in the tone of voice I mean it in, so he is probably fuming at my attitude on the other end of the messages.
When I don’t see a response for a few minutes, I put my phone down with a sigh. My hopes were up, and now they’re dashed. I have that awful, rejected woman feeling in my stomach that can only be cured with a sleeve of Oreos and some caramel ice cream.
The last couple of studiers and readers shift their books around on their individual tables. The library closes at eight p.m. every weeknight, and it’s almost seven thirty, so in about twenty minutes I get to ring the last call bell. While I love my job, those chimes always sound like freedom. I’m the sole full-time employee in my building, with a few part-timers that come and go during the week. But I open in the morning and lock up at night. I am responsible for its management, every project we partner with the schools on, every reading circle and book club … all of it. When eight p.m. comes around, I’m exhausted and drained … and just ready to snuggle under my covers with my latest read.
I put away the cart full of books that have been returned throughout the day. An encyclopedia in the research section, a couple of British history anthologies, several children’s books and a random assortment of fiction.
By the time I make my way to the front, only two people are left sitting at tables, and it’s almost time to ring the bell.
“Oh, I hope I didn’t catch you on your way out. I need to check out a book.”
A deep voice comes from the entryway to the library where the double doors still stand open. I recognize it, and immediately, my heart beats double time.
“What are you doing here?” I turn, Bowen’s large, muscular frame coming into view.
He moves with grace and strength, my eyes combing his body from toes to hair as he comes to a stop in front of the big round help desk I stand behind. The dark stubble on his chin is shorter than it was when I saw him two days ago, and his ocean-colored eyes dance with amusement.
“I told you, I need to check out a book.” The charming, crooked smile he’s flashing at me holds hints of apologies.
My guard comes up, remembering that he’s the one who just blew me off for dinner. “Thought you were busy.”
“I wanted to come see my girl at work. Let it be known that I love books just as much as she does.” He waggles his eyebrows and then winks.
Then it dawns on my slow, overtired brain. He came here tonight to show up for me. There may only be two people left in this library besides us, but technically, it’s still public. Those two people see that Bowen Nash came to flirt with Lily Grantham at the library checkout desk … they’re here to witness it. Bowen is making an effort, because he could sense how upset I was about him shooting me down for dinner.
“Thank you for coming.” I nod, trying to mask the emotion I feel from his gesture.
Bowen sighs, reaching for my hand. He lifts it to his lips, and doesn’t kiss it, but simply rubs his mouth across my skin. The flesh he nuzzles simmers with heat that then travels all the way up my arm and suffuses my entire body.
“Baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to blow you off, or make it seem like I don’t want to take you out.” His fingers lace through mine as our hands lay together on the counter.
He’s laying that charm on thick, and I see a glimpse of that boy I fell in love with. The one who saw something he wanted and went after it with brutal beguilement. Bowen is captivating, enchanting in this state, and it’s hard to stay mad at him.
I purse my lips, trying to keep up the charade of my attitude. “I guess I can let you off the hook this time. But only because you came all the way across town to visit me at work.”
As if that’s really a trek. It’s only about five minutes from his barbershop to the library, but I suppose he did close up quickly to come over here and apologize.
“You’re too good to me. How much longer you got?” He taps his fingers on the counter, and I fixate on his thick, callused