by Elouise East
“No, I will not give you a break, young man. You are struggling with this. You need to speak to him. You like him, and you haven’t seen anyone in a long time.” Sister Mary Agnes let go of his shirt, allowing him to stretch back up to his usual height.
He rubbed a hand over his face. “How—?” He shook his head. “You know what, never mind.” He had no idea how she figured out there had been no relationship for a while, but regardless, Emerson did like the librarian and was stressed about talking to him. Emerson had two weeks before Thanksgiving, and he needed to complete his coursework, but the librarian was a distraction. He appreciated he could borrow the books and take them home, but the guy he roomed with was loud and obnoxious, and Emerson wouldn’t be able to study there with them playing video games online all day. He glanced into the library and saw the librarian at the counter, talking to the waitress from the café down the street.
Emerson sighed and stared at the ground, putting his hands in his pockets. Maybe Sister Mary Agnes was right.
“That’s my boy,” Sister Mary Agnes said with a smile. “Go get ‘em.” She patted him on the cheek, whirled around and strode off.
He snorted and shook his head. Gazing back into the library, he debated about what to do. All his life, he had struggled with approaching new people. He had been born in the U.K., and his mother had deserted him when he was a young boy, leaving him with his older father who didn’t give a damn about him. Emerson brought himself up, making his own meals, getting himself to school. His father only got involved when he needed something, such as to go to the doctors. The rest of the time, everything was on his own shoulders.
His father had decided to move them to the U.S. with his job. Emerson had been fourteen when they’d touched down in New York, and he’d been enrolled in the nearest school to their apartment. Spending less than two days at home adjusting to jet lag before he was sent for his first day, was more than he’d been expecting but less time than needed to prepare. By the end of the first day, he was tempted to leave school altogether and get a job. A different continent did not change the bullying he had received.
On his third day, when he was at his lowest, he’d entered his first English lesson.
Sitting at the back, he refused to open his book—he’d read it all anyway. He doodled in his writing book instead, at least until his name was called. His gaze shot to the teacher’s, and he heard sniggering all around him.
“Yes, S-Sir?” he answered.
“Can you please read page forty of your book out loud to the class?” Mr Jackson had asked, but Emerson realised it was an order. He closed his eyes briefly and paused, already realising what the result would be.
He opened his book to the relevant page and began. He managed to get to the second sentence before his stutter appeared, and everyone laughed at him. He felt himself growing hot but carried on, knowing it was only going to get worse. He’d read for about five minutes before the teacher asked him to finish there. Emerson sat back and closed the book, eyes on his hands, cheeks burning with the fact he’d only read a couple of paragraphs.
“Thank you, Emerson. Now, class, you’ve all read this chapter—or should have—what was George Orwell trying to say?”
Emerson’s gaze travelled to Mr Jackson again, realising no barbed comments had been thrown his way, and instead, Mr Jackson carried on as if nothing had been amiss. He frowned. Shortly after, the bell ended the class, and everyone filed out.
“Emerson?” Mr Jackson called to him before Emerson left. “A quick word, please.”
Emerson’s heart sank. It wasn’t the first time a teacher had reamed him out in private instead of public. He stood in front of his teacher’s desk, waiting for the inevitable.
“I think we need to sort out some vocal coaching for you. It will help with your oral exams,” Mr Jackson stated as he reached into his desk and pulled out a diary. “I’ll speak to a few people and see if we can get you some assistance. Alright?”
Emerson was gobsmacked. He stood there like an idiot, mouth flapping like a fish.
“Go on. We’ll talk more tomorrow.” Mr Jackson focused his attention on his paperwork.
Emerson departed in a daze.
That single moment in his past had changed his entire future. Mr Jackson had helped him find a speech-language tutor, and within months, he spoke more easily and with less stuttering. Mr Jackson assisted too; they spent one hour after school twice a week practising for his oral exams. To this day, Mr Jackson—Daniel, as Emerson now called him—helped Emerson when he could. They lived in different areas since Daniel had moved to Minnesota for a job opening, several years ago.
