I gritted a smile at Peter, who now stood alone inside the elevator, a stack of tomes tucked under one arm.
He maintained a stiff, close-lipped smile while he pressed the button to hold the door for me.
Then, gripping tighter the pumpkin-orange pastry box I held, I surged forward and onto the elevator. Because how much more awkward would it be if I rerouted to the stairs now? Something I should have done in the first place. Then again, chances were high that I could have run into him there, too.
A head taller than me with glasses, long dark hair worn in a low ponytail, a handsome, clean-shaven face, and a lean but muscular build, he had on his usual ensemble of slacks, black blazer, and white button-down.
Let’s just say he rocked the thirtysomething college professor lookverywell—blending chic geek with a touch of dark academia. Like if Dracula decided to teach at Oxford except less pale.
“Miss Hart,” he said, and my spirit sank with the cool and too-formal greeting. Especially since it wasn’t so long ago that he’d called me “Leaflet,” a nickname I’d earned after getting caught in a breeze with a stack of newly printed flyers for the upcoming children’s programs. Peter had helped me collect them.
Right before our clandestine first kiss.
My cheeks burned, and I cleared my throat as I turned to face the doors, the soles of my flats scuffing on the flooring, the minor flag in my stride reminding mewhyI hadn’t taken the stairs.
I had two VIP-designated Halloween-themed cupcakes from Sugar Rush, the café down the street. One had a chocolate-covered-strawberry witch’s hat; the other oozed cherry filling from vampire fang marks. They were so precious, and I couldnotrisk these getting smashed. Aside from that, I was already running late to get to the Hideout to relieve Emily for her lunch since the eleven-thirty day care crowd had filed in late for storytime.
“Peter,” I said, returning his greeting with a nod as the mirrored doors of the ancient elevatorsquueeeeakedshut. Their squeal seemed extra creaky today, as if they were cringing as hard as I was inside.As if theyknewPeter and I had been together for a few weeks and, during that time, found ourselves in a few compromising positions as well.
We’d broken up after discovering neither of us was prepared to leave our roles at the main branch of the Wyvern City Free Public Library.
Well,Peterhad been the one to call it off back in July. Because, yeah, weworked together.
Maybe not in the same department, maybe not on the same floor, but I now had to admit he had a point when he’d brought up the possible… complications of dating a coworker.
The same enormous buildingcouldin fact seem awfully small in select situations. Like this one when my teeth might just crush themselves to powder.
I held my breath, willing the awkward to ebb away like ripples in a pond.
And whyshouldthis interaction be awkward? Just because our last one had ended in tears—mine—didn’t mean this one had to become a smoking tire fire.
“Headed back to the basement?” I asked him as the doors clunked together, sealing us in as they reflected our figures in the faintly gold-tinted glass.
Ugh.Whydid we have to look so cute together?
“Going up, in fact,” he corrected, his London accent, along with that subtle hint of his sophisticated cologne,doingthings to me the way it always did, tempting my brain out of the realm of work, cupcakes, storytime, and all things G-rated. “To the director’s office. Yourself?”
Wait.Up?
“Um, down, actually,” I said through a nervous laugh, stepping forward to panic-press the darkened “Bis for ‘Basement’?” button. “To your neck of the woods. Or the Hideout at least. I’ve got to relieveEmily for lunch. I wasn’t paying attention to the elevator light, though. Didn’t realize it was headed up.”
“Given that there’s only one lift in this archaic time capsule of a civic citadel, I don’t think it makes much difference. Aside from that, the up and down lights just stopped being operational anyway. A pity since we are rather not-for-profit, and the facilities budget has no doubt been relegated to triaging the repeated issues tied to this prestigious landmark’s prehistoric—not to mention precarious—plumbing.”
Dagnabbit. This man’s vocabulary had me almost salivating.
Instead of asking him if he ate crossword puzzles for breakfast, I held my tongue and frowned down at the box in my hands, focusing hard on the café’s seasonal swirly-lettered and spiderweb-swathed logo as I tried not to wish that Peter and I could still work out. Or at least give it another go.
He’d said I’d have to, at the very least, transfer to another branch for him to even consider it.Hecouldn’t leave since there was only one set of archives after all.
Mom had really liked Peter. Which had given me high hopes.
Hopes that had apparently been too high.
“Now that the aroma of marinara and cheese has cleared the air,” he said, gesturing to the box I held, “I detect a hint of buttercream. Are you bribing someone with cake? Or perhaps just paying them off.”
“Cupcakes for Hunter and Emily,” I said. “It’s Hunter’s birthday. He turns eighteen.”
“Hunter,” said Peter. “That’s the lad with the boots.”
