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There’s a hint of real concern in her expression, so I laugh again. “Nobody has ever said anything but the most glowing praise of you in my presence,” I say. “I promise.”
I lean closer and lower my voice even beyond library-appropriate. “I was trying to impress you with my wit.”
“Wit? Meh,” she murmurs, as if she could take it or leave it. “Brains and conversation are way overrated. I’m definitely shallower than you’re giving me credit for.”
She’s smiling and flirting and—is this gazing? “So what is it that impresses you?” I ask, flirting back and hoping I remember how.
Not that she’s complaining about my abilities. She raises her fingers as she answers, as if she’s ticking things off a list. “Jawline, solid income, and good with dogs. Not necessarily in that order.”
She’s kidding. I think she’s kidding. I mean, do people really talk like this?
I run my hand over my face, checking to feel if my jawline is impressive. Because Sage Whitney isn’t going to be all that impressed by my salary—I know what kind of family she comes from. Almost all the Chamberlain students are from wealthy families. And I know who her parents are. Everyone knows who her parents are. Then there’s the last bit: I don’t mind dogs, but they don’t like me.
“Do you have a dog?” I ask, not sure how else to move forward from here.
She shakes her head. “Do you?” She makes the question sound very serious, as if she might change heryesto anoif I get this wrong. Maybe I should run to a shelter and grab a dog this afternoon.
Wait. No. I really shouldn’t.
I tell her about Linus instead.
“No dog. When I was a kid I had a pet lizard, though. He lived in the kitchen in a terrarium. I wanted a Komodo dragon because I was the kind of kid who thought owning a Komodo dragon would make me cool, but my parents held firm on their stated no-dragons policy.”
She nods along with this story, as if it has anything to hold her interest. “Did your lizard go to medical school?” she asks.
I lean close and beckon her near. “Lizards can’t attend universities in the United States,” I tell her in a whisper, as if imparting a shameful secret.
She makes a huff of disbelief. “I bet they would have let him in if he was a dragon.”
I laugh for real now, and she looks both delighted and proud that she made it happen.
I don’t want to leave, but she’s at work. I’m going to need to keep professional lines very clear. If I can’t have her standing around while I work (which, obviously, I can’t), then I shouldn’t stand around while she works. As much as I’d like to.
“I better leave you alone,” I say, hoping she asks me to hang out here a little longer.
She shakes her head and I lean across the desk again, but she doesn’t tell me to stay.
She says, “I’m never alone at the library. I’m surrounded.”
“By students?” I ask.
She waves her hand as if she’s brushing through everything that hovers close to her head. “By ideas. And memories. And maybe a couple of ghosts.”
Like I could walk away now. “That doesn’t bother you?” This is a person who’s afraid of contracting meningitis.
“The ghost part?” She shrugs. “Nah, I don’t really buy that stuff. But Desi does. She’s friends with a ghost. Calls her by a name and everything. I’m just trying it on, the haunted librarian thing.”
“Haunted Librarian is a good band name,” I say.
She nods. “Best band ever.” She moves a springy curl behind her ear. I stare at her hands. She has beautiful fingers, long and articulate, somehow. I imagine those hands in mine, in my hair, tickling my back.
That thought does some interesting things to me, physiologically speaking.
Okay. Time to go. I straighten up and give the circulation desk a little tap. “I’ll see you later,” I say.
“Wait,” she says, putting her hand on mine. The jolt of electricity I feel at our touch might makemestart believing in library ghosts.
I wait, staring at her hand touching mine.
