took a pretzel, her grin unapologetic.
The next trivia question made him freeze. “What 1996 Chuck Palahniuk novel topped the American Library Association’s list of most challenged books for 2023?” Her hand shot up before the host finished the question. “Fight Club,” she said, and she was looking right at him when she said it, like she knew. He’d signed the petition to ban that exact book, and 17 others, from the island library three weeks prior, hadn’t even read the list, just scribbled his name when his pastor neighbor knocked on his door, said they were keeping inappropriate material away from middle schoolers. He’d gone along with it because it was easier than arguing, easier than forming his own opinion, a habit he’d fallen into after his marriage ended. He felt his face burn, equal parts embarrassed and angry at himself, disgusted that he’d let someone else make a call that affected the whole town without even doing the bare minimum of research.
After trivia wrapped, his team won by three points, the bartender slid him a free beer. She walked over before he could slip out the door, a dog-eared copy of *Fight Club* tucked under her arm. “Saw your name on the petition,” she said, no bite in her voice, just a quiet challenge. He admitted he hadn’t read a single book on the banned list, had just signed it to avoid a long conversation with his neighbor. She laughed, not mean, and held out the paperback. “Borrow it. If you still think it should be banned after you finish, I’ll bring you a free peach pie from the Main Street bakery next week. If you change your mind, bring it back to the library, and we’ll talk about it over the coffee they keep in the break room. It’s terrible, but it’s free.”
He walked her to her beat-up blue Subaru parked down the block, the air crisp enough that their breath fogged in front of them, waves crashing soft on the shore a half block away. She climbed in, rolled down the window, waved as she pulled out of the spot. He stood there for a minute, holding the paperback in his hand, running his thumb over the pressed fern she’d used as a bookmark sticking out of the third chapter. He unlocked his own truck, tossed the book on the passenger seat, and made a mental note to stop by the library first thing Thursday afternoon, when he knew she was working the front desk.
