I watched him for a moment, caught between gratitude and embarrassment. He wiped the floor with practiced motions, the puddle shrinking under the mop.
A gust of wind slapped the windows, and he glanced at the entrance. “Storm’s getting worse. I should check the far hallway window before it leaks again. Would hate for more books to be ruined.” He tapped the mop on the tile twice, a habit he’d never explained to me.
“Go on, then. I’ve got this.”
He walked away toward the archives hall, humming under his breath. I clutched the towel, unsure why my chest felt warm in that tired, aching way it did whenever someone was kind to me without expecting anything.
The door opened again.
I didn't even look up from what remained of the puddle. “Ten minutes before close,” I said.
The wet-floor sign skidded across the tiles and spun in a slow, uneven turn. Something heavy hit the floor hard enough to push water outward in a thin splash, and a startled sound cut through the noise of the storm.
3
ARTEMIS
My brain snapped into catalog mode.
Noise location: entrance.
Possibility of injury: high.
Universe’s agenda: petty.
I stood and dropped the towels, my focus shooting toward the doors.
Of course this happened at eight fifty.
I caught a glimpse of movement. A tall shape on the floor, long legs stretched across the tile. Water pooled around the figure in a widening circle. The door behind him was still half open, and the wind was driving the rain inside.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” I muttered, then I rushed toward the entrance, towel half-forgotten in my hand, completely unaware that my entire night had just shifted into another category altogether. This had not been on my schedule.
The wet floor sign had spun so far across the tile that it had lodged itself against the fire extinguisher. Water continued stretching in a wide arc around the collapsed figure. For one wild second, I thought he had passed out, but then he moved.
I crouched beside him. “Are you hurt? Please tell me you aren’t concussed. I cannot handle paperwork right now.”
He pushed himself upright. And upright. And upright some more.
My brain paused.
How tallwasthis man?
He kept rising until I had to tilt my chin far higher than I liked to look at him. My neck made an uncomfortable sound as I continued to crane it. He steadied himself, then looked down at me. That was when the second shock hit.
His face.
He wasn’t normal handsome or average handsome. He wasclassichandsome. Renaissance-painting handsome. The kind reserved for portraits and actors who win lifetime awards. Strong jaw. Dark hair damp against his forehead. His presence filled the whole entryway and spilled into my bloodstream like it had decided to take up long-term residency.
I swallowed, aware that my mind had stopped filing coherent thoughts.
He met my gaze with a startling focus, as if he was cataloging me in return. We stared at each other a beat too long. Heat traveled up my neck and settled unpleasantly in my ears.
Say something normal, Artemis. Deploy sentence.
“Hi,” I blurted.
He blinked. I blinked. My dignity left the building.
