CHAPTER ONE
Valentina
"Ilove New Jersey." I stare out the library's front windows at the gray sky. "But if it rains again, I'm suing."
My best friend Lindsay bursts out laughing so hard she nearly spits out the wine, which she definitely shouldn't be drinking this early in the morning.
"Good ol' spring showers, what do you expect?" she says, waving the tiny bottle at me. "Besides, who exactly are you planning on suing for the weather? Because I would love to know."
"Probably the mayor," I shrug. "Or his daughter."
She gasps dramatically. "Rude. And for the record, my father has been an excellent mayor."
"True," I admit. "But people blame him for potholes, traffic, and bad hair days. Weather feels fair."
We've been making that joke for years. Suing her dad for things that are completely outside his control. It's tradition at this point. Four years into his term, and he's somehow become responsible for everything from zoning issues to seasonal depression.
Lindsay holds the bottle out again. "Are you sure you don't want a sip?"
"No, thank you. I still can't believe they sell wine in single bottles." I eye the bottle with disapproval. "Like no one's going to drink it immediately and then drive. It feels... irresponsible."
She snorts. "You are such a librarian."
"And proud."
She turns toward the return cart, scanning the stack of books. "Hey, do you have the new one from that series we were obsessed with?"
I cross my arms. "Nope. Not until you return the first hundred you borrowed."
She winces. "I already paid the replacement fees."
"Last year," I remind her. "You steal my books, and you leave them everywhere like it's some kind of literary breadcrumb trail."
"It's not stealing," she says defensively. "It's book redistribution. You know I like to leave my favorite books around the city for people to find. It's basically charity."
"You abandon them on park benches."
"With love," she insists. "You know, kids these days don't read.
When they find these books, that cost them nothing, and happen to be in a quiet and peaceful place, I hope that they'll read them and fall in love with the magic of stories like us.
" And look at this," she pulls out her phone and shoves it in my face.
"The girl who found the last one tagged me.
My following with the younger generation is blowing up. "
I shake my head. "Congratulations, celebrity. Now take your wine, your stolen books, and get out of here. I have work to do."
"And I have a job to get to; these cases aren't going to win themselves," she sighs.
"Exactly," I smile. "Go be important."
Lindsay taps the paperback on the counter. "Okay, you've been suspiciously quiet about this one. Are we loving it or hate-reading it?"
I glance down at the cover, fingers resting along the spine. "Neither."
"That's never good."
"It's just..." I hesitate, then shrug. "Everyone wants Catherine de' Medici to be either a villain or a saint. But she wasn't either."
Lindsay arches a brow. "Uh-oh. You're about to defend someone controversial."
"I'm not defending her." I cross my arms.
"Oh Lord," she groans.
I shake my head, still smiling. "I'm just saying, Catherine de' Medici ruled in a man's world, during one of the bloodiest periods in France. She didn't get to be soft or likable. She simply refused to be powerless."
Then, quieter, more thoughtful I add, "If I'd been fourteen and forced into a marriage I didn't choose... into a life I had to master to survive? I probably wouldn't have been gentle either."
Lindsay exhales slowly. "Okay. That's officially unsettling."
I laugh again, lighter this time. "Did you forget about that job you have to get to?"
She grins, snatches a book off the cart, and bolts for the door.
"I'm telling your dad!" I shout after her.
"Love you too!" she calls over her shoulder, laughing as she slips outside.
I shake my head, still smiling, then log into the system under her name and check the book out.
I already know I'll be billing her for it soon.
The afternoon crowd thins out around two, and then it's just me, the music I have playing so low it's barely audible, and the hum of the HVAC.
Alright, let's organize this shelf, I say to myself as I walk over to the history section.
I meant to switch the playlist earlier, maybe something a little more upbeat for the readers drifting in and out throughout the day. But I'm glad I didn't. The soft jazz floating through the speakers settles over the room like a warm blanket, filling the quiet spaces between the shelves.
I slide a few books back into place, straightening them one by one until their spines line up neatly, perfectly even. The small act of order feels satisfying, like restoring balance to a world that's been slightly tilted all morning.
