25. librarian/avid reader au
Red flops into his chair at the circulation desk, just back from stocking shelves in the history section, and glances over to the empty tables near the science shelves. Then he adjusts his black-rimmed glasses and glances at his watch. And he sighs.
She's late today.
Every day for the past five years, Red has worked here at the library. And every day for the past five months, Red has been observing the most beautiful woman.
She comes in every weekday, Monday through Friday, and sits at the table near the window in the science section. The first day she came in, he'd been stocking in the shelves on the opposite side of the room, so he didn't see her walk in and sit down. He'd simply looked up when he got back to his desk and there she was, sitting as if she'd always been there, book open, reading in the sunlight. After that first day, she hasn't missed one.
(And if sometimes he gets distracted from updating the online library catalog because the sunlight comes through the window at such an angle to make her blue eyes luminous, well then, no one notices but him.)
He's never heard her speak. She always spends her time here in the library quietly, not talking to anyone, just sitting on her own reading and studying for two hours in the afternoon, two o'clock to four o'clock. He's gotten a glimpse of the books she brings with her, never library owned, always her own textbooks, and he thinks she's a psychology student.
(She's intelligent, as well as beautiful.)
She's not young though. She's certainly youthful, but not a freshman in college by any means. He wonders which degree she's currently pursuing. A master's or perhaps a PhD.
(Either way, she's probably out of his league.)
She is easily the highlight of his every day, his lonely quiet life is brightened by her coming to the library every day, even if she doesn't know he exists.
But today she's late.
Red glances at his watch again. Quarter after two. She's never this late. He wonders if she's alright. Anything could have happened, she could have overslept, she could be having a late lunch, she could have gotten in an accident, she could have –
All of a sudden, the door swings open and Red's head whips around to look hopefully at the newcomer and there she is. Gently closing the door behind her and wandering past the circulation desk towards her regular table, with not a care in the world, tucking a stray lock of dark hair behind her ear as she goes.
Of course, Red thinks scathingly to himself. She's not late, not to her. She can come and go here whenever she pleases and, as far as she knows, there's isn't a pathetic librarian waiting on pins and needles to see her every day at two o'clock on the nose.
(He's bordering on creepy.)
Red watches as she takes her usual place at her usual table, just a few minutes later than her usual time. She opens her messenger bag and pulls out her books, stacking them on the table and slinging her bag on the back of her chair before she sits down with a sigh Red can hear across the library, settling down to study.
(He's never seen an individual more dedicated to academia.)
Red manages to tear his eyes away from her gorgeous profile and, with a quiet sigh of his own, snatches the stack of science books that have been sitting on his desk since nine o'clock this morning, waiting to be re-stocked.
(Because if he puts aside the science books so he can shelve them while she's here?
Well, no one notices but him.)
It's the middle of the next week when Red is unnecessarily re-organizing the physiology section, conveniently located just a shelf away from her table, when he hears a disturbance. It sounds like a hushed male voice, coming from the table by the window. Red frowns and quietly pushes aside a book on heart defects to peek through the resultant gap at the woman's table, telling himself he's checking up on the clientele of the library, not creepily spying on a gorgeous woman.
He sees a man hovering over the very table Red has been watching from a distance for months, speaking quietly but insistently to the woman sitting there. Red's heart sinks into his stomach. The man is fairly young, probably around the woman's age, with shocks of premature grey and white through his otherwise dark hair, wearing blue scrubs.
Great. A doctor.
Red sighs, feeling worthless and dejected. There's no way the woman would be even somewhat interested in him when she has a handsome doctor sniffing around. He begins to push the books back into place on the shelf, promising himself to never get attached to pretty library patrons again, when he hears something that makes him pause.
"Really, Nik, I'm very flattered, but a no is a no."
That's her voice, it must be, trying to get rid of the doctor.
(Her voice is even more beautiful than Red imagined.)
"Aw, come on, Liz, you don't mean that. Just let me buy you a drink, you'll change your mind, I promise."
And the doctor is bothering her.
No.
Red wastes no time in emerging from between the shelves, two encyclopedias on the human genome under his arm, adjusting his glasses on his nose.
"Excuse me, sir," he interrupts another pathetic plea for the woman – Liz, he thinks with a thrill – to go out with him. "This is the silent reading section."
Both Nik and Liz look up at him in surprise, though Red can see irritation on the man's face and a little relief on the woman's.
