Beauty's Kiss(21)

“I love my job,” she said, answering Troy’s question. “And I love the building itself. The library has such a great history, built in the 1880’s as the third public building constructed during Marietta’s short-lived copper boom, and its handsome, with all those tall windows, the high ceilings, the marble foyer and staircase with hardwood floors on the first and second floors—” She took a breath. “But as it is now, it just feels old. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the library has a dusty, musty feel. And yet it’s clean, but it’s just not updated. Even the glass display cabinets are filled with displays that are ten years old.”

Troy smiled, enjoying how animated she’d become while talking about the library. She was certainly passionate about her job. “What would you do with the library, if you could?”

“Besides change those ancient displays?” she asked, smiling crookedly. “Well, for one, I’d make the library a true community center. I’d overhaul the electrical—new lights and outlets throughout so people could bring their laptops and study there. I also think that the smaller conference room on the second floor would be perfect for a little café or espresso stand.”

“Espresso at the library?”

Taylor nodded. “It’s happening at libraries, and can’t you just see how good it would be for moms? They could grab a coffee and have a little visit or read a magazine while their kids went to Story Time with Louise. I think Marietta teens and local college students would enjoy a coffee or snack while studying. But of course, Margaret, won’t hear of us changing a single thing, library, whether it’s one of her faded but ‘culturally relevant’ display cases, or those hollow antiquated private rooms on the second floor that go unused, unless one of the book groups meet in them.”

“This is how it all starts, you know.”

“What does?”

“Change. You have an idea, and you get excited and throw your weight behind it and before you know it, you’re in really deep and everyone else is wondering what the hell happened.”

“Is that what happened with you and your hotel?”

“Pretty much.”

“But isn’t that good? Look what you’ve given back to Marietta?”

“Not everyone here is happy about it. Not everyone likes change, even if it’s beneficial.”

“Why?”

“Because some people are afraid of change. They’re afraid it means they might have to grow and change, and that could be hard work.”

“Well, I’m not asking anyone to change. I just want to improve the library. I’d like to make the library a thriving community center. Why not let that gorgeous old building become the heart of the community? A library is more than books and quiet spaces. A library should inspire, enrich, and support both individual patrons and the community—” she broke off and bit into her lower lip. “Maybe I am asking for some change.”

He smiled, liking her more and more, as well as impressed by her spirit. Who would have thought that the pretty new librarian had such fire? “Good. And don’t ever apologize for wanting to do something here, or anywhere. We need people with passion and vision. I admire your enthusiasm. But can I offer you one piece of advice?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t fall in love with beautiful historic buildings in small towns.”

“No?”

“No. It’s a maddening love, and very expensive.”

She sat back in the boot, expression thoughtful. “I’ve wondered about that.”

“I’m sure everyone has.”

“So why did you do it?”

“The hotel is....” his voice drifted off and he stared off, picturing it as it was when he bought it—the boarded up windows, the ratty stained carpet covering the marble lobby, the holes in the walls and then that ballroom, the grand ballroom with its soaring ceiling and gilt trim, and the old library with its rich walnut paneling. He could feel the history in the abandoned building, set for demolition. He could picture the dances and the blushing brides and how stately even the old coatroom outside the ballroom must have been.

And he’d bought it on the spot.

For cash.

Because no one would loan him money for that eye sore. No one could see how it’d ever be restored and put back on the market without bleeding the investors dry.

And the hotel was bleeding him dry, but it was also beautiful now. A landmark. A Montana treasure. And he did feel good about that. He had done something right. Maybe not everyone would agree, or understand, but he remembered going to the Graff with his mother and brothers when he was young, just before it had closed, to see the Christmas tree in the big lobby, and have hot chocolate in the restaurant. They’d all dressed up, his mom and her four boys—Dillon wasn’t born yet—and Trey had been bored but Troy had been enthralled.