I'm only here because Robin threatened to tell everyone about the time I cried watching Bambi.
"Jason always goes to the library on Thursday mornings," he'd said, grinning like the manipulative little shit he is. "He looks at cookbooks before the lunch rush. You should accidentally be there too. Run into him. Be charming."
"I don't know how to be charming."
"Then be yourself and hope he finds awkward military guys endearing." Robin had shrugged. "Worst case, you see him for five minutes and then leave. Best case, you get to have an actual conversation without a pack of lions watching your every move."
So here I am, walking into the public library at 10:30 on a Thursday morning, feeling completely out of place. The library is bright and quiet, all high ceilings and natural light and that particular hushed atmosphere that libraries cultivate. Full of moms with strollers browsing the picture books, retirees reading newspapers in comfortable chairs, a few college-age kids with laptops at the study tables.
I'm wearing jeans and a henley like Robin suggested, trying to look like someone who belongs here. But I still feel like I'm infiltrating enemy territory. Too big, too rough, too much tactical awareness for a place where the biggest threat is a late fee.
I spot the cookbook section—Robin gave me detailed directions, including which aisle and approximately where Jason usually stands—and head that way, trying to look casual.
Then I see him.
Jason's in the stacks, flipping through something thick and glossy with pictures of food on the cover. His face is lit upthe way it gets when he's excited about something, animated and bright, completely absorbed in whatever he's reading. He's wearing a soft gray t-shirt that makes his eyes look golden, and his hair is slightly messy like he didn't bother styling it this morning.
He's beautiful. Standing there in a beam of sunlight from the window, surrounded by books about food.
But he's not alone.
Some guy is standing way too close to him. Young, maybe mid-twenties, pretty in that soft academic way with carefully styled hair and a jawline that probably photographs well. Wearing thick-framed glasses and a cardigan over a button-down shirt. A library employee, based on the lanyard around his neck.
He's leaning into Jason's space, laughing at something Jason said. Too close. Way too close.
And then he touches Jason's arm.
His hand. On Jason. On MY Jason.
A surge of possessiveness hits me so hard it almost knocks me back. Mine. That's mine and he's touching him.
"—really changed how I think about fermentation," Jason's saying, oblivious to the way this asshole is looking at him. Oblivious to the hunger in those eyes, the calculated charm in that laugh. "The whole section on sourdough starters was incredible. I've been trying to maintain one for months but it keeps dying. I think I'm not feeding it often enough, or maybe the temperature in my kitchen fluctuates too much—"
"You should check out this one too." The librarian reaches across Jason to pull a book from the shelf, deliberately brushing against him as he does. Leaning in so close their shoulders almost touch. "It has an amazing chapter on wild yeasts. Really gets into the science of it. You seem like the kind of person who appreciates the science."
He's flirting. This asshole is flirting with Jason, using bread books as his angle, and Jason doesn't even notice because he's too busy being excited about sourdough.
"Oh, thanks!" Jason takes the book, beaming at the guy with genuine gratitude. "I've been wanting to try wild fermentation. There's this bakery in Portland that does a forty-eight hour sourdough and I've been trying to figure out how they get that depth of flavor—"
I'm moving before I consciously decide to.
Across the library. Through the stacks. My footsteps are silent—years of training—but my intention isn't. I'm a missile locked on target, and the target is getting my hands on what's mine.
I slide my arm around Jason's waist and pull him against my side, fitting him against my body like he belongs there.
Jason jumps, the books in his hands nearly falling. "Ash! What are you—"
I kiss him.
Not gentle. Not careful. Not the tentative. This one is possessive, claiming, my hand on the back of his neck holding him in place while I make it very clear to everyone watching that this man is taken.
His mouth opens under mine in surprise and I take advantage, deepening the kiss for just a moment before pulling back. Leaving him breathless. Leaving no doubt.
When I pull back, Jason's eyes are huge. His lips are wet, slightly swollen. His cheeks are flushed.
"Hi," I say. Then I look at the librarian, who's gone pale. All that carefully cultivated charm has drained right out of his face. "Don't think we've met. I'm Ash. Jason's boyfriend."
Boyfriend.
