CALLIE
Nothing calms my brain like re-shelving a hundred library books. I squat down to a lower shelf and slide in three books from my cart about horses, and I know exactly who took them out. A sweet ten-year-old girl who just left and checked out a whole new stack of equine books. She comes in every week with her babysitter after school and is absolutely obsessed with horses. It’s so wholesome and I absolutely love it. I love getting to know our regular patrons and thinking of them when we get new books in, or better yet, ordering books they want to read.
I stand and touch the spine of the next books on the cart, then can’t help but pull out my phone from the pocket of my long cardigan and check for missed notifications.
It’s been three days since I drove away from Wes’s cabin, and my head’s been absolutely spinning ever since. I’m pretending to be a normal human being. Thank god for work. Checking books in and out, shelving, helping patrons find what they need… the distraction of the library has saved me from spiraling into obsession. And it’s not like I can talk about it with anyone. I don’t want to give Jake the satisfaction of talking about Wes, the man he referred to me, or Lola, who would probably not approve.
As I slip my phone back into my pocket, I sense someone at the end of the aisle.
“Found you.”
I gasp and jerk my head up at the deep voice.
Standing at the end of the aisle with his arms crossed in a black hoodie, black jeans, the ivy tattoo visible on one side of his neck, and the most genuine smile on his face, is Wes.
“Fuck. You scared me,” I whisper—we’re in a library, after all—and lay my hand on my chest. My heart pounds hard against my palm.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to.” Wes shifts on his feet and slides his hands into his hoodie pocket. “You are exactly as I pictured you’d be in this environment.”
“Which is as what?” I plant my hands on my hips, but it’s mostly to calm the shaking. Uh, he’s been picturing me?
“As a hot librarian.” Wes says this with a completely straight face, like it’s a simple fact.
I huff and look down at my outfit. Long, bright pink skirt, black tank top, and my favorite long pocketed black cardigan. I braided my hair and twisted it into a bun, which I now touch self-consciously.
“First of all, I’m not a librarian. I’m a library assistant.”
“Okay, got it.” Wes nods his head and scrunches his forehead like he’s really trying to absorb my words. It’s adorable. “Is there a second of all?”
“Uh… no?” Because the other part of his comment was that I’m hot, and while I know better than to argue with a compliment, it’s not one I expected. Shane was such a dick about my job. He thought it was too low-level and boring and certainly did not think the clothes I wore were hot. Especially my work outfits, which I admit have a bit of a librarian flair to them.
Wes takes three steps toward me until he’s only a few feet away, the cart between us. He runs his tongue over his teeth, and I can’t look away from the movement under his top lip.
Jesus, why can’t I breathe right now?
“C-can I help you with something?” I’m trying so hard to appear normal, but I sense my eyes are open too wide, and my fingers are splayed by my sides like some kind of frozen jazz hands.
Wes breaks out into a wide, genuine smile, his gaze drifting over my face.
“Yeah. I’m looking for a book.”
“A book?” I manage to sound confused, even though we’re standing in the book stacks of an actual library, and I get asked this very question multiple times a day.
“A book.” He nods, his eyes squinting as he’s clearly making this up on the spot. “On… pies.”
I snort out a laugh and cross my arms.
“You need a book on pies?” I tilt my head. “Like how to make pies?”
“I already know how to make pies. And did you just snort?”
“No!” Yes. “So what kind of pie book?”
“Like… a coffee table book.” His eyes light up. “With gorgeous pictures of fancy pies. For inspiration. I can keep it in my kitchen for when I need a little motivation.”
“Motivation to beat Ruth?” I bite my lip. Why am I playing along with this? Is it just because he’s tall—so freaking tall—and gorgeous? My eyes linger on his neck and the ivy curved along his throat. I have the intense urge to reach up and run my fingeralong the lines of ink.
“Yes, to beat Ruth.” Wes gives me a sweet smile that’s almost shy, and his cheeks pinken. This man can’t be shy. That’s ridiculous.
