by Alexa McLean
“He’s kind of cute, isn’t he? Too bad he never talks to me... I see him around campus sometimes but I never have the guts to strike a conversation.”
I smiled. “I think you should go for it – that is if you think your heart is telling you to do so.”
She shook her head. “Tori, you’re always saying weird stuff like that. You’re like some old Shakespearean poet who’s cursed to speak in couplets.”
“I’m just trying to give you some sound advice. I know how hard it can be to see the boy of your dreams and just pray he talks to you – that he notices you – that he’ll make the first move so you don’t have to.”
“Ooo, do I sense a story coming on?” Stacy turned in her chair to face me.
“I shouldn’t.”
“Oh, come on, it’s a slow afternoon. No one’s here. Tell me.”
I bit my lower lip, wondering how much I should reveal. After all, I’m a rather private person. I don’t particularly like to open up to people. It does nothing but makes you vulnerable to heartbreak.
“Well, there was this boy. He was my next-door neighbor. The classic bad boy –”
“A bad boy, huh? I never would have guessed.” She leaned forward and rested on her elbows, waiting for more. There was this eager, almost expectant look in her eyes.
Just then, her phone started to ring. She looked at the caller ID and frowned. “I have to take this.”
I nodded. “Of course.”
She excused herself and stepped outside to the designated smoking area. It was the one place where she could get a bit of privacy. I felt sorry for the girl. She was struggling with her mother’s early onset dementia all while holding a job and trying to make her way through college. Most of the time, she looked so exhausted that I feared she would collapse. I tried to talk to her about it but she refused to let me in. I didn’t blame her. Losing a mother at such a critical time in her life must be a difficult thing to cope with.
My mind wandered to my own mother. I had no idea what she was like or if I’d even like her as a person. Both her and my father died when I was very young, leaving me an orphan. Luckily, my foster parents weren’t the worst so I managed to make it out of adolescence more or less okay.
I got up and sorted through some books that needed to re-shelved. I was just about to roll the cart to another part of the library when someone walked through the door. She smiled in my direction, a bundle of books in her arms.
“Rebecca.” I helped her with her load. “These books were returned faster than usual. I hope your boss found them satisfactory.”
“Very.” Her smile deepened. “I think that’s why they came back so fast. He just couldn’t leave them be.”
I scanned the books and handed her a fresh bundle. “I think I’m really starting to understand his taste. Mysteries, mostly, with that Noir vibe to them.”
“You know better than I do. I’m just the messenger.” She handed over her library card.
For the millionth time, I scanned it over, trying to find some sort of clue that would lead me to her boss. “No chance that you’ll tell me who he is?”
“I’ve been sworn to secrecy.” She said dramatically. “The breaking of that oath would surely bring about my death.”
I chuckled. I liked Rebecca. She was one of our regulars. Over the months, we’ve had our fair share of conversations, most of them revolving around our favorite TV show.
“Did you see the newest episode last night?”
“No! Don’t tell me. I recorded it. I’m going to watch it tonight right after my shift. Was it good? Did they find out who the killer was? Wait! Don’t tell me!”
“My lips as sealed.” I pass my fingers along my lips.
“I wanted to watch it last night but I was swamped with work.”
“Such as...?”
She grinned. “I already told you, you won’t get a peep out of me.”
“You can’t blame me for trying. Your mysterious boss is quite intriguing especially with his voracious appetite for books. I’d like to meet him someday.”
“Maybe you will.” She said with a wink.
“Oh, and is he the only one who reads them?”
“The books?” Rebecca asked. “I browse through them sometimes and I think he makes them freely available to his house staff so I assume some of them take him up on the offer.”
“And, is he the one that personally hands over the books to you?”
“No, his butler does. Puts them in a nice neat pile for me so I can just pick them up and go.”
“I see...” My mind was reeling with possibilities. “Alright.”
“It was a pleasure, Tori. I’ll probably see you next week. Bye!” She started for the door before she stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Why do you ask anyway?”
“No reason,” I answered quickly, averting her eyes. I had yet to tell anyone of the mysterious notes I kept finding in her boss’ books. The logical explanation was that he wrote them himself but I could hardly imagine a CEO penning love poems in his free time. Wouldn’t he have more pressing issues to worry about?
“Oh, and does your boss have a lot of free time on his hands?” I asked.
Rebecca chuckled. “This is really eating you up inside, isn’t it?”
I just smiled a knowing smile. I didn’t want to admit that this mysterious poet often kept me up at night as I imagined what he looked like and what it would feel like to fall into his arms. The tone of his poetry alone was enough to make my heart melt. I wanted to discover who could write such beautiful lines and make my heart thump.
“But, to answer your question, no, he doesn’t have a lot of free time. He usually works himself half to death. He only manages to read on his breaks and most of the time he’s also working on something else. As far as I know, he comes home pretty late and wakes up early.”
“I see... what about the butler?”
“What’s this sudden fascination with the butler?”
Before I could answer her, a group of kids walked in. They were accompanied by a parent who looked rather fatigued. She looked over at me with a hopeful look in my eyes. “The Reading hour is downstairs. They are just about to start.” She sighed in relief, ushered her kids down the stairs, and disappeared.