(He's doing the right thing.)
"Oh, sorry, man, we're just having a chat here," the dismissal in his voice is clear and the fake smile Nik flashes to him makes Red's lip curl.
"Yes, I can see that, sir, and that's precisely the point. You're beginning to disturb the other patrons."
Not true, of course. The only person at a table within hearing distance has headphones on. Nik notices.
"Look, man, just let me –"
"I'm sorry, sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
Red can see the man get frustrated, anger flashing in his eyes, but Red stands his ground, staring him down and squaring his shoulders, trying to use his solid form to be imposing. Nik huffs for a long moment before visibly giving up, casting one last glance down to the quiet woman at the table.
"Whatever. I'll see you around, Liz."
And he turns to leave, striding past Red angrily, muttering under his breath something that sounds suspiciously like "not worth it anyway" and Red has to stop himself from hurling an encyclopedia at the back of his head.
(There isn't a fictional universe in any of the books in this library in which Lizzie wouldn't be completely and utterly "worth it".)
Red stares after Nik, making sure he leaves, watching as he pulls the door shut behind him with a little more force than necessary, before Red feels himself relax.
Good riddance.
But he tenses up again the moment he turns and finds Lizzie looking at him curiously, her piercing blue eyes staring right at him. He lowers his head out of instinct, trying to hide behind his glasses. What if she didn't want him to do that, what if she's mad, what if –
"Thank you."
Red looks up in surprise to meet her grateful gaze, her blue eyes warm and a kind smile on her face, looking at him with interest.
(She's so beautiful.)
The only thing Red can do is nod quickly, barely managing to pry his dry mouth open to say two words to her.
"You're welcome."
And he manages to return her smile – he thinks – before he turns on his heel, hefting the two encyclopedias in his arms and hurrying back to the relative safety of his circulation desk, his heart hammering.
(She noticed him.)
It's the end of the next week, at a quarter to four on Friday, that something even more amazing happens.
Red is slumped at his desk, his eyes glazed over as he mindlessly scrolls through the library catalog, trying to bring himself to enter the shipment of new atlases they just received, when he suddenly feels a shadow fall over him. He straightens up instinctively, quickly smoothing down his tie before looking up at the person standing in front of his desk. And his heart nearly stops.
It's her.
There she is, in all her glory, her long dark hair framing her pale face, a portion held back out of her eyes by a small clip, her blue eyes peering at him with a faint, pleasant smile on her face. She's wearing a soft-looking grey sweater and comfy-looking worn jeans, her bag slung over her shoulder and a book in her hands.
And he's staring stupidly at her as she gazes at him.
She doesn't seem to mind his stupor, particularly. At least, she doesn't look too worried for his sanity. She's simply looking back at him, an expression on her face that is intriguing, in some back recess of his mind.
(If he didn't know better, he'd think she looked mildly interested in him. But that's not possible.)
After a long moment, she finally opens her mouth to speak.
"Hi."
Red blinks, the single word, though very gentle and quiet, still manages to shock him, sending his heart racing in his chest. He pries his mouth open to parrot the word back at her.
"Hi."
There, he answered back, now it's her turn to talk. That's how conversation works, right? But she's still staring at him and he feels the back of his neck getting warm. Why is she still staring, what did he do, has she come to her senses about last week, is she angry with him? No, she doesn't look angry, she looks kind of interested, but she's not, so what could she possibly want, he doesn't –
"I'd like to check this out, please."
And she places the book she's holding very gently on his desk, cover facing up, in a quiet, polite request.
Oh. She wants him to do his job. Obviously.
"Of course, of course, I'm sorry!"
Red leaps into action, snatching the book off the counter, hurriedly jiggling his mouse to wake up his computer, shoving the book under the scanner and waiting for it to beep, all the while avoiding eye contact with the woman he's been shyly staring at over the rims of his dark-framed glasses for what feels like forever.
(This feels like a dream.)
"Hey, Liz!"
And she's turning at the soft call of another woman from across the library, leaving Red alone for a moment while he checks out her book.
"Hi, Samar! How is…"
Her voice fades as she takes a few steps away from the circulation desk to meet the dark-skinned woman and Red is left at his desk feeling cold from the loss of her. He mechanically reaches for the stamper and ink pad to leave the due date on the card in the back of the book, listening to the receipt stutter out of the old printer at a snail's pace. But, while he's doing that, in his mind's eye he's seeing her looking at him, that strange look that he could have sworn was intrigue. What if she –
Hm. Should he?