I stretch up on my tiptoes, trying to slide the heavy hardcover back onto the top shelf.
Almost got it.
The edge of the book bumps the wood and slips back toward me.
"Come on," I mutter under my breath, reaching a little higher.
The book wobbles again.
Then suddenly the weight disappears from my hands.
A large hand reaches past me and lifts the book easily, sliding it into place as if it weighs nothing after I struggled for three minutes straight.
I freeze.
His arm lowers slowly after setting the book down, and the faint brush of his sleeve grazes my shoulder.
I turn around quickly.
"Thank you." The words stall in my throat because now I'm looking at all of him.
I look back down at the shelf.
Then immediately look back up, because I'm only human.
He's so handsome I could barely compose myself. Strong jaw. Dark eyes. The kind of face you see on the cover of a magazine and assume has been heavily edited, except apparently not, because he's standing in my library looking like that in real life with no warning whatsoever.
His charcoal suit fits him like it was tailored for him alone, the fabric hugging his broad shoulders in a way that feels almost unfair.
He’s wearing a sleek Rolex watch catching the light as he moves his wrist. But what really draws my attention are the dark lines of ink peeking out beneath it, tattoos slipping beneath the cuff of his sleeve and disappearing into the sleeve of his suit jacket, hinting at something far more dangerous beneath all that polish.
His eyes settle on me with quiet amusement, like he caught the entire struggle from start to finish and enjoyed every second of it.
A slow smile curls at the corner of his mouth, and to my complete embarrassment, warmth creeps across my cheeks as I catch myself smiling back.
"Looked like you could use a little backup."
The deep warmth of his voice sends an unexpected shiver down my spine.
I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, suddenly very aware of how close we're still standing. He hasn't stepped back.
"Well." I clear my throat. "The shelves weren't designed with my height in mind."
His gaze flicks briefly to the top shelf, then back to me. Unhurried. Like he has nowhere else to be and has decided this aisle is exactly where he wants to spend his afternoon.
"Good thing I showed up then."
The way he says it makes it sound like more than a joke. And for some reason, standing this close to him, my heart decides to start beating a little faster.
I take a small step back. Professional. Composed.
"Can I help you find something?" I ask.
"Already found what I was looking for."
His gaze lingers on mine a second too long before he glances toward the shelves.
"This is the history section, right?"
"Yes." I turn back toward the shelves before his gaze pulls me in any further.
Who is this guy? Men like him don't wander into public libraries in New Jersey on a random afternoon.
And yet.
"I wanted something specific," he says, "or should I trust the librarian?"
"You should always trust the librarian."
He turns back, and the look on his face is... confusing. I mean, I look alright but I'm no supermodel. I don't know why this man keeps looking at me like he wants me. I'm sure he could have anyone.
His focused gaze does something genuinely inconvenient to my pulse.
“Then I’m all yours,” he says, and the weight of his attention settles on me, sending a quiet, unsettling heat through me.
I walk past him and pull a book from the shelf, aware the whole time that I have to lean slightly closer to do it, aware that he doesn't move to give me more room, aware that I don't ask him to.
I pull a book from the shelf and hand it to him. "If you're browsing history," I say, "you could start with The Prince."
His eyebrow lifts slightly. "Machiavelli."
The corner of his mouth curves. "Interesting recommendation."
Something about the way he says it makes my stomach tighten, like there's a meaning behind the words that I'm only halfway catching.
I shrug lightly, trying to keep my tone casual. "It's a classic. I’m actually planning on reading it again myself."
He takes it. Our fingers overlap a half second longer than the handoff requires. His thumb grazes the back of my hand before he pulls back, and I feel that graze all the way up my arm and into my better judgment.
His thumb runs slowly along the spine of the book.
"I'm sure it is."
"Do you have a library card Mr.?" I ask, trying desperately to regain my composure. I am a professional after all.
"Sal. And no. Can I buy it?"
"What is it with rich people always trying to buy everything? Everything is not for sale." I chuckle and he laughs. "You have a beautiful smile," he says.