Because of Daniel, Emerson had decided to become an English teacher. He’d always loved grammar and books, and this way, he could give something back. After spending a few years teaching middle school, there was still something missing from his life. After having many conversations with Daniel about it, they’d decided Emerson needed to research a career in speech-language pathology. As soon as Daniel had vocalised it, Emerson’s brain fired up; it was the right route to go.
That night, Emerson signed up to complete his master’s degree online. The coursework would be the death of him, but only because he was damn distracted.
*****
Two hours later, he sat at the table in the library, staring at the book in front of him, but it still wasn’t sinking into his brain. Emerson leaned back, rubbing his face with both hands to wake himself up a bit.
He glanced towards the counter, seeing the guy checking books out for a couple of customers. Emerson was thirty-three for god’s sake, he should have the courage to speak to someone new. He had no issues doing it in his job as a teacher. Maybe the answer was right in front of his face: treat the man as if he was speaking to one of his colleagues. It was worth a try. But first, Emerson had to decide what he was going to say. He had to have a reason to go up to the counter.
He inspected his table, trying to get ideas as to what to talk about. Gaze landing on the psychology textbook, he had an idea. Blowing out a breath, he picked up the book and moved towards the counter, his heart racing. As he approached, he saw the librarian glance over at him with wide eyes.
“H-Hi.” Emerson cleared his throat and tried again, “I wondered whether you had any books on child development. It would be great if they mention speech, too.”
“Okay, hi. Um…let me have a quick look on the computer before I go searching the stacks.”
Emerson studied the librarian as he typed and clicked away at his computer. Shorter than Emerson with black hair, pale tone and a boyish appearance about him, the librarian’s smooth skin belied the age Emerson had believed he was from afar. Maybe he was too young for Emerson.
“Right, we have a couple showing as available.” The librarian wrote something on a notepad. “Let’s see if we can find what you’re looking for.”
Coming out from behind the counter, the librarian proceeded towards the stacks, so Emerson followed. He couldn’t help but check out the other man’s ass—those jeans were moulded to him. The guy stopped, and Emerson quickly raised his gaze, but too slow for the guy to miss where he’d been staring. Warmth invaded his cheeks as he studied the shelves.
The librarian mumbled as he dragged his fingertips along the spines of the books. “Ah! Here we go.” He plucked a book from its place, then a second book, before turning to Emerson fully. “These are the two I found. Is it only speech you want information about?”
“As much as possible about speech, yes, but any other information would be beneficial.” Emerson attempted to concentrate on what they were talking about rather than how gorgeous the guy was.
“Let’s have a look.” The other man read the index of the first book, flipped to a page before scanning the text shown. Emerson watched as he flicked through some pages. “Right, this has half a dozen pages about speech. What ages are you interested in?”
“Any to give me a basic idea, but eventually, I’ll need something a
round middle school age—eleven to thirteen,” Emerson answered.
“Ah, this might not be exactly what you need then. It’s more geared towards younger children, but it might give you some basic similarities.” He passed it over to Emerson. “Let me check at the other one.” He began the same process with the second book, and Emerson dropped his gaze to the book he’d been given.
The guy was right. It was more for elementary school children, but the foundation ideas were sound. It might help a little. He plucked a sticky note from his pocket and placed it at the start of the section he’d need to read in more detail and closed the book.
“You’re prepared.” The guy chuckled.
Emerson blushed again. “Curse of researching, I think. I hate the idea of bending corners down to bookmark pages, and normal bookmarks fall out too easily. This was the best solution I could come up with.”
“I agree. Nothing like a sticky note to help you in many situations.” They both snickered, gazes on each other. The guy cleared his throat. “This has a bit for older age groups but not as detailed. I will check our system again and see if there are any books we might be able to get in for you.” The guy passed the book to Emerson and strode back to the counter. Emerson followed.
