My Forever Girl – by Theresa Lambe #2
“I heard one of the doctors is getting a divorce,” she shared, not waiting for my reply.
“According to Margaret Walters, it’s the cute doctor who primarily works with kids.
Of course, it just makes sense a man who works with kids would want some of his own, but his wife…
you know, I was suspicious about her from the start.
She was way too skinny. And wore way too much pink.
Not the soft pastel pink, but the bright pink–”
The stranger turned into my savior when he smacked the gold bell on the desk loud enough for the sweet elderly woman to stop her train of thought.
I suppressed a giggle but mouthed “thank you” as Mrs. Wyatt apologized profusely and rushed off the line.
“You’re my hero,” I declared, taping the reminder note to my computer screen. “I love Mrs. Wyatt, and I don’t mind listening to her chatter. But ever since I moved here–”
“Ha! I was right!” he interrupted, raising his arms in victory and shaking his butt.
I laughed as he danced around and sang, “I was right. I was right.”
I crumpled another scratch paper and threw it at him. He deftly caught it with one hand and grinned wickedly.
“Yeah yeah,” I grumbled teasingly. “You were right. I didn’t grow up here.”
“And,” he pushed, waving his index finger in a circle, as he returned to the front of the desk.
“I didn’t move here for love.”
“So, how does it feel?”
I frowned and shot him a confusing look as he propped his elbows on the surface and leaned forward. “How does what feel?”
“Being wrong.” That sexy grin returned, causing some sort of breathless swoosh in my belly.
“I’m not wrong,” I objected, trying to hold back a smile, as I pointed a finger in his direction. “I didn’t lie or hide anything. You’re the one who assumed stuff.”
“Hey, I didn’t assume anything. I knew you didn’t grow up here,” he shot back, lightly thwacking his finger against mine. “So, put away that finger, young lady. Before someone gets hurt.”
I laughed, enjoying his simple touch way too much.
“Okay, smartypants,” I stated confidently, feeling surprisingly smug with myself. “What’s my name?”
“Your name?” He pinned me with a blank stare.
“If you’re so smart, what’s my name?”
“Hazel.”
Huh? What? How? My jaw dropped to the floor along with my air of certainty and dignity.
Warm tingles shot through me at the sound of his rich laugh. I didn’t think my blood could flow faster until he slid two fingers under my chin to faux close my mouth.
Who was this man?
“Hazel Collier. Library director,” he recited softly, familiar words that made my heart swell with pride.
“I’m a dummy,” I groaned, dropping my head in shame before slapping a hand over my forehead in embarrassment.
“The nameplate is a nice touch.”
My head hit the surface of the desk in mortification. I didn’t even need to look at him to know he’s holding the wooden object in his hand and studying it like an ancient relic.
“Hazel,” he sang out cheerfully. “Hey, there’s a band called Sister Hazel.”
“Mmmm hmmm.”
“Wait, a second.”
I lifted my head to watch the modern-day Sherlock figure out my apathetic answer. A second later, his eyes lit up and his fingers snapped.
“Were you named after the ‘90s band Sister Hazel?”
“My mom is a huge fan,” I explained, smiling at the memories of me and my mom dancing around the living room. “Before I was born, my parents argued over the name. Mom, obviously, wanted to name me Hazel, and my dad voted for Mary Jane.”
“Stop, let me guess… Mary Jane’s Last Dance by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers.”
I tapped the bell on my desk. “We have a winner!”
“What was your mom’s argument against Mary Jane?”
“She loved the song, but she didn’t like the idea of naming her kid after a song that either referenced heartbreak or drugs.”
“Fair point.”
I shrugged. “It was good enough to be my middle name. Made my dad happy.”
His eyes widened with admiration. “Really? Hazel Mary Jane?”
I nodded, remembering how my friends envied me for having three names when I was younger.
“Damn, that’s the coolest name ever.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled sheepishly. “You’re one of the few who made the connection. I don’t think the band was even that popular in the ‘90s.”
“I can’t say I’m a huge fan, but I’ve listened to some of their stuff,” he admitted. “I like them enough.”
An awkward silence fell between us. He stared at the floor, and I unnecessarily moved some papers around the desk.
“Drew.”
My head snapped up to find him staring pensively at me. “What? You draw?”
“No.” He smiled, shaking his head slightly. “People call me Drew.”
“Oh.”
Drew. I didn’t understand why the sound of his name made me smile.
“I think this is how normal people meet,” he rambled shyly, extending his hand. “Hi, my name is Drew.”
