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A normal, quiet girl didn’t just sign her life away without a specific, usually calculated agenda. Alicia didn’t seem to have that, though.

When she finally broke away from them, she came back to my side, her hazel eyes apologetic as she lifted them to mine. “Sorry about that. It’s my first day back and I only told them the day before we, uh, signed the papers that I’d be taking a few days off to get married.”

“Right,” I muttered, glancing over at Marcus who was still watching me from the corner of his eye like he was about to demand identification. “I’m just going to find a find a desk upstairs. See you later.”

“The second floor is best for studying,” she said quietly, pointing at a sweeping marble staircase that cut through the center of the library. “You might want to take a desk in the far corner if you really need to concentrate, though. It’s going to be a busy day at the children’s department.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

She gave me a curt nod, then spun on her heels and headed over to a counter beside a brightly colored corner. As I watched, she slid her purse off her shoulder and tucked it away in a drawer. Then she literally pushed up the sleeves of her knitted blue cardigan and went to work.

I climbed the stairs to the second-floor mezzanine, intending on following her advice about heading for the far corner, but instead, I took a desk near the historical archives. It was a spot that looked like it should be reserved for serious research, but it was empty and it would suit my purposes just fine.

As I flipped open my laptop and spread out my textbooks, I looked down at the children’s section below, appreciating that I had a direct, unobstructed view. Alicia’s blond hair shone like she had a fucking halo in the warm light streaming in through the windows, and over the course of the next three hours, I realized that she might as well be an actual angel.

Seriously, no one is that good of a person. No one.

I accomplished precisely zero studying as I watched her over the mahogany railing, her morning schedule every bit as packed and hectic as she’d made it sound. First, she set up the kids’ corner exactly like she’d told me she would, then came infant and parent reading hour.

She sat cross-legged on a giant, bright green foam mat, holding up a picture book about a hungry caterpillar. Right now, she didn’t look like the fierce, defensive woman I’d thought I was getting to know.

Instead, she was so gentle that I was completely fascinated. She smiled and laughed, holding babies while their mothers disappeared to the restroom and pausing to pull funny faces at furious tiny humans if they started wailing. I couldn’t hear her voice through the glass partition, but it was clear that she was holding the entire room of mothers and babies spellbound.

Toddler story time was much less zen. In fact, it looked a little like a localized riot from up here. What was supposed to be an educational hour saw one kid trying to eat a plastic dinosaur while another did laps around a bookshelf. I would’ve lost my shit, but Alicia didn’t even flinch.

She managed the chaos without ever losing her composure, gently redirecting the dinosaur-eater and catching the runner, and then going back to her story like nothing had happened at all. I frowned, but kept watching her, especially surprised when some older kids started filing in once the toddlers had cleared out.

Alicia moved to a small desk, greeting the new arrivals one by one. While they weren’t nearly as loud, they seemed just as excited to see her, lining up to proudly show her their chosen books or to hand her drawings they must’ve made. She took the time to talk to every last one, giving the kid who was with her at that moment her full attention before moving on to the next.

She’d be a great mom.

The thought popped into my mind out of absolutely fucking nowhere, hitting me like a bucket of ice dumped over my head. I shoved it away fast, slamming my textbook shut with a thud that drew a glare from a nearby student.

My jaw clenched. Get a grip, Thayer.

Thinking about motherhood and Alicia was a dangerous, complicated minefield I was nowhere near ready to even begin traversing. One of the primary contingencies buried deep within our marriage contract related to the production of an heir.

Explicitly stated in black and white was that the final, permanent release of my trust fund depended on a child being born to carry on the Thayer name and secure the legacy. Until that happened, Alex held a vise-like grip on that money.

Apparently, it was the same cold, clinical clause contained in his own trust documents and in that of every Westwood literally from here to San Francisco. Designed by lawyers over a century ago, it was supposed to ensure one’s commitment to the contract that’d been signed, but thinking about it while watching Alicia tuck a lock of hair behind a little girl’s ear made my stomach turn.

Desperate for a distraction, I checked my watch, realizing that I only had an hour to get to a lecture across town, which meant I had to get going. Thank God.

Quickly shutting my laptop and sliding it into its case, I stuffed that into my backpack along with my textbooks and marched down the stairs to tell her I’d pick her up after her shift. As I navigated the low bookshelves, trying to avoid stepping on a stray Lego, I noticed a cluster of about four preteen boys sitting at a table nearby.

When I got within a few feet of them, they stopped talking, just staring at me with wide, unblinking eyes. Annoyed, stressed about getting to class on time, and still disturbed by my own thoughts, I acted like the mature twenty-seven-year-old man I was and narrowed my eyes at them, favoring each of them with a glare that made one boy gasp out loud. The others started whispering to each other, shying away like I was a monster that’d just emerged from the woods.

“Holden, stop it,” Alicia whispered furiously from my left.

I turned to see her standing beside a cart filled with books, her hands on her hips and her eyebrows raised in disapproval. Shaking my head, I hooked a sharp turn in her direction and shrugged when she shook her head right back at me.

“What?” I asked. “They were looking at me funny.”

“They’re looking at you funny because you look exactly like the super-villain in the comic books they’re reading,” she said quietly, but I could still hear the amusement lacing her tone.

I scoffed and crossed my arms. “I do not look like a comic book villain. I’m wearing a hoodie, for crying out loud.”

“Go see for yourself, Lord Doom.” She inclined her chin toward the table. “Ask them to show you their comic.”