"Thank you, but I still can't let you buy this book."
"In that case, I'll have to come back for it."
"The book will be here."
"I wasn't only talking about the book."
The words sit between us, easy and unhurried, like he says things like that all the time and simply waits to see what happens next. I hold his gaze and refuse, on principle, to be the one who looks away first.
Then he licks his lips and wins the staring contest he probably didn't realize he was in.
Okay, I have to get back to work.
"Did you want to go ahead and apply for one now? You can use that computer over there," I suggest. "I'll give you some space but let me know if you need me."
"What if I want you?"
Wait... what?
"Ummm, sure if you want my help, let me know," I offer and quickly disappear before I make a bigger fool of myself.
He settles at one of the reading tables with the book, open in front of him, jacket still on, one arm resting on the table, completely unbothered. And every time I glance up, every single time, he's already looking.
Every. Single. Time.
A couple of students come in looking for text books and I go to help them.
I'm actually glad for the minor distraction from...
him. But I find myself moving quicker than normal so I can check to see if he decided to apply for a library card.
At least that's what I tell myself. But when I get back to the section where he was sitting, he's gone.
No sound. No goodbye. The book is returned to its exact spot on the shelf, spine perfectly aligned.
I stand there staring at it.
Then I call Lindsay.
"Okay." I don't even let her finish her greeting. "Something happened."
"Define something."
"A man came into the library."
Silence. Then: "Keep going."
"Suit. Expensive. Very expensive. Sexy. I mean the kind of face that is genuinely unfair to put on a person.
" I lean against the counter. "He asked for my advice on a book but didn't have a library card so he didn't check anything out.
He... stayed for like an hour making small talk.
Then read through a few pages, then left. "
"Oooh, sounds like a VIP. What kind of car was he driving?"
I blink. "What?"
"The car, Val. What was he driving?"
"I don't know, I didn't run outside to check the man's car, Lin."
"I would have."
"Yes, I know you would have."
"Okay, but girl." Her voice pitches up. "Was he fine fine or regular fine?"
I think about the jaw. The voice. The way his thumb grazed my hand like it was nothing.
"So so fine." I fan myself dramatically. "Disgustingly fine. It should be illegal."
She makes a sound that is mostly noise. "Please tell me you got a number. A name. Something."
"He said his name is Sal."
"Val? All you got was a three letter nickname? How am I supposed to track down your dream man with just Sal?"
"No need to track him down, he's way out of my league, trust me."
"Do not finish that sentence," she warns.
"Although*?*"
I pause. "...he was quite the charmer."
She inhales sharply. "Explain."
"Just, the way he talked. The way he looked at me. It was unlike anything I've ever experienced. I thought he was going to give me his number or take mine, or at least offer a quickie," I laugh and she joins in on my laughter on the other line.
"Oh please, you know damn well you would not have a quickie with a stranger."
"I don't know friend, with that stranger? I might offer a few quickies. Quickies on standby for that one," I say jokingly and we both laugh knowing I don't even do one night stands so that would never happen but if it were ever to happen, he would be a contender for sure.
"You sure you don't recognize him? He sounds very into you."
"He was being polite."
"Men in expensive suits do not sit in public libraries for an hour to be polite, Val.
That is not a thing that happens." I can hear her grinning through the phone.
"I wouldn't be surprised if he walks back in tomorrow and checks out every single book in that building just for an excuse to talk to you again. "
I shake my head but can’t help but laugh a little. "Alright, Lin."
"I'm serious! He's going to buy out your whole history section, you wait and see."
"Okay, I need to go. I have a story to read, and the class is coming in now. I'll call you later."
"You better. And Val? Next time, get a real name, check out the car, something."
I hang up, still smiling.
The rest of the day falls into its usual rhythm, but the mystery man lingers in my thoughts.
I told Lindsay he was simply being nice, but there's no way all that chemistry was in my head. Not with the way his eyes held mine. Not with the way my pulse jumped every time he leaned a little closer.
Maybe I imagined it.
Or maybe...
He'll come back tomorrow.
The possibility makes me smile.