As he waited, Emerson noticed a takeaway coffee cup on the top of the counter. “Coffee addict?” he asked, pointing.
The librarian glanced over and smiled. “’Fraid so. Give me a mocha latte any day of the week.” He laughed. “Or any time of the day, for that matter.”
Emerson chuckled. “Yeah. Me, too, although mine is a cappuccino.”
The silence lay heavy between them while the guy checked his computer, and Emerson wasn’t sure what to say. Before the silence became too long and uncomfortable, Emerson decided to ask for his name.
“I should introduce myself, I suppose. I’m Emerson.” He held out his hand.
The guy peered at him, flushed, and shook his hand. “Grant.”
“Nice to meet you. I’ve seen you here—obviously—when I’ve been studying but never had the chance to speak to you.”
“I did wonder—” Grant stopped. “Sorry, none of my business.”
“No, it’s fine. What did you wonder?” Emerson was happy to know Grant had been thinking about him.
“I wondered why you hadn’t borrowed any books to take home with you.” Grant reddened again.
“Ah. Well, it’s mainly to do with my noisy roommate. I never get any peace from him. Here, at least, there is the option for noise if I want to put my headphones in. I like the quiet. It’s peaceful.”
“I know what you mean. There’s nothing more satisfying for me than the quiet of a library.”
“Being a librarian is a good career choice then.”
“Oh, I’m not a librarian. Not yet anyway,” Grant remarked.
Emerson frowned. “What do you mean?” He indicated where Grant stood and the general area. “Are you doing librarian work?”
“Yes, but I’m a page. I’m still finishing my master’s degree. I can’t be called a librarian until I have.” Grant glanced back at the computer. “Not too long left, though.”
“Huh.” Another mutual interest.
“What?”
“Something we have in common. I’m studying for my master’s, too.”
Grant smiled. “What are you studying?”
“Speech-language pathology.”
“Why did you decide speech pathology?”
“I think I need more coffee for that explanation. What time do you finish here?”
Grant bit his lip; Emerson enjoyed those displays of timidity. “Um, one today.”
“Would you care to meet me for coffee at the café?” Emerson asked, indicating the coffee cup. He couldn’t believe he managed to get an invitation into their exchange. Once he’d initiated conversation with Grant, he’d lost his nervousness.
Grant hesitated but nodded.
“I’ll see you there about one, then?”
“Sure.”
Emerson pivoted back to his table when Grant’s voice called him back.
“Do you still want me to search for the books?”
“Yes, please, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“No trouble at all.”
“Thanks.” Emerson retraced his steps, a shit-eating grin on his face. He’d done it. Grant still seemed a little young for him, but he would see what happened when they had coffee.
After another hour of studying, he packed up and headed to the counter. “You still okay to meet up?”
“Yes. I will have to grab some lunch. If it’s a problem, we can cancel.” Grant worried his lip.
“It’s fine. I need to eat, too. I’ll go grab us a table, and you come over whenever you’re done.”
“Alright.”
Emerson smiled and nodded, walking out of the library and towards his destination with a spring in his step.
Chapter 3
Grant
“Holy crap,” he whispered as he watched Emerson leave the library. Grant wasn’t sure if this was a date, or if it was just getting coffee like Emerson had said. He wasn’t even sure if there was a difference, but he was shocked Emerson had asked him, regardless of what it ended up being.
Emerson appeared a little older than Grant initially thought, but he was still gorgeous. His eyes, he’d found out, were hazel. The whole package was to die for.
“Isn’t it time you were leaving, Grant?” Clarissa’s voice startled him. He checked his watch.
