Chapter 14 #2
“Oh, the bakery is catering for the big event.” She shoos me from the room. “Now go, I think Arlo is at the front door waiting on you.”
“Arlo?” Just then, a cool draft of wind wraps around my legs. With one last look at the conniving woman, I head down the hall and to the front door, my boots thudding on the squeaky-clean floors I polished last week.
Swallowing down my nerves, I find Arlo tapping the bell on the front desk, so I swoop around and give him my very best manager smile. “How may I help you, sir?”
For a moment, he just stares at me, dumbstruck. Then, with a dimpled smile, he plays the role. “I hear the library is open for business.”
“We sure are. Have you been here before?” I’m already pulling up the system to print him a brand-new library card.
“Only once a long time ago.” He scratches his beard, and his smile breaks just a little as his eyes dart around the foyer, no doubt looking for a meddling twin of his.
“Well, here you are.” I tap dramatically on the keyboard, making a good show of it before printing out a new card. “Now, sir, we allow for a seven day borrow. If it’s any longer than that, just stop by and formally take out the book again.”
“Well, a certain birdie got me hooked on this author and this series that isn’t finished.” At that, he actually sounds annoyed.
“You read both Kingkiller books?” With a genuine smile on my face, I grab his hand and lead him into the adult side of the library—which just means more chapter books.
Though the romance section is perfect for those cold winter nights.
“I did.” He leans into me, his hot breath spilling over my neck. “The third book isn’t out.”
“Don’t worry, I know which series to introduce you to next.”
“Is it finished?” he mumbles as I lead him into the fantasy fiction section.
“Yep!” I avoid the question on his tongue about that series. No one knows when the author will finish it. After all, one simply does not rush greatness.
“All right, what magical land are you leading me to this time?”
“Brandon Sanderson.” I beam at him and his continued interest in books. If I leave nothing else in this little town, I want to assure I leave my love of books.
“What about your book?” He grabs the paperback I hand him, wrapping his hands around the cover as though it’s precious. Which, in fact, it is.
Also, these books need bookmarks. I make a mental note to get some printed. Some heathen dog-eared the pages.
“My what now?”
“Your book,” he repeats lightly, tapping me on the shoulder with the book.
I know he’s trying to ask me about the main reason I started here, but I’m not ready to tell him about the sketches hidden in the desk or the simple plot line I developed on the fly.
What I will do is discuss the tap he just gave me. “Did you just bro tap me?”
“What?” He rears back as though I’ve slapped him.
“You bro tapped me with that book.” I pat the paperback as though it’s offended and shush it like a baby.
“I did no such thing.” He backs away, a flush blooming on his cheeks.
“Oh, you did.” I advance on him.
“Nope, wasn’t me.” A sliver of that grumpy bear takes over his personality, and a wrinkle deepens between his brows. “I don’t even know what that is.”
“Oh, you know.” I stalk him like prey. “It’s a college frat boy move.”
“Never went to college.”
“Tech school counts.”
He tumbles back into my return cart, knocking a few books off in the process. I continue to advance on him. I don’t even know what I’ll do when I catch him, probably smack him back with the book.
No, I’d never abuse a book like that.
“Birdie,” he warns.
“Arlo.” I launch myself at him.
But because it’s me and I’m more graceful than a seasoned athlete trying ballet for the first time, I crash into him and take us both down to the floor, laughter spilling from my lungs, making me greedy for more.
Like a professional, Arlo rolls us, sliding his hand under my head so I don’t hit it again.
The book lies forgotten on the carpet.
My laughter dies as Arlo looks down at me as though I’m precious, as though I’m something—no, someone to cherish and adore. As though I’m worthy of love.
My hands rest against his chest, my breath bursting free of the confines of my lungs. I don’t know if I want to pull him closer or push him away.
A bit of both, I decide.
“Arlo.” I watch as he swallows, his throat working as he holds himself above me. Not an ounce of his body touches me, but I feel him everywhere.
In the space between, in the air I breathe, and in the warmth that wafts off of him. I inhale his spice and soak up his presence, committing his feel and essence to memory.
“Birdie.” His eyes flutter between mine, and in them, desire is reflected back at me. Tension builds slowly between us.
Will they?
Won’t they?
Will he lean down and kiss me, allowing me to feel the press of his lips and inhale his soul?
Will I kiss him back and see just what lies between us?
In this moment, I want to kiss him. I want to feel the press of his lips, his body.
He leans into me, allowing me to feel the slight hint of his weight as it presses down on me, his lips hovering above mine.
I close my eyes. He exhales, and I know on the next inhale, he will kiss me.
“Wren?” Ms. Aberdeen breaks the silence and slashes through the tension building between us. “Are you in here, Wren?”
Ugh!
I turn my head, breaking the spell, though Arlo doesn’t move, resting his face in the crook of my neck. “Yeah! I’ll be right there.”
She mutters something a moment before her footsteps fade down the hall. All the breath leaves my lungs and dizziness washes through me, while unspent adrenaline demands I jog.
I never jog, but at this moment, I want nothing more than to run this off.
Ever so slowly, Arlo stands, drawing me up with him. “I better go.” Grabbing his book, he looks at me as though he’s about to say something else, though he doesn’t. Tipping his head, he leaves.
Arlo Larson almost just kissed me, and more surprisingly, I wanted him to. Instead, I’m watching his back as he departs.
He forgot to check out that book.