My Forever Girl – by Theresa Lambe
MY FOREVER GIRL
BY THERESA LAMBE
BANG!
I glanced around my little library, wondering just what that sound was. Nothing seemed out of place from where I stood organizing shelves.
I cautiously made my way to the front of the building and peeked around the empty area.
As far as I knew, no one else was here. I mean, the doors are open for anyone to walk through, but the majority of visitors usually call out my name as soon as they set foot inside.
Because I was usually the only person here, I rarely sat at the front counter to greet people.
I took another tentative step and paused. "Hello?" I softly called out before catching a blur of movement near the front door. "Oh, hi."
"You never saw me," a tall guy dressed in jeans hissed, peeking out the window near the entrance.
I lifted a brow. "Well, okay. But you're in a library, you know? I can't say your some book boyfriend, some knight in shining armor, or some wolfman that came to life."
Or some criminal on the run from the police. I shook my head at the thought because nothing about the mysterious stranger screamed danger. He didn’t appear overly agitated. If anything, he just looked annoyed as if he caught wind of someone’s silent fart.
He chuckled, crossing his arms across his chest, and leaned against the closed door. “I like you. You’re funny.”
“Thanks. I don’t hear that much since I’m a librarian and all,” I admitted, hoping I didn’t look too obvious checking out the tattoos covering his muscled forearms. “You know, the golden age rule that we’re stuffy, boring, and downright mean.”
"I'm going out on a limb to say that's not true?"
The way his dark eyes roamed appreciatively over my form made me shift uncomfortably. Not in a dangerous life-threatening manner. More like he saw more to me than simple jeans and a pink floral shirt with ruffles.
"I don't think I am," I said, shaking my head. "But some of the teenagers who come here and cause trouble would probably say I am."
I paused to watch him peer out the window again, as if he was searching for something. Or someone.
“Maybe I can help you?” I offered, perplexed by his suspicious nature. “What are you looking for?”
"A place to hide."
“Well, come and sit down.” I waved him over toward the back area to one of my favorite spots.
Tall, heavy bookcases surrounded two oversized chairs and a small end table in a corner.
I spent plenty of time dangling my legs over the armrest to read and sip tea.
“The chairs are cozy. The coffee isn’t anything fancy, but it’s fresh.
And the books are free to check out. Hardly anyone just barges in. You’re my first guest of the day.”
His lips lifted up into a toe-curling grin as he walked past me and stopped in front of a shelf. His swagger made me believe he was someone important. But I honestly couldn’t place him.
When I wasn’t organizing books, my nose was buried in one. Or the newspapers. The news online helped me stay current with events and other stuff.
But no news segment or article would help jog my memory anyway, as I admired how well his tight butt looked in distressed jeans. His six-foot something height complemented his long, lean frame. Maybe he was a runner, but my gut instincts rejected that idea for some reason.
The town boasted a charming and cozy vibe, but it was still big enough to not know all the residents. Even though I didn’t go out too often, I would’ve remembered running into the handsome stranger.
“How long are you in town for?” I asked casually, returning to the nearby shelf I had been organizing.
“Uh, just for the night,” he answered, ambling over to the moving cart filled with books needing to be shelved. “How long have you lived here?”
I paused my climb up the stepladder and stared at him curiously. “What makes you think I wasn’t born and raised here?”
His beautiful lips pulled into a flirty grin as his eyes danced with amusement. “Do you always answer a question with a question?”
“Do you always make assumptions?” I shot back playfully, sliding a few hardcover books between others on the shelf.
“I’m more of a process-of-elimination kind of guy. Based on the short amount of time I’ve known you, I could make an educated guess.”
After shoving the final book in place, I turned on the step and planted my fists on my hips. “Oh? What have you learned?”
“You’re confident and smart–”
I rolled my eyes at the list of basic adjectives when he protested teasingly, “I’m not done yet.”
“That’s what she said,” I muttered beneath my breath before taking a book from his outstretched hand.
“Smartass,” he amended cheekily. “My guess is you’re from some city. While you don’t hate living there, you prefer a less chaotic pace. No one moves here without a good reason, so you moved here for a job.”
“Could’ve been for love,” I countered quickly, trying to throw him off the right track.
