He still doesn’t realize I’m there even when I’m only a foot away from him. He’s mouthing the words and moving like he’s performing a live concert. I don’t want to be a buzzkill, but I need his help finding this book. How do I get his attention? Do I clear my throat? Tap him on the shoulder?
I’m debating what to do when he suddenly spins around and sees me. His eyes get wide because I’ve sufficiently scared him, and he backs up into his cart, making the pile on top collapse, the books dropping to the floor.
“Sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you!” I say as I crouch on the floor to start picking up the books that have fallen.
He pulls his headphones down to his neck and looks at me. His eyes are still wide, and now I notice how blue they are.
“What’re you doing?” he asks.
“Isn’t it obvious? I’m trying to help you,” I say, gathering as many books as I can in my hands. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
He bends down next to me and starts picking up books too as he watches me. I can feel his eyes on me.
“I wasn’t scared,” he says eventually. When he grins there’s a dimple in his left cheek. I decide that we’ve never met—there’s no way I’d forget that dimple. “I just wasn’t expecting company,” he adds.
“I wasn’t expecting to ruin your concert,” I say back.
He grins again, and the dimple reappears. I stand back up and place the books in the cart. He does the same but then eyes me like he’s studying my face or something else. I look away, my face getting hot.
Then I shake my head, remembering why I’m here in the first place.
“I need help finding a book,” I say, pulling out the paper heart and showing him the number. “This is for a library book, right?”
“Yeah, that’s a call number. Let me look for it.”
He heads into the stacks and I follow.
The library is best described as cozy. The shelves are close together, like they want to hug each other, and there are plush seats scattered around in front of them, so you can stop and read right there.
Wandering through the shelves makes me think about this article I read one time. It compared the brain to an endless library in which our lifetime’s knowledge is stored. There are experiments that show that brains sometimes purposely forget things to make space for new memories to be stored. Meaning, we purposely forget things so our brain doesn’t become too full. Learning that made me think that maybe time doesn’t heal all wounds, like people say—we just sometimes replace memories we want to forget.
When Library Boy slows down and starts reading the numbers on the books, I know we’re close. I thumb the spines with my half-painted nail that chipped when I was making breakfast this morning.
“Here we go,” Library Boy says, stopping in front of a couple of books I’ve read before—Emma, Sense and Sensibility, and my favorite, Pride and Prejudice. I instantly know that’s the one I want. Your favorite place to get lost, I remember as I grab the book off the shelf.
“Didn’t peg you for a Jane Austen girl,” Library Boy says.
I raise an eyebrow. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Just not very original. I’m surprised you aren’t wearing UGG boots and yoga pants. What is the Valentine’s Day version of a pumpkin spice latte these days?”
His dimple is showing, so I know he means to be funny, but I cross my arms.
“So you’re saying that when something is popular it’s a bad thing? If you work here, shouldn’t you be telling me what people like to read?”
“No, I’m just saying Austen is the basic of classics. There are plenty of other options.”
“Like what?”
“We’re in a library. I could go on all day,” he says, gesturing to the shelf in front of us. But he’s not going to get off that easy.
“Start with your favorite.”
“Sherlock Holmes.”
I laugh. “I have read Sherlock Holmes before.”
He raises an eyebrow, and since I don’t know him, I’m not sure if it’s because he’s impressed or because he thinks I’m lying. “Really?”
“Really,” I repeat, clutching the book. “But for the record, I do wear UGGs and yoga pants because they’re comfortable. Call me basic. But since we read the same things, does that make you basic too?”
He winks at me. “Or it means we both have good taste after all.”
“Okay, let’s go with that,” I say, stepping past him and walking swiftly down the aisle.
“You’re leaving already? I was enjoying this banter we have going on. Almost like Sherlock Holmes and Watson.”
“Or like Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy,” I say back.
I instantly feel my cheeks flush. Did I accidentally just compare us to one of the most famous couples of all time? My embarrassment makes me walk faster toward the front, as far away from him as I can get.
It’s only when I’m at the empty front desk, about to check the book out, that I realize I still need his help.
Suddenly, I hear a whoosh behind me. “Need someone to check you out? And for the record, I mean the book, not you, so don’t get mad at me about that too.”
So he’s flirty and has bad dad jokes. For some reason, the combo makes me smile in a way I haven’t in a while.
“How come I’ve never seen you before?” I ask. “Do you go to Arlington?”
He shakes his head. “No, I’m a senior at Lourdes,” he answers.
Oh, the private school nearby.
“Where’s your uniform?” I ask, eyeing his flannel shirt.
“I changed after school. Didn’t want to stupefy muggles with my dashing blazer and tie.”
I’m so impressed by his Harry Potter humor that I can’t think of a clever response. Where’s my Invisibility Cloak?
“Well, thanks for your help. I’ll see you around,” I say, grabbing the book off the desk.
But as I do, a paper heart drops out of the book and Library Boy grabs it before I can.
“Give me that!” I say, but he’s already reading my next clue with a stupid grin on his face.
“What’re these paper hearts for? The number you showed me was on one too.”
“None of your business,” I say firmly, grabbing the piece of paper out of his hand.