The Library Agreement

08

Charlie's right.

I am way bolder behind a screen.

I scroll through the texts that were exchanged during fifth period today, just beginning to realize how idiotic it was to even send them. I shouldn't have said those things. I barely know him.

Then why does it feel like I do? Why does it feel like I've known him my entire life?

I don't know. I don't know.

It's dark outside. I look over my shoulder, at my parked Honda, then back to the warm glow of the library. My hand is on the doorknob, which is nice and cool against the warmth of tonight. I check my phone for the time.

11:59 P.M.

At least I'm not late.

I think about texting him—wondering whether I should tease him to open the door for me or not. My fingers are on the keyboard, prepared to type a snarky comment, but then I catch myself.

That's stupid. He's not going to understand why you texted, and even if he does, he'll think it's weird. Just walk inside like a regular person.

Biting my lip, I pocket my phone once more and look up to find that there's already someone standing on the other side of the door.

I inhale sharply, clutching a hand to my heart. Charlie Portman's blue eyes glint at me through the glass.

"You scared me!" I hiss, fighting to hide my growing smile.

He grins back. "I know."

Taking a small step back, I ask, "Well? Are you gonna let me in?"

Charlie gives a playful wink, and I can practically feel myself start to melt.

Dammit, Portman. Stop being so charismatic.

Nevertheless, I maintain an expressionless face until he holds the door wide, the tinkling of a bell announcing my entry. Once I'm inside, he closes it. I breathe in the scent of old books with relish—paper and ink and something that I can only describe as vaguely cinnamon-like, all combined into something that I want to bottle up and keep with me for the rest of my life.

"So, what brings you here, doll?" Charlie asks, his voice a smooth drawl. "Looking for another book?"

"Doll?" I say with a snort, and his cheeks tinge pink.

"Sorry. I was watching an old black-and-white movie earlier, just thought I'd try it out—" he clears his throat awkwardly. "Um, sorry. Anyways, uh..."

"I am here for a book." I say coolly, even though my heart is still skipping from the way he called me doll. I feel kind of bad for shooting him down about it, but it wouldn't be right if he saw how much I actually liked it.

I didn't know people could still pull off old forties lingo.

But he can, that's for sure.

"Cool. Which one?"

"Hold on," I say, holding up a finger as I reach down to dig into my purse. When my hand clutches the familiar worn corners of The Great Gatsby, I pull it out from under everything else, handing it to Charlie.

"That's a return."

"Did you like it?"

"Well, it was for my sister." I say quickly, and he nods, looking somewhat put-off by this fact. Frantically, I tack on another sentence. "But I ended up reading it after she did. It was good. Different, but—but good."