He glances over at Lizzie, still talking to her friend, waving her hands animatedly in hushed conversation. He would never ordinarily presume but there's something about her eyes that…well, maybe he should be brave for once.
(And if this fails horribly, well, no one will notice but him.)
So, he is spurred back into action, ripping her receipt off at the perforation and looking around frantically for a pen, spying one lying between a thesaurus he was reading this morning out of sheer boredom and his half-eaten chicken salad sandwich from lunch. He snatches up the pen and flattens her receipt on his desk, taking a fortifying breath before leaning forward to write.
(Oh, god, what is he doing?)
He scrawls his name and number at the top of the tiny paper.
"Okay, I'll see you on Sunday!"
His head whips around in panic as he sees Lizzie waving goodbye to her friend and heading back to the circulation desk. His heart rises to his throat and he turns back to the receipt, frowning at what he wrote there.
Raymond
958-8041
Wait, what if she doesn't know his name? He wears a nametag every day but what if she just hasn't looked? What if –
Oh no, she's almost here. Red only has a second. He mentally throws caution to the wind and hastily scribbles the words "the librarian" in parenthesis next to his name before shoving the receipt in the back of the book and snapping it shut just as she stops in front of him.
"Sorry about that," she says pleasantly. "I had to talk to my friend really quickly. I hope I didn't keep you waiting."
(How are her eyes so blue?)
"No, not at all," Red stammers, feeling very aware of odd parts of his body, like his eyebrows and his pinky fingers. Do they always feel like that? "I just finished up actually." He places her book back on the counter for her. "It's due back in two weeks."
"Thanks so much," she chirps, taking the book and holding it close to her.
(He would bet all the money in the world that she never mistreats her library books.)
"Well, bye, then," she says pleasantly, after a moment. She sounds a little wistful, as if maybe she was waiting for something else from him.
(Is he making all this up?)
But she's turning away to leave and it's now or never.
"Uh, your receipt is in the back," he calls after her, trying not to choke on his own words as he says them.
She turns and looks at him, that curiosity back in her eyes at his odd exclamation.
"Uh, okay, thanks," she says, a little confusion evident in her tone but she gives him one last tiny smile before she turns and leaves.
Red lets out a breath he doesn't know how long he was holding when the door finally swings shut behind her. Well. Either she'll see it, or she won't. And he won't know which it is until Monday.
It's going to be a long weekend.
Red doesn't get much sleep over the next two days and certainly no real meals. Mostly just black coffee and microwave dinners because he's too nervous to stomach anything more substantial. He's spends the majority of his time pretending to get work done around his apartment, while he's really just staring at his cell phone out of the corner of his eye. He tries not to be too conspicuous about it, even though there's no one around to judge him for being this pathetic. He leaves his phone sitting on a table or chair when he moves to another room, just to prove a point to himself that he can get by without the raging insecurity and fear that he will miss her call.
(And if he turns up the ringer before he leaves a room, no one is there to notice but him.)
But the whole weekend passes with no call and he tries not to feel discouraged. It's completely possible that she just hasn't looked in the back of the book and found the receipt yet. It also could have fallen out on her way home and is currently lying in some gutter with his peace of mind. Or she could be so completely thrilled with the fact that he's given her seven meaningless letters and digits that she's waiting to see him in person next week to throw herself into his arms in complete and utter joy.
(He knows the first two are more likely.)
He's grateful when the weekend finally comes to an end and, with butterflies in his stomach, he unlocks the library early on Monday morning, unable to stay holed up in his tiny apartment any longer, his cell phone seeming to ominously grow in size on the kitchen table.
(It's only the thought of hearing her beautiful voice on the other end that keeps him from throwing the damn thing out the window.)
The library itself doesn't open for another half an hour so busies himself tidying up and shelving the new shipment of books he took home that weekend to catalogue. He's just sitting back down at his desk, starting the process of turning on his ancient computer, when he hears the door open with the first patron of the week.
He glances at his watch. Nine o'clock on the dot. Hm, must be eager.
Red is just signing in and opening up the check-out program when he hears a familiar voice sound in front of his desk.
"Hi."
He freezes in place, his eyes staring widely at his computer screen.
It's her.
He slowly turns in his swivel chair, spinning to look up at her for the second time in twice as many days.
(She's still stunning.)
