Write Me A Love Story

Chapter Eight:

By the time I left the store, I'd forgotten how chilly the day was. The end of summer was slipping away with the days and the beginning of autumn was peaking over the occasional storm clouds. I loved sweater weather with all my heart, but the weather channel lied to me this morning.

It was not going to be a high sixty degrees with partly cloudy skies. It was, in fact, nippy, probably low fifties, without the sun in the sky. The warmth of the library was everything I needed when I walked inside. Dolores, sitting at the front desk, made it better.

As I approached, she smiled and leaned against the front counter. "Well, hello there. Camila, right?"

I stopped, blushed, and bit my lip. I hadn't told the older woman my name. Which meant Reece must have told her I was coming. Judging by the extra kindness in her smile, I bet it was paired with good things.

"Hi, Dolores." I nodded and pushed loose strands of hair behind my ear. "Is Reece here?"

"Sweetie, of course, he is." Dolores made her way around the counter, tugging at her red cardigan. I hadn't noticed before that her glasses were attached to a floral chain. Gold with purple, tiny blossoming roses decorated the accessory. She oozed classy, cozy fashion. When she motioned me to walk with her, I followed, unable to take the goofy smile off my face.

I hoped I aged as gracefully as Dolores.

"Now, between you and me, Reece would live here if he could. Surrounded by books, paper, and stories—" As she walked and talked, she waved her hands around, pointing at the surrounding shelves and tables. "—he's at peace."

My brows lifted. Not only did I find it adorable, pleasing, and comfortable, but it was attractive, romantic, and alluring.

Dolores turned toward the stairs Reece had led me up the last time, then pointed at a table right beside the top step. "For the longest, before he worked here, well," she laughed and shook her head, "he still does this, but he'd sit right there with some headphones and a notebook. He'd write and write."

Okay, now that was sweet. Looking over at the table, I imagined Reece sitting there, pods in his ears, bobbing away as he lost himself in his writing. To have a creative mind, the number of lengthy, interesting conversations we could be having. Still following Dolores, I swooned.

"He's over here." She pointed ahead. Past the tables and bookshelves with an area with offices. Four of them. Three of the doors were shut, with the lights off inside. One had the door open, bright, and welcoming.

I smiled as Dolores looked back at me. "He came in and requested one of the quiet rooms," she said.

My brows lifted. Were they really called that? I thought he'd made it up to be interesting. "Um, why are they called 'quiet' rooms?" I asked because I had to. My curiosity would've eaten at me if I didn't.

"Oh," she glanced back at the room, "it's where people come and request a room to study in. Or relax. The peace calms people. Allows the mind to open." She looked back at me. "I'm sure he asked for the space to help you write."

If my brows could shoot up any higher, they would've slipped past my hairline and disappeared on top of my head. Reece told Dolores that I wrote... that he was helping me.

I couldn't help but smile. "Oh." What else could I say?

A bell chime echoed downstairs. Dolores perked up at the sound and looked over my shoulder. Her lips pulled down into a cringe as she laughed, shaking her head. She passed me with a quick tap on my shoulder. "People are downstairs looking for help," she looked back at me, "or suggestions. Impatiently hitting that bell."