By the time I looked up, Rebecca was gone. Well, there goes my chance to probe her for additional clues. Sometimes I felt like I was so close to discovering my mysterious poet but then he always managed to slip away from me.
I glanced around, half expecting someone to jump out of the shadows but to my pleasure, I was all alone. Slowly, I opened the first book. Nothing. Second book. Still nothing. I continued through the books to find they were all empty.
“Hmm...” I frowned. This was the first time he hadn’t sent over a poem. Maybe he was having a stressful week at work. Or maybe there was something more serious going on. My mind swirled with possibilities. I thumbed through the last book one more time and accidentally took off the dust sleeve.
A small piece of paper fluttered to the ground along with it. I picked it up and saw the familiar handwriting. A smile swept across my lips as I read the words.
You have found me.
As I hope you will one day find my heart.
Covered by a mask made of darkness that only you can turn to light.
I’ll wait for you. As I hope you waited for me.
Because I cannot forget that spark in our past.
That I pray still ignites for me.
Tori.
I ran my fingertips along the poem as a surge of energy traveled underneath my skin. It was starting to become obvious that these poems were meant for me but that didn’t make any sense. Who would spend their time writing me a love poem? I wasn’t seeing anyone and I hardly had any admirers. Matt didn’t count. He was a pretty smart kid but I didn’t think he was capable of writing something so beautiful. He just didn’t strike me as the poetic type.
“Who is it...?” I asked aloud as if I expected the silence
to answer me.
Swoosh!
One of the regulars waved from the door. I waved back before placing the slip of paper inside my journal. It was starting to bulge with the collection of anonymous poems. There was no doubt in my mind that they were all written by the same person. The handwriting was consistent and the tone unfaltering.
Had I met this person before? Why did they insist on communicating this way? Why couldn’t they just come into the library and say hello?
These questions haunted me for the rest of my shift. By the time five o’clock rolled around, I was no closer to finding the answer. I packed up my bags and nodded at the security guard tasked with manning the library throughout the night.
Outside, the sun was already starting to set. The city was painted in the darkening hues of dusk. I tightened my grip on my bag as I headed home. Ominous clouds positioned themselves overhead and I prayed the weather would hold out – at least until I got home. I had forgotten my umbrella and I had no desire to look like a drowned cat.
A few raindrops landed on my cheek as I passed a local tattoo parlor. I was only a few blocks from my house. If need be, I could make a run for it.
The open sign flickered. I shook my head. Was Conrad never going to replace that old thing? Conrad and I had gone to the same high school together. He had been in the year below mine and for a while, I acted as his tutor, helping him pass both math and English with a solid B. But his real talent was with art. He knew how to draw better than anyone else I knew. I was glad he followed his passions and became a tattoo artist. It suited him.
Suddenly, a red sign posted in the corner of the display window caught my eye. Under new management! I furrowed my brows together wondering what had happened to Mr. Fred, the owner. Curious, I stepped inside to find Conrad bent over a piece of paper, the tip of his tongue protruding from his mouth as he concentrated.
The bell above the door chimed at my arrival. Conrad looked up and smiled. “Tori! What a pleasure.” He ran his fingers through his boy-band hair, smile deepening. “As beautiful as always.”
I ignored his compliment and pointed toward the sign. “What happened to Mr. Fred?”
“Retired. Moved down to Florida. Thought I was out of a job but then someone bought the place.” He explained. “Haven’t even met him yet. But, I’m getting paid so I don’t really care. As long as he keeps signing my checks, he can stay as invisible as he’d like.”
“Well, what’s his name?” I asked.
Conrad shrugged. “I don’t know. He has one of those messy signatures. Just a bunch of scribbles.”
“I see,” I said.
“So, what’s new with you? It’s been a while since we’ve sat down together. Do you want a coffee or something? The coffee machine is usually on the fritz but tonight could be your lucky night.” He chuckled, attempting to turn on the machine but it didn’t respond. “Oh, come on you stupid thing. Work. Just this once.” He banged the side but still, it refused to cooperate.
“It’s fine. I shouldn’t have coffee this late anyway.” I said. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Still Miss Goody Two-Shoes, huh?” He teased. “When are you going to loosen up a little and let me give you some ink?”
“Not going to happen.” I shook my head while covering my arms. “Don’t even think about it.”
“Oh, come on. It doesn’t hurt nearly as much as everyone says.” He picked up his ink gun and waved it invitingly. “A literary quote, maybe? A lot of people get those. Shakespeare is a popular one.”
“Don’t think about it,” I warned.
“Alright, alright. Don’t bite my head off.” He raised his hands in innocence. “I won’t push it – for now.” He grinned. “But one day...”
I rolled my eyes. “I should probably head home.”
“Don’t be a stranger.” He called out as I left. “The door is always open.” I sensed he was implying something more with that comment but I didn’t dwell on the thought for very long because just then, the rain picked up.
I made a run for it, holding my bag over my head for protection. Somehow, I managed to make it to the front door without getting soaked. Sure, I was wet, but there were still a few dry spots left on my clothes.
Ready for a hot bath, I was just about to turn the key and step inside when I heard the rumbling of a motorcycle. I turned around and my eyes nearly bugged out of my head.
It was him.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Alexa McLean is romance author who enjoys reading, spending time with family and friends, eating pasta and writing romance stories that makes her readers beg for more and keep them well entertained.
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