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"Do you have any books on quantum physics?" he asks. "I'm particularly interested in string theory and quantum entanglement."
"Uh, let me check." I perform a quick search of our catalog. "Sure. We've got some books on that. If you want in-depth stuff, I can hunt for more ILL books. That means interlibrary loan."
"May I see the books you do have?"
I guide him into the stacks and straight to the science section, then skim the call numbers on the spines until I locate the right ones. I hand them to Dr. Stainthorpe. "Any of these work for you?"
He flips through each of the books, then nods. "Yes, these will do. Though I would appreciate it if you could find more for me."
"Sure. ILL is the best way to get stuff on unusual subjects."
We say goodbye at the desk, and Dr. Stainthorpe leaves.
He returns several times over the next two weeks, always on days when I'm working. We don't chat much, and he doesn't ask me out again. I know nothing about him except his name and that he's British. One day my curiosity gets the better of me, and I search his name on the internet, coming up with only one result—his faculty listing on the Oxford University website, which contains little information about him. He's an associate professor with research interests in physics and the history of science. That's all I learn.
No matter how often I see Dr. Stainthorpe, I can't shake the unease his presence always triggers in me.
Three days before the apocalypse, Dr. Stainthorpe waltzes into the library looking like a different man. The rumpled scientist has put on a crisply pressed navy suit with a white handkerchief in the breast pocket. He has not only combed his hair, but has also brushed it back in a style that accentuates his beautiful face. Wow, he's a hottie. But I still can't muster any interest in him beyond our professional relationship.
He stops at the counter, holding one arm behind his back. Chin raised, he gazes at me with a slight smile on his lips.
"Good morning, Dr. Stainthorpe," I say. "How may I help you today? I hope those books and articles I got you were useful for your research."
"Yes, they have been enormously helpful."
"Glad to hear it."
He whisks his arm out from behind his back, revealing a bouquet of pink roses he holds in his hand. "These are for you, Allison. As thanks for all your hard work."
I accept the bouquet and sniff the flowers, enjoying their sweet scent. "That was very thoughtful, Dr. Stainthorpe."
"Would you call me Sefton?"
"Sure, but I thought you preferred formality."
"I have changed my mind."
"Okay." I set the bouquet on the desk. "Thank you for the roses, Sefton."
"You are the most beautiful woman in the world, Allison."
A shiver lifts the hairs at my nape. I'm not excited by his compliment, though. I feel weird about the whole conversation. The guy who couldn't look me in the eye a week ago is now flirting with me.
Sefton glances around as if he's watching for someone or something. Seeming satisfied with what he saw or didn't see, he zeroes his gaze in on mine. "Have you ever wanted to change the world?"
"Not really. I mean, everybody wishes the world were different, better, but too much is out of our hands."
"What if we could control the world's destiny?"
"That would be fabulous. If I could rule the world, I'd make sure everybody was happy."
He leans forward, arms braced on the desk, and bores his gaze into mine with such intensity that another shiver ripples through me. "I'm not talking about pie-in-the-sky dreams about improving the world. I mean real, tangible change. You and I, we could remake the world together."
"Not sure what you mean."
He lowers his voice to a whisper. "This is no joke, Allison. I want to give you the world, literally. You and I can change everything. I do not speak metaphorically, but in the most literal, concrete sense."
As I stare into his eyes, I realize he's serious. This man believes he can remake the world. "What exactly are you talking about?"