"H-hi," he stammers, actually stuttering out the two-letter word, how sad.
And he sees her mouth twitch at one corner, as if to smother a giggle and if a meteor was to come down at this precise moment and leave a crater where he is currently sitting, he'd be fine with that.
(He is certain no one would notice but him.)
He clears his throat and tries again.
"Can I help you?" his voice sounds a little stronger now and at least he didn't stutter again. It's an improvement.
With her eyes still dancing in barely suppressed amusement, she nods at him. "Yes, I'd like to return this."
And his heart descends rapidly through his chest to the bottom of his stomach because she's putting the book she checked out last Friday on the counter in front of him.
And the receipt is sitting on top with his name and number, in that damning red ink, glaring up at him.
(Where the hell is that meteor?)
And this is so much worse than he could have possibly imagined, he thought he could take the rejection. Yes, his pride may be slightly bruised but that's nothing that can't heal, like it has done so many times before, but no. Not with her. Because there's something about her, something he sees in her, that makes him feel as though he should be with her always. Otherwise, it's just not right.
(And seeing that receipt back on his desk, that unmistakable sign of rejection, feels weirdly as though he's lost something precious, something he's never truly had.)
He can feel his face getting red as he stares at the receipt, feeling stupid, so, so stupid, and he ducks his head, reaching up to take the book and the ridiculous slip of paper sitting on top.
"Of course, I'm sorry, just let me –"
And then he nearly jumps out of his skin, his heart flying back into his throat, because something warm touches his hand. He looks up, startled, and it's her, one pale, slender hand gently covering one of large, tan ones, stopping him in his tracks.
Red looks up at her, confused, and sees the kindness in her blue eyes, warm and happy.
(What is she doing?)
"Flip it over."
He frowns as she removes her hand, nodding encouragingly at the receipt and he slowly reaches out to turn it over and sees –
Elizabeth
916-7801
And his heart takes off, perhaps somewhere in his mouth now, beating hard and fast. Her name, her number. Both there, in neat blue font, easily the loveliest thing he's ever seen. He looks up at her, beaming.
"Oh," he breathes, and it sounds like a happy sigh.
She giggles, the sound quiet and delicate in the empty library. "I do want to return that book though," she quips, and he laughs, nodding as he tosses the book carelessly onto his desk, the first in his daily pile of books to check back into the system.
He'll do it later.
(No one will notice but him.)
"So, you thought I wouldn't like you?" she asks curiously after a moment, leaning forward to place her elbows on the counter and rest her chin in her hand. He looks at her in wonder.
(Is this really happening?)
"Well, yeah," he mutters, managing to tear his gaze away from her and rub the back of his neck awkwardly. "Giving you my number was a spur of the moment thing and honestly pretty risky. I was afraid it was kind of out of the blue."
"Oh, not to me," she says earnestly, shaking her head. "I've been checking you out for weeks, haven't you noticed?"
He blinks stupidly at her. She's been what?
"In fact, I thought that –" she nods at the receipt "– was a little overdue."
And he's smiling now, not necessarily because he understands her – because why on Earth would she like him? – but because she looks so pleased with herself at her library puns, clearing prepared and bursting from her as she struggles to smother her giggles.
"And how long have you been working on those?" he asks, trying to hold back his own chuckles.
"Oh, a few days, you know, just in case I had to ask you out myself. Wanted to try and impress you with my knowledge of library jargon," and she barely makes it through the end of her sentence before she finally gives in, her shoulders shaking in a beautiful, ringing laugh. He has to sit and watch her for a moment.
"Well, color me impressed," he says cheekily, when she's quieted, grinning at her. "Now, would you like to share any more or can we go ahead and schedule a date now?"
Liz smiles blindingly at him. "Friday?"
Red feels his face nearly burst in two with his answering grin. "Friday."
She nods, and pushes off the desk, heading to the front door. He misses her immediately.
(Friday seems so far away.)
"Oh, and maybe don't make any plans for Saturday," she's calling back to him all of a sudden and his eyebrows are raising on his forehead in surprise.
"Uh, why?" he manages to call back, his voice maybe a little squeakier than he would have liked.
"Because I might want to renew you," she says easily, and he can hear the laughter in her voice. "And, come Monday, you might even have to charge me a late fee."
He's still laughing when the door closes behind her.
(And when he tells her he loves her, no one notices but her.
And that's enough for Red.)