“Yes, sorry.” He gathered his things, explaining anything that Clarissa needed to know and went to his locker to grab the rest of his belongings. As he shrugged into his coat, he worried about the coffee date. Maybe this wasn’t a date, and Emerson wished to get more information out of him about the books. He rolled his eyes and shook his head. If Emerson had only wanted that, he would’ve stayed talking to Grant at the library instead of inviting him for coffee.
Grant sighed and exited the library. The temperature had stayed low, and he pulled his collar closer to his face as he sped up his pace. Pushing through the café door, he was enveloped in the warmth, and his muscles unclenched. Surveying the area, he couldn’t see Emerson, and he bit his lip in disappointment.
“Grant!” He heard Lola shout him and glanced up at her. She pointed to the table they’d had the other day, grinning, and there was Emerson. His heart rate increased as he wandered over to him.
“Hey. I wasn’t sure if you’d come,” Emerson stated as Grant sat.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d be here,” Grant countered, laughing.
“We surprised each other then.”
“Okay, boys, what’ll it be?” Lola asked, sidling up to their table with a smile.
“The usual for me, please, Lola,” Grant said.
“And my usual too. Thanks.” Emerson hadn’t looked at the menu either. Lola moved off back to the counter.
“You’re a regular here?” Grant asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Fairly regular, yes.” Emerson chuckled. “Been coming here since I moved to New York.”
“How long ago was that?” Grant struggled to act nonchalant about trying to figure out Emerson’s age as he removed his coat and hung it on the back of his chair, placing his bag in between his legs on the floor.
“When I was fourteen. If you couldn’t tell by my British accent, I lived in England for the first part of my life.”
“Definitely couldn’t tell,” Grant teased in mock shock. He tried to figure out another way to ask for his age without coming straight out with it.
“Smart-ass.” Emerson smiled. “Anyway, earlier you asked why I wanted to become a speech pathologist?” Grant nodded. “From as far back as I remember, I suffered from a stutter. I never received any help from anyone with it. Until I moved to New York. My English teacher requested I read out loud in class.” Emerson shook his head and snorted. “It didn’t go well. Afterwards, the teacher spoke to me and wanted to help. From then on, I saw
a speech tutor who helped ‘cure’,” he used finger quotes, “me. But in reality, they gave me tips and practise. My English teacher also helped me prepare for my oral exams. If it wasn’t for him, I have no idea where I’d be. I decided to become a teacher in the first place because of him.” Emerson stopped talking when Lola brought their drinks over.
“Food will be about ten minutes, guys.” She rushed off again.
Grant sipped his mocha latte, closing his eyes and humming with delight.
“You do like those.” Emerson’s voice was husky. Grant glanced at him and saw Emerson’s gaze on his lips.
Grant’s cheeks heated up. He’d done nothing except blush around Emerson since he’d approached him. He needed to grow some balls. Emerson’s hand covered his own.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to be uncomfortable. It’s the last thing I wanted to do.” Grant could tell Emerson was earnest by his voice and expression.
“Honestly, it’s fine.” Emerson’s hand left his, and Grant almost reached across to bring it back. Instead, he asked, “You’re a teacher?”
Emerson nodded as he swallowed some of his cappuccino. “Yes, I teach middle school. Although I’ve taken a few weeks off to get some of this coursework done. I don’t go back until after New Year.”
“Bet it’s nice to have some time off.”
“It would be if I didn’t have all this work to do.” Emerson snorted. “If I was on a beach somewhere warm, it would be nice. Maybe next time.” He wrapped his hands around his mug. “What is your master’s subject?”
“Library Science. Once it’s completed, I can be taken on properly. I may ask to be taken on here or head back home. I need to decide.”
“Where are you from?” Emerson’s eyebrows rose.
“Ohio. A town called Cambridge.”
“You’re kidding me.” Emerson appeared shocked.
“No. Why?” Grant was confused by the remark.
Emerson laughed heartily as Lola placed their food on the table. She looked at Grant in question, and he shrugged. He had no idea what Emerson found so funny. Lola left again, seeming as lost as Grant.