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“Ariadne?” I asked, feeling the same kind of joy a child felt seeing their presents on Christmas morning swell up inside me.
“Yep.”
“But… but she’s such a minor character in the myths!” I said, thinking of her involvement with the whole Theseus and Minotaur myth.
“A minor character in a book written by men, sure. But these new writers these days, they are giving voices to the women in the stories who were so overlooked.”
I had to put the current stack of books I was holding down on her desk to do “gimmie” fingers at her.
“This is such a good way to get the younger generations interested in these stories. I bet this is written in a more engaging way, too,” I said.
Sure, I’d come to love classics and the types of voices the authors used when writing them, but even I could admit that they could be a bit dry and complicated. Modern retellings made the stories more accessible to readers who didn’t enjoy that kind of prose.
“You are the absolute best,” I told her, putting the book on the top of my stack.
“I either love or hate to break this to you, but there is an extremely good-looking man roaming around your little section of the library.”
“Oh, yes. I’m meeting him,” I said. “I’m running a little late.”
“Honey, if a man like that is waiting on you, I can’t imagine what else could tie you up,” she said, shooing me.
I was not typically a woman who got nervous around men. Likely because I’d been so surrounded by them as I was growing up. My father had several female professor friends as well, but itwas mostly guys always at the house, discussing “smart people stuff,” as I used to call it.
As I got older and was showing signs of being bright, I was allowed to join in on their conversations. They listened to me and encouraged my interest, giving me a sort of unshakable confidence around the types of men others would likely find very intimidating if they hadn’t been raised around them.
So when I’d gone off to college, I hadn’t been bothered by my professors.
No, the only guys who intimidated me were my peers. Guys who had little to no interest in the academic things I found so fascinating. Ones who were more intrigued by what bodies could do than what minds could think.
I fumbled around with a few of them over the years before deciding my life was better spent pursuing knowledge than dating.
I think the problem with Professor Bael Than was that he was somehow a peer, a professor, and just ridiculously attractive.
My mind and body didn’t know how to categorize him. So I found myself mentally intrigued but also physically… interested.
Which was proving problematic for me.
I liked when I could put and keep people in their little boxes.
Bael Than didn’t want to be contained in just one.
And it was making me short-circuit or something.
Nerves jangled in my bones, making me feel shaky and as I reached the ornate, wide wooden staircase that led to the second floor, there was that strange hair on the back of my neck sensation again that had me turning and looking up.
Right into his dark eyes.
He was leaning on the railing a few feet away from my cozy corner of the library wearing plain dark brown slacks and an oatmeal-colored cardigan. With elbow patches.
I had a strange fondness for men with elbow patches, I had to admit.
The outfit made him seem less dark and intimidating than he’d been the night before.
Which only made the strange feelings inside of me feel even more conflicted as his gaze stayed on me, deep, penetrating.
A strange shiver moved through me as I raised my hand, giving him a small wave as he just continued to stare.
Turning, I rushed up the rest of the stairs and toward the back corner of the library where he had already pushed together a few tables. There were a few notebooks lying around along with two travel mugs of, I assumed, coffee.
