“Are you hurt?” I added, except it came out clipped and cold, which was not what I intended. My tone had decided to betray me in public. Excellent.
He studied me. A strange concentration moved across his expression, as if he was assembling the right sentence. Then he spoke.
“I’m searching for a book,” he said, staring at my name tag. When I didn’t respond, he continued. “Recopilación de Linajes de Dragones Notables de este Milenio.”
His voice was deep and smooth, and he said the title in perfectly fluent Spanish that suggested serious study. My brain tried to reconcile the height, the formal coat, the clear Canadian energy, and the flawless Spanish. My knees almost forgot their purpose.
I stared at him as the words sank in with the slow horror of someone who prided herself on knowing every obscure title in her catalog, but I didn’t recognize the one he was looking for.
“I’m sorry. You’re looking for what?”
He repeated it in even more precise Spanish that scrambled my brain. I had never heard that title in my life, and I practicallylivedin this library.
“I can check the system,” I said, marching to the computer in a stiff attempt to reclaim professionalism. My hands trembled just enough to make typing an ordeal. “One moment.”
I pulled up the rare books catalog and entered the terms. My pulse thudded in my ears. I could feel himstanding behind me, close enough that I sensed the shift in the room around him. An undeniable presence.
I swallowed. “This might take a second. Our system is old and resents being useful.”
“It is admirable,” he said mildly, “that it still serves.”
I paused, fingers hovering over the keys. “It crashes twice a week and once deleted an entire index of eighteenth-century pamphlets.”
“Even so,” he said. “Persistence is not diminished by inconvenience.”
I glanced back at him despite myself. He looked sincere. Thoughtful. Entirely wrong.
“That’s a very romantic way to describe outdated software,” I said.
He inclined his head. “History often survives in imperfect vessels.”
I turned back to the screen before my face gave me away. “Libraries survive because we update our systems. Romanticizing decay is how you lose things.”
“Or,” he said carefully, “how you learn what was worth saving.”
My fingers stilled for a beat, the full disaster of attraction settling into my spine.
This was going to be a problem.
“Patrons usually stand on the other side of the desk,” I said, keeping my tone neutral. “For security reasons.”
He stepped back at once. “My apologies.”
The distance returned, and I hated how a small part of me missed the nearness.
Focus, Artemis.
I typed the last accented character and hit search. The database spun for a moment, then populated the results.
The title appeared between two others that nearly made me snort.
Ancient Technologies: The Regression of Old World TechnologyandBarbaras Rhabarberbarbara, Second Edition.
Exactly the brand of chaos I had come to expect from this archive.
“We do have it,” I said.
He leaned in again, this time over the counter to view the screen, but still so near I felt his warmth. This guy had absolutely no understanding of personal space. My brain went offline, both thrilled and deeply overwhelmed. I forced myself to keep my attention on the screen.
