Oliver was getting the impression he was being taken more serious. Perhaps the haircut had helped. He had to believe that. A part of his confidence was in place because of it. Possibly.
Not that Bex had said one thing about the haircut. A part of him wanted to ask, "You hate it, don't you?" But he didn't. He didn't need to listen to her go on and on about how much she loved his long hair. Too late for that.
He didn't need anymore grief than was handed to him. It was time to be brave, and to go on. This was not the time to dwell on something so petty. But there was Bex's mother there at the library.
"My now don't you look handsome," she was her usual self. The person who he remembered who loved mysteries and always had a good sense of literary value when it came to her reads.
Oliver was reluctant to say anything to her. Instead, he turned to perhaps some new books she might be interested in. Of course, she'd read Evonovich's latest and really, she was tired of Grisham's efforts.
"Did you know, I'm your newest volunteer," she sounded so happy about it. The secretary hadn't told him.
"Really? Well, that's great." He'd just top her acting abilities. He knew how much she couldn't stand him.
"I promise, I'll stay out of your hair, well, not that there is any to get into, anymore," she sighed. "I'll be in the book sale room at least one afternoon a week."
"Well, that's nice of you." Oliver sighed, hoping she didn't feel the need to take over the whole booksale. He was afraid she would and then he'd soon find out how everyone couldn't stand her.
But as it was, she found some patron to talk to.
Oliver just watched. He hadn't expected that. She was chatting it up, too. And it was all so captivating. The way she smiled. Her body language. Was she picking up men at the library?
Oliver felt himself laughing on the inside. Spring must really be in the air.