Mended (Connections, #3)(95)

The night air is cool, and with my brown bag in hand, I take a small detour down La Cienega Boulevard. In the middle of all the high-end establishments sits a bookstore. I pop into it, in search of something to read. I decide on one of my favorite classics—Huckleberry Finn. As I pick up the spine of the dark blue cover embossed with silver letters, a stray memory surfaces. Another one I’ve tried hard to push away, but once it presents itself I can’t stop it. I fight the small smile that crosses my face as S’belle Wilde’s red hair and emerald green eyes pop into my mind.

? ? ?

Books surrounded me. The library was large and filled with people, along with hushed whispers. I was a senior in college and I was hiding out in the USC library reading Huckleberry Finn, laughing to myself as I reread my favorite part when I felt someone’s stare. Leaning against the bookshelf, I tapped my heel against the mass of books and watched a curious girl set her sunglasses on top of her head and approach me. She thought she was invisible as she snuck my way. But I noticed her. . . . I noticed her right away. In fact, I stole glances she didn’t catch as she shuffled books around. First at her heeled, pointy-toed green shoes that no girl wears to the library. Then at the scarf with quotes on it she had wrapped around her neck. She was slightly overdressed for the library, but she looked f*cking amazing.

I fought laughter as she pushed each book back without even bothering to look at them. I ran my fingers through my hair. My pulse sped up when she swung a glance my way but I quickly averted my gaze. However, the first time my eyes caught on her otherworldly green cat eyes, I couldn’t help but stare. When I saw her wild, long, curly red hair bounce with her movement, I became the pretender. I made like I was still reading my book. The cute girl had dropped a book out of her hands and it tumbled to the ground. My eyes stayed glued to her as I bent to retrieve it. My hands grasped it from the floor, and as my eyes swept the title, I couldn’t help but smirk. But when she got close enough, my smirk turned into a snort, almost a snicker.

“You’re reading about the Kama Sutra?” I raised a brow and tried to feign utter seriousness.

She answered, but her voice sounded distant. “What?”

I pointed to the book with a photo of a woman’s body and her panties pulled partially down. “Your book. A Lover’s Guide to Kama Sutra?” This time I had to laugh.

“No, no. I wasn’t reading that.” Her eyes widened like saucers and a look of horror crossed her face. She immediately grabbed the book from me and pushed it into an empty space in the shelf. Then she laughed too.

After a few moments she pointed to my book. “Homework?” she mimicked me, and raised a brow.

I raised my hands surrender style. “No. You caught me. Just hiding out reading one of the classics. Fucking Huck Finn. Something he said turned my mind in a way it shouldn’t have.”

“What?” she asked, her curiosity piqued.

“Have you ever read it?”

She shook her head no.

“Don’t judge me then,” I said as I opened the book to any page and recited the line I knew so well. “‘That is just the way with some people. They get down on a thing when they don’t know nothing about it.’”

She stifled a giggle as she covered her mouth. And when our eyes locked again, I felt something strange—I felt like she got me. I also knew I should leave. I had a girlfriend that I loved. I blinked, remembering that thought, and handed her the book. “You should read this if you have time. It really is one of the best books ever written.”

She snickered at that. “Right. It’s up there next to Tom Sawyer.”

“How’d you know?” I winked.

I walked backward and kept my eyes on her. I stopped at the end of the aisle, put both my feet together and leaned forward slightly. I pretended I was tipping an imaginary hat. “It was nice talking to you. . . .” I paused, waiting for her to fill in the blank.

“S’belle,” she finished for me.

“S’belle.” I grinned. I stood straight again and quickly disappeared around the corner, knowing I had to leave.

She yelled, “Wait, I didn’t catch your name.”

I called back, “Ben. My name is Ben Covington,” and left the library as fast as I could.

? ? ?

I clutch the book tightly and push the memory away. I’m getting good at that. The word ghost catches my eye, and when I glance at the shelf, I find a book about haunted locations around Los Angeles. I grab it as well. I may despise LA, but certain stories and historical events that occurred in this city fascinate me. As I’m checking out, I see a rack of journals right next to the cash register and pick one up. It’s black with gold gilded pages, similar to my old ones. The ones I no longer have. I haven’t allowed myself to put my feelings on paper since after my mother’s death, since the day I gave Dahl the journal I kept for her, but I think it’s time now.

Turning the corner back toward my hotel, I spot a small coffee shop like the one in Laguna. The sign on the window reads FOUR & TWENTY BLACKBIRDS and the name catches my eye—pie. I peer in the window. Pressed-tin walls and communal tables with a few booths create a sense of small-town charm. I know I’ll be coming back here. The night’s young but I’m feeling wrecked. I still have one more thing to accomplish today before it’s over. I pull out my phone and search for her number. Making this call might be risky, but since she hasn’t phoned me back, I can only assume she isn’t checking her messages until Monday. So calling my former editor at home is my only option.