Chapter 3 #2
That confession nudges something tender in me, but he barrels on before I can ask more.
“And a nook,” he adds, voice dropping just enough to be dangerous, “lends itself to... other exciting possibilities. Got any suggestions for what the two of us could do in there after hours?”
I blink. My brain tries to load a response, but it’s apparently stuck buffering.
Did he just—?Is he seriously—?
Heat flares beneath my skin, rushing up my neck like my bloodstream’s been replaced with lava. “Excuse me?” I manage, aiming for prim and landing somewhere between flustered librarian and scandalized nun.
His grin spreads, slow and wicked. He leans in slightly, gaze flicking to my mouth and back again. “You heard me.”
I cross my arms in what I hope is a show of icy dignity. “Are you always this inappropriate with strangers?”
“Only the pretty ones who look like they might secretly alphabetize their sock drawers,” he says.
I snort before I can stop myself. He catches it, eyes lighting up like he’s won a round. “I knew it. Color-coded too, aren’t they?”
“You don’t know me,” I shoot back, heart hammering stupidly.
“Not yet,” he says, all calm confidence, like he’s got all the time in the world. “But I’m working on it.” His voice dips. “Let me guess. You’re the type who reads romance under the covers and dog-ears all the dirty scenes.”
I narrow my eyes. “I would never dog-ear a book.”
“That’s the part that offended you?” He chuckles, head tilting. “Not the dirty scenes?”
I should walk away. I should shut him down. I should definitely not be imagining the kind of things he’s suggesting in any reading nook, fictional or otherwise.
“For the record,” I say, aiming for cool detachment, “nooks are for reading. Quiet contemplation. Perhaps a cozy beverage.”
He nods solemnly. “Naturally. And when the lights go out and the library closes, I’m sure all those innocent beverages never lead to anything.” His voice is pure sin. “C’mon. You’re telling me you’ve never imagined something a little scandalous in one of those tucked-away corners?”
I open my mouth to lie and then shut it again.
His brows lift. “Oh my god. You have.”
“It was purely hypothetical,” I say quickly.
“You imagined a hot fictional hero cornering you between the shelves, didn’t you?”
“That’s enough,” I mutter, face burning.
“Was it Mr. Darcy? Or are you more of a ‘professor with a dark secret’ type?”
“I’m not telling you anything.”
He leans in even closer. His thigh brushes mine, just barely. “Tell me, and I’ll confess mine. I’ve got at least three steamy librarian fantasies filed under ‘things I probably shouldn’t say out loud in polite company.’”
My mouth falls open. “You are not polite company.”
He laughs again, unrepentant and devastating. “Nope. You’re right. But I do love making you blush.”
I do blush, of course—cheeks going traitorously warm as I press my clipboards against my chest like a shield. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re adorable when you’re flustered,” he counters.
From across the plaza a stagehand yells, “Donovan, power specs by noon!”
Matt’s shoulders twitch like he’s resisting the urge to salute. “I need the old power diagrams from Records. Care to continue our conversation?”
I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t. His flirting has me way out of my depth.
But of course, I say, “I’m headed up for occupancy counts.” I lift my clipboards. “I can show you the shortcut.”
He tilts his cap. “Lead the way. I’ll carry those before you,”
He takes the clipboards, knuckles brushing mine. Static crackles; or maybe that’s just my pulse.
As we cross the courtyard he falls into step beside me, effortless and slightly cocky. “So if you had to hook a teenager on reading with one book, what’s your secret weapon?”
“Only one? Cruel.” I think. “Probably The Book Thief—big feelings, no preaching. Yours?”
“Ready Player One. Nerd bait plus nostalgia.” He glances sideways. “But if you wanted to convince a tour-logistics guy in his thirties to spend a night in your reading nook, what would you recommend?”
I stumble—lightly—over an uneven paver. “Depends. Is he into high adventure or slow-burn longing?”
“Bit of both,” Matt says, smirk deepening. “Definitely enjoys a well-placed plot twist.”
“Then I’d hand him Persuasion and dare him to make it through chapter ten without catching feelings.”
He whistles, impressed. “Dangerous confidence. I like it.”
We arrive at the annex lobby. The elevator doors part with an obedient ding. He gestures me in first, eyes bright with mischief. “Let’s grab those diagrams—before I decide to ditch the paperwork and do something far more interesting with you.”
Inside the cab Matt presses the button for eight, then rests my clipboards against the rear rail. The doors hush shut, and a soft hydraulic purr replaces the plaza clamor.
At first everything feels absurdly private. Polished steel panels mirror us back: me, cheeks pink from the crisp morning air and shameless flirting; him, relaxed stance, thumbs hooked in hoodie pockets, blue eyes tracking the floor numbers like he’s already solving another backstage puzzle.
The car slides past level three, then four. I become acutely aware of how close we’re standing—shoulders almost brushing whenever the cab sways. My pulse ticks faster with every light that blinks overhead: 5 ▲… 6 ▲…
The silence isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s thick—charged with something I can’t quite name.
Matt shifts his weight, the motion subtle but seismic in the small space.
My senses go hyper-detailed: faint cedar-and-citrus soap, the soft scrape of his stubble when he rubs a knuckle along his jaw, the way his mouth curves as if holding a private punch-line.
Heat crawls up the back of my neck; I focus on my breathing, on the clipboard labels, on absolutely anything but the urge to replay the masquerade kiss and imagine if his mouth would taste the same.
The cab hum deepens—an octave lower, as though the motor has to think harder. A tremor ripples under our feet, gentle at first, like driving over a gravel seam. I glance at Matt; he raises one brow, not alarmed yet but definitely listening.
Floor indicator flicks to 7 ▲… then hesitates. The cab seems to coast, decelerating more than it should. My heartbeat trips. Another tiny shudder—a metallic groan this time, a sound elevators shouldn’t make.
Matt’s gaze meets mine. “Little rough patch,” he says, tone calm but alert. “Happens in old shafts.”
I nod, swallow. The numbers don’t advance.
A sharper jolt snaps through the cab—nothing violent, just enough to make the railing quiver under my grip. I suck in a breath; cold worry slides beneath my ribs like a bookmark marking trouble.
Matt plants one palm against the control panel, as if feeling for vibration. “Okay, that was bigger,” he admits quietly. “But still within—”
The sentence never finishes. A final, decisive lurch throws us against opposite rails and the clipboards clatter to the floor. Lights flicker once, twice, then settle into a weak emergency glow. The motor’s purr dies, replaced by a hush that feels eerily loud.
We are motionless.
I stare at Matt as adrenaline floods me in a hot rush. My hands tingle, ears ring, every sense tunneling in on one unsettling fact: fifty-year-old cables are holding up several tons of steel—and two very mortal occupants.
Did I mention I’m slightly claustrophobic? Not much, just enough for being stuck in an elevator to be officially terrifying.
Matt pushes off the rail, steps close enough that the emergency light casts half his face in gold shadows. “You okay?”
I manage a nod, but my voice hides somewhere behind my hammering heart. The floor feels tilted even though I know it’s level; sweat prickles at the base of my spine.
He checks the panel—buttons dark, call light dead—then gives me a reassuring half-smile that almost works. “Looks like we’re pausing between seven and eight. Probably a sensor trip; they’ll reset it from Control.”
His composure steadies me a little, but nerves still flutter like loose pages in a fan. The cab’s stale air smells faintly of machine oil and lavender sanitizer, and suddenly the space feels one size too small.
I force a breath, summon a quip. “Classic Tuesday plot twist?”
He chuckles, low and warm. “I was hoping for something more original, but yeah—plot twist.”