“Hazel,” I played along, sliding my palm into his and feeling the sparks return.
“Nice to meet you, Hazel.”
When his thumb lightly caressed my hand, I became flustered and pulled back.
“Do you think the coast is clear?” I asked, tucking a lock of my hair behind my ear.
His dark brows formed a deep v.
I tilted my head toward the door. “You said earlier you needed a place to hide. I just wondered if the coast was clear.”
“Trying to get rid of me so soon?” Drew slapped both hands over his heart and feigned sadness. “You’re breaking my heart.”
I highly doubt that.
I arched my brow, letting him know my thoughts.
“Someone’s making assumptions again,” he sang out playfully, wandering near the window by the front door.
He peeked out for a second and blew out a sigh of relief. But he turned around and shrugged. “I think it’s safe, but I should probably stay a little longer. You know, just in case.”
“Mmmm hmmm.” I turned quickly so he couldn’t see my wide smile.
Did he just create an excuse to hang out with me? The thought filled me with a delightful sense of anticipation.
“Well,” I hedged nervously, tilting my head toward the back area. “I need to shelve some more books if I plan to cut out early tomorrow. Wanna keep me company?”
“I don’t mind helping,” he offered, falling in step next to me.
Reshelving books was my favorite task, especially at the end of the day when no one else was around. Sometimes Mrs. Wyatt stayed after hours, snuggled into one of the chairs to read or chat.
Drew and I worked in comfortable silence until he started humming.
“I’ve heard this before,” I murmured after a while, realizing the melody sounded familiar.
He crooned a few more bars before softly singing three familiar words, “My forever girl.”
When Mrs. Wyatt didn’t feel like reading or chatting, she played music on her phone. Surprisingly, I enjoyed most of her playlists even though I couldn’t recognize most of the artists or songs.
Of course, she played the classics like Sweet Caroline by Neil Diamond and Rock Me Gently by Andy Kim. But my favorite was a playlist of acoustic songs from artists I didn’t know.
Even though I didn’t believe in love at first sight, something about the song, My Forever Girl, spoke to me. Maybe it was the haunting lyrics about a guy not believing until he saw her. Maybe it was the singer’s smoky voice laced with loneliness and promise.
Drew held out a hand in an invitation to dance. As soon as my palm touched his, he pulled me close. My arms glided over his shoulders, and his warm hands held my waist. We simply swayed, like kids at a junior high dance, as he continued to hum and occasionally sang a lyric.
Even though the original singer had a guitar backing him, Drew held his own surprisingly. Except he didn’t sound haunted or tortured. More hopeful. And romantic.
“Hazel,” he rasped, his hands sliding toward my back.
“Drew,” I whispered, gazing into the intensity of his eyes.
Time seemed to stop, and the air seemed to charge. He stared at me for a moment before dropping to my lips. The heat between us kicked up a notch. Drew licked his lips before his head descended, and my breath caught.
His lips brushed mine once, then twice, and finally a third time before all thoughts flew out of my mind.
My arm tightened around his neck as I drew him closer.
His tongue flicked out and traced my bottom lip. Every part of me melted into him, my tongue returning stroke for stroke against his.
How he was able to reduce me to a puddle of nothingness with nothing more than a kiss was beyond me.
I moved even closer so that not even a piece of paper could slip between us.
Everything was focused on him. On what he did to me. How he made me feel.
Or even better yet, what I felt from him. Something hard pressed against my belly, igniting a flame inside me.
“Hazel,” he groaned agonizingly.
“Drew,” I breathe, wondering how I could invite this man to my place without sounding desperate.
But the sound of an unfamiliar ring filled the air, breaking us apart. Drew awkwardly patted himself down until he pulled his phone from back pocket.
“Hey, Mimi,” he answered, mouthing “sorry” to me before turning his back.
Mimi? An unbelievably sense of sadness and disappointment rushed through me even though my mind reminded me to not jump to conclusions.
I wanted to hang around and pick up any clues on the mysterious Mimi, but I knew better. Wanting to give him privacy, I wandered to the front desk and crossed off items from my to-do list with a resigned sigh. The reminder note about Mrs. Wyatt's photo album caught my attention.
I should check if it’s in the lost-and-found box, I thought to myself, my eyes dipping to the bottom shelves of the desk and searching for a simple, small cardboard box.
With a sad groan, I crouched down, slid the box out, and peeked to find a small, thin album with red roses on the cover. After snagging and tossing it above me onto the desk, I pushed the box back in place and groaned once more as I stood.