The stranger threw his head back and laughed, the rich warm tone filling the quiet space.
“No.” He shook his head. “You’re the rare type of woman that men will blindly follow for love.”
A strange squeak escaped my throat, and I quickly slapped a hand over my mouth. That had to be one of the most romantic sentiments any man said to me.
“You don’t even know me,” I whispered shyly.
He shrugged. “I’m a pretty good judge of character.”
Who was this guy? Why did his words make my heart quicken?
There was something undeniably captivating about him, a mysterious allure that drew people closer. His eyes held a depth that seemed to speak volumes without uttering a single word. I had no doubt his presence commanded attention in a room full of strangers.
Our silent gaze seemed to stop time until I felt my feet slowly descend one stair at a time. I had no idea what I would do when I reached the bottom, praying something came to me.
What I did know was from the way he stood still and watched me intently, he seemed as intrigued as I was.
As my foot hit the second to last stair, the library phone shrilled.
I shrieked and lost my balance, my arms flailing in the air and my hands reaching for anything to stop my fall.
A pair of warm, strong hands landed on my waist, and I collapsed into his arms. The downward motion led me to throw my arms around his neck instead of poking out one of his warm eyes.
“I got you,” he murmured, his embrace seemed to tighten.
With our chests pressed together, I felt the rapid pace of his heart and I melted under his studious gaze.
I couldn’t kiss him, right? Not when I didn’t know his name. Not when he didn’t know mine. But when his eyes dropped to my lips, my thoughts changed.
I mean if he wanted to kiss me…
The sound of the phone ringing again broke the moment. He dropped his hands and stepped back. I backed away and hurried to the front desk.
“Wildwind Library, this–” I greeted automatically only to be cut off.
“Hazel, honey, is that you?” A familiar voice asked in a loud tone.
“Hello, Mrs. Wyatt.” I smiled at the spry elderly woman who visited the library once a week to chat and drink tea.
She played the part of a frail ninety-something woman perfectly, slowly pushing a walker that held her purse and some contraband under the seat cushion. She always wore thick dark glasses and white sneakers. Her snow white hair curled to perfection.
But Mrs. Wyatt was far from frail and timid. She had opinions and cursed like a sailor.
She lived in one of the largest houses in town. When her husband passed away about a decade ago, her children encouraged her to sell the house and move into an assisted-living home. But Mrs. Wyatt knocked that idea from their heads immediately but offered a happy compromise.
A rotation of caretakers was hired to look after her and two to three of her friends, each having their own room in the house. Her children didn’t worry about her being alone, and Mrs. Wyatt continued to live her best life.
I didn’t know how Mrs. Wyatt and her husband amassed their fortune, but I knew she was generous with her wealth.
Even though she was a major benefactor for the library, I genuinely enjoyed her company and loved listening to her stories.
“You’ll be at the concert tomorrow night, right? My grandson, Andy, and his band are part of it,” she boasted with pride.
The annual Wildwind Sunfish Days kicked off tomorrow in the nearby city park. Kids energized with candy and too much sun ran around and screamed. The smell of fried foods wafted throughout town. Businesses around the park offered special discounts or contributed prizes toward the activities.
The library offered to host a lucky winner and their friends a movie night. The chosen film played against an empty white wall while the viewers watched comfortably with their pick of foods. A simple night, but a relaxing one at that.
The end of the long, busy day was capped off with a few bands giving a night concert.
Normally, the proceeds of the festival helped revitalize some parts of the town. But this year, an unanimous decision declared the money would help families that lost everything in the L.A. fires.
“Of course,” I answered, wondering if a band of high school kids would be any good. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“Good,” Mrs. Wyatt chirped. “Miss Sue Lynn told me I left a small photo album last time I was there. She said she tucked it in the lost-and-found box. Would you be a dear and bring it tomorrow night?”
“Of course.” I snagged a piece of scratch paper and scribbled a reminder note.
“You’ll be closing early tomorrow? Because a lovely young lady like yourself needs to go out, too. Have a beer with a gentleman. Or dance!”
I imagined her bright blue eyes lit up with excitement at the last suggestion. Mrs. Wyatt and her friends not only knew everyone, but also their personal business. They knew who was single, who wasn’t, and who had a wandering eye.