Chapter 5

Iwiped down one of the shelves with the wood polish, getting every little bit of dust off before I started to put the travel books back where they belonged. No more vacation for you guys.

I wasn't even sure why we kept them. The books were sorely outdated and it was all online these days. I supposed the pictures inside were still nice to look at. I arranged them on the shelf, not finding solace in my cleaning routine like I usually did.

It almost seemed pointless to go through the task of dusting and cleaning the library. Why bother if it was going to be torn down?

Because I loved doing it. That was why I bothered.

When I finished the section of shelves, I tossed the rag onto the nearby cart and stepped back to admire my work. Satisfaction washed over me, momentarily pushing aside the worries that constantly plagued my mind about the fate of the library. As much as I loved my job, the looming threat of closure hung heavy in the air. I had no idea what I was going to do when we had to close the doors.

Sighing, I pushed the cart away from the section and went back to check the return box. I heard the door open and glanced up to greet the newcomers with a smile.

Oh no.

Oh yes.

It was him. It was the man I had not been able to stop thinking about since he strolled out of here a few days ago. The intimidating tattooed hunk commanded my attention.

He nodded. "Hi."

"Hello."

He patted his jacket, making a soft thunking sound. "Brought my book, but I'm not ready to turn it in just yet."

"You don't have to bring it in and prove you still have it," I said.

He smirked. "I'm not trying to prove anything. I'm just here to do a little reading in quiet."

He started to walk away, but I stopped him. "The room is booked. You can't read in there."

He stopped in his tracks and turned to look at me with a hint of annoyance flashing in his steely gray eyes. "Are you just saying that because you don't want me in your room?"

"No. I'm saying it because someone already signed up to use it."

"Privacy would be nice," he grumbled, his voice low and rough. I saw the genuine disappointment in his eyes and felt bad. Maybe he really did just want to read. I had no idea who he was or what his life was like. Maybe he could only read in peace and quiet when he was here. How could I deny anyone the solitude needed to enjoy a fun story? I knew I cherished my alone time with a good book.

I bit the inside of my cheek and debated what I should say to him. "I have a favorite corner that you're welcome to use," I told him.

He cracked a smile. "You're willing to share your secret spot with me?"

For some reason, he made it sound more intimate than it was. I had a feeling that was exactly what he was trying to do. He wanted to make me uncomfortable. I cleared my throat, refusing to let him see me sweat.

I led the way through the rows of bookcases to a quiet, cozy spot in the library that few ever ventured into. It was way back in the corner by the architecture and art section, which were rarely searched. Once again, the internet had taken over. Why look at a dusty book when the internet provides bigger, brighter, and interactive pictures?

The corner was bathed in soft light. A comfortable chair was nestled against one of the windows with a small table pushed up beside it. It wasn't fancy and the furniture was used and cheap, but it was comfortable and peaceful. It was on the opposite side of the children's section which made it relatively quiet. It was my favorite spot in the library.

But before I could even suggest that he make himself comfortable, he moved the cute little pillow on the chair, dropped it to the floor, and sat down. And to my horror, he propped his feet up on the window ledge.

I chewed on my lower lip, wanting to say something about the boots on the window but lacking the nerve to confront him.

"Thanks," he said with a cocky smile.

I offered a tight smile and walked away. The man was such an odd contradiction. He was intimidating and uncivil, but there was something undeniably magnetic about him. I couldn't help but feel drawn to his charisma, even if it was only a fleeting moment.

As I made my way back to my desk, I couldn't shake the image of him looking so completely at ease in my cozy corner, like he belonged. It was the kind of disrespect I would never allow from any other patron, but there was something about him that made me hesitate. It gave me a strange warmth to have him getting comfortable in the little corner I created. It was almost like having him in my living room.

I busied myself with stocking the nearby shelves, stealing glances in his direction when I could. While I pretended to work, a couple of young guys—college-aged by the looks of them—approached, seeming intrigued by the biker chilling in the corner. They were probably just as surprised as I was to see him in the library. The mystery man looked up and gave the young men a look that practically melted them where they stood.

Apparently, I'm not the only one who finds his gaze unsettling.

I did my best to ignore the man. I had things to do and it wasn't like he was hanging from the chandeliers or screaming obscenities. He was just sitting in the corner reading. He was probably one of the better behaved patrons I'd had in the library, despite his initial attitude.

As I worked, I couldn't shake the feeling of his penetrating gaze following me around the library. He was watching me as much as I was watching him.

