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Why is everything about him so intense?
Another movie begins.Willow. I giggle. “I haven’t seen this movie in a very long time.”
He grins. “Me either.”
Then he looks more serious. “Can I ask you a question?”
I nod slowly, curious about what he wants to know.
“Why a librarian?”
I look down and watch our hands. His thumb is rubbing mine, back and forth.
“There’s a lot of reasons,” I say, dodging his question.
“Such as?”
I squirm in my seat. Truthfully, my parents are super outgoing people. They were always at meetings and selling their product. I was always a wallflower. My mom took me to story time at the library when I was about four years old. The librarian at the time, Mrs. Hatcher, was reading a fairy tale to a group of kids. I remember sitting down and becoming completely enchanted by the experience.
I wasn’t bothered that there were other kids there. I wasn’t bothered by anything. I was completely hooked. I already knew how to read. After that day, I asked my mom to take me to the library every day. I started school two months later and I was overjoyed to learn the school also had a library. And when it came time for college, there was only one major that interested me. Library sciences.
“I love books,” I say because it’s not a lie.
He gives me a look that says he doesn’t believe me.
“What? Don’t you like libraries? You must, based on the one you have here.” I pause. “Have you ever even been to the library in town?”
His jaw clenches, and he looks down for a moment and then back at me. “Yes.”
I’m surprised by his answer. Why would he have been there?
“You have?” I ask.
He nods. “That’s a story for another day.”
I look back at the screen and watch for a few minutes.
“Can you tell the story now?” I finally ask, giving up on paying attention to the film.
We turn to face each other.
“My mom loved going. She used to take me for story time with Mrs. Hatcher.”
I can’t stop the grin from spreading across my face. “I loved her story times! They were the best.”
He returns my smile with one of his own, his blue eyes dancing. “You went too?”
I nod excitedly. “That’s how I first fell in love with books.”
I’m quiet for a beat. There’s a question I’ve had since the first night here and I haven’t been brave enough to ask it, but Adam seems different today.
“Can I ask you a question?”
He nods.
“Why can’t I go to the west wing?”
His jaw tightens again. “That’s my private quarters and…” He trails off.
