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“You sure? I don’t mind. It’s my job.” My fingers itch with the need to make sure the titles end up in their proper shelf locations.
“I’ve got it.” And, as if to prove his point, he rises from his chair and palms a handful of the materials before sauntering away toward the shelves. I’m left staring at the rest of his hoard, practically sweating from the need to help replace them. But I don’t know which titles he plans on checking out.
I linger, eyeing him as he stretches one long arm up to a higher shelf. Admittedly, that would’ve been a stepstool task for me. But still.
He never lets me help.
I try not to huff in frustration or stomp too hard as I return to the circulation desk. Less than five minutes later, he’s standing in front of me, placing a much more reasonable number of titles on the counter.
Triumph has me grinning. “You left the rest on the table?”
“No.” His lips twitch into a smirk. “I put them away.”
“That’s…” I stumble over what to say. “You can’t have. Did you? Even I’m not that fast. And I work here!” Disbelief has me abandoning him to jog back into the reading room.
His table is empty.
Frosty eyes watch me as I return.
“You didn’t shove them someplace random, did you? Because that’s way worse than letting me shelve them.”
Without answering, he tucks his hands deep in his pockets before strolling past me, back toward the shelves. And I follow.
He pauses, reaching out to tap a call number on one of the book spines.
“Military science. Housed under Dewey decimal 355.”
Before I can think of an answer, he moves on.
“European folklore. Housed under Dewey decimal 398”
He leads me to another shelf.
“Medicinal plants. Dewey 581.”
Every number he lists off is correct, and I decide that no man as hot as an inferno should be allowed to talk about library organizational methods. It’s too much. I need a fan. Or a respirator.
“Are you a secret librarian?”
The corner of his mouth curls. “No.”
“But you have the Dewey decimal system memorized?”
“The important parts.”
“Well. It’s all important. Because it’s information.”
He shrugs, and his dismissiveness allows me to regain a minuscule amount of control over my hormones.
“Okay. You’ve made your point. You know how to properly shelve books. I promise not to bother you anymore. You can construct and dismantle your book fortresses in peace.”
When I glance up, I expect to catch a satisfied smirk on his sharp handsome face. Instead, the man frowns at me.
And I realize that this is the first time he ever has.
COLE
I don’t want her to leave me alone.