A young woman approached me. She was someone I recognized from other visits to the library. "Hi, Mary Ellen," she said with a smile.

"Hi, Cara," I returned. "Did you need some help?"

"I'm looking for a book, but it doesn't appear to be in. Do you think you can order it for me?"

"Sure." I couldn't help it, I looked over, and sure enough, he was watching me. He flashed a half-smile before returning his attention to the book in his hand. Whatever he was reading, he was really into it. It was cute. Maybe he was an intellectual under that rough exterior.

I spent some time with Cara, searching for the science book she wanted. Cara reminded me of myself. She was quiet, mousy, and spent a lot of time in the library. She was a microbiology major but was also minoring in computer science or something like that.

After helping Cara, I made my way back to the front desk, my thoughts drifting back to the mysterious man in the corner. As I neared the area, I noticed he was no longer seated there. A sense of relief washed over me, though it was accompanied by a strange pang of disappointment. Shaking my head at my own foolishness, I pulled out a stack of returned books to reshelve.

That was when I saw him. He walked out of the bathroom before going back to the corner. He picked up the book, dropped it into the return bin, and walked out of the library. I was disappointed.

Why? Was I expecting him to say goodbye or thank me for hosting him? Obviously, not, but now that he was done with his book, I wondered if I would ever see him again. I still found it odd he appeared in my library at all. Was he really there to read a single book? Did he finish it? Why read at the library? Maybe he was homeless or lived somewhere unpleasant and wanted the comfort this place could provide.

I wondered what it was that he'd been reading that kept him so enthralled. I was assuming true crime or maybe one of those books about war. Something dark and violent. I walked to the return bin that I had just emptied. The only book in it was his.

But it didn't make sense. I looked around, wondering if maybe he picked up the book and tossed it in the bin as a sign of courtesy. It couldn't possibly be the book he was reading, could it?

"Captain Hotness?" I whispered the name of the title.

The realization that a guy like him was reading a steamy romance novel sent a shiver down my spine, both horrified and excited by the discovery. I almost laughed out loud, but this was a library and I had to practice proper decorum.

Maybe it was just the wrong cover. Or maybe it wasn't what it appeared to be on the cover. I opened the book and found a note tucked inside the pages, written in elegant script. "I know you've been watching me, little mouse."

"No way."

First of all, his handwriting looked way too fancy. It couldn't be a note from him. But then again, it certainly seemed like it was directed at me.

Was it a threat somehow? I couldn't tell. My job was to watch the people in the library, so technically I hadn't done anything wrong. Was he upset about it or amused?

I needed a second opinion. I carried the book and the note back to my desk. My heart beat madly in my chest but I was also oddly intrigued. Good or bad, it had been a long time since a boy had written me a note.

I snapped a picture of it and sent it to Rylee, explaining who left it and where I found it.

While I waited for her reply, I stared at the little scrap of paper, wondering why. Why would he write something like that? Was he mad? He couldn't possibly be flirting. Not with me. Maybe he was in the mob. Or a gang. He saw me watching him and he was warning me.

"Get a grip, Mary Ellen," I muttered. This was what happened when you spent your life reading fiction. My overactive imagination was running wild, conjuring up sinister scenarios.

My phone vibrated with a text from Rylee. "Write a note back."

What? I was expecting her to tell me to call the police and report him. Maybe dust the note for prints. But write him back? How?

I put the question to Rylee since this was her big idea. It took her a few seconds to reply. I could almost hear the exasperation in her typed words. She was under the impression the note in the book was meant to start something that usually came naturally to people. Normal people anyway.

With trembling fingers, I picked up a pen and a notepad. I could barely breathe as I composed a response. "I thought you'd be more of a historical fiction sort of guy," I wrote, forcing my shaking hand to steady itself. "But if you like this, you should read ‘Say You Do.'"

I folded the note and slipped it back into the book, my pulse racing with a mixture of fear and excitement. Who knew what kind of response I would get—if I even got one at all?

But one thing was for sure—this tattooed hunk had definitely caught my attention. I just had no idea what to do about it. Writing the reply note already felt like a huge risk. I had never done anything this crazy when it came to a guy.

I wrapped the reserved slip around the book, using a rubber band to hold it on there. Then I put it on the shelf where people picked up their books themselves. I didn't know his name. Yes, I could find out, but I wanted him to be the one to tell me.

Objectively, I understood it was just a note with a story recommendation, but to me, it felt like I'd just torn my heart from my chest and placed it in that book for him to find.

Would he be gentle with it or would he destroy it? And why the heck was I so excited to find out?