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I watch as his gaze peels slowly away from my face, up to the book.
“I’ve read that one.”
Tamping down a huff, I suggest, “Ok, how about the one beside it?”
“Morton’s Global Capital Gains Theology? I suppose that could work.” Grant reaches up and caresses the spine of the book with those long fingers. Rather than lift it off the shelf, however, his hand falls away and he sighs. “Though, I feel like I may have read this one too.”
He glances back down at me, his mouth twitching at the corners as if he might smile. I want to roll my eyes. What is he doing? Wasting my time?
“Did your professor give you a syllabus with some suggested reading materials? Maybe that might help you?”
“Yes, he did,” He cocks his head to the side, watching me with too much intensity to be considered polite anymore.
Stiffening my spine, I try to step around him. Rather than move out of my way, Grant lets me awkwardly turn and side shuffle around him.
“Then maybe start there,” I suggest, my tone turning cold.
I’mnotafraid of this handsome student with an overly interested gaze. I repeat this to myself as I walk back toward my desk, very aware that he follows right on my heels. A small part of me wants to break out into a sprint. Grant is too close, too intimidating. Why does it feel his gaze is drilling through me?
Rather than sprint, I make sure to keep my walk casual as I approach my desk. To my surprise, Mr. Curls is there waiting for us.
“Find what you needed?” he asks as we approach, his eyes trained on his friend behind me.
“No, but Miss Wilson reminded me that I have a syllabus that I could easily use to search for materials I need for class. It’s back at my place, so we need to stop there before we head out,” Grant replies as I slide behind my desk.
Once back in my chair, I feel instantly better. Grant can be as intimidating as he wants on the other side of the desk, but here is my safe spot. I don’t spare either student another word as I sit down and get back to work. Jonathan rolls over to me and whispers,
“On my way back to the desk, I checked the staff room.” I look up to find him shaking his head. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice both Grant and Mr. Curls are gone. “Barb’s lunch has chocolate chip cookies. Guess what’s being eaten first?”
I laugh. With both boys gone, I allow the unease to disappear.
* * *
It’s Friday,three days later, before Mr. Curls comes back to the library.
This is so unlike him. Since I first noticed him a year ago, he hasn’t broken the routine he created for himself. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays are his study days, the library being his sanctuary to hide from whatever keeps him preoccupied in the outside world. But he was a no-show Wednesday and Thursday. Maybe he’s trying to make up for lost time?
All week, I kept telling myself that the weird run-in I had with his friend had nothing to do with his absence. Why would it? It’s absolutely asinine to think that there was any correlation between that interaction and Mr. Curls’ absence. Yet, for some nagging reason, I feel like it did.
I don’t notice him at first. Having worked all day and then picking up Megan’s evening shift, I’ve been busy. Even now, my nose is nearly pressed against the screen of my computer while I research new databases that would make our jobs easier. It would be expensive for the college to invest in, but the way this product organizes the information would be so helpful. Being the newest and youngest librarian, I have no say in the changes we can implement.Butmaybe I can plant the suggestion in Jonathan’s ear about this new program. He’s a talker. He can talk to anyone about anything and everything that he’s ever learned. Maybe he’ll inadvertently pass the information along?
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
I blink rapidly, trying to relieve the strain on my eyes from staring at my computer screen too long, and I reach into my pocket. I half expect it to be Pianna. If she’s not out partying, she’ll be complaining that she isn’t partying on a Friday night.
It’s not Pianna. It’s an email updating me on the properties in the area. With a forlorn sigh, I shove my phone back into my pocket. I’ll ‘ooh’ and ‘ah’ over properties that I can’t afford tonight with a glass of wine while HGTV is playing in the background. There are some days I miss being an agent. I had fun helping people buy and sell their homes. It was certainly more exciting at times than being a librarian. But ultimately, the library is where I’ve always wanted to be.
“Excuse me? Miss Wilson?”
I jump in surprise. When had someone approached the desk? I look up, smiling, ready to help whoever is on the other side of the desk. It freezes into place when I see who’s standing there. Mr. Curls stares down at me with a devastatingly handsome smile that dimples his cheeks. Up close, I can see his eyes are a beautiful hazel. His white teeth, which appear as he grins, are a stark contrast from his warm orange-brown skin. He’s so attractive that my thighs instantly press together.
“Good evening, I’m sorry to bother you,” Mr. Curls says, his smile turning rueful.
“Oh, uh, you’re not bothering me,” I swallow quickly and force myself to breathe. “How can I help you this evening?”
“I think there is a leak coming from the ceiling. It’s destroying some books and getting all over the floor.”
I’m on my feet in the next heartbeat. “What? Where?”
