Bookish and the Beast (Once Upon a Con #3)(47)

Just…sort of there.

It surprises me that I find it endearing.

He looks over at where I came to a full stop in the doorway. “I know you’re there.”

I open my mouth, close it, open it again. Think of something clever! “Yeah, I’m here.”

Noice.

Giving up trying to look cool or composed or the least bit non-awkward, I pull my bookbag higher on my shoulder and quickly make for my desk, where I boot up the iPad and click into the Excel sheet. There is a counter on the bottom, telling me how far I’ve come and how many I have to go. Yesterday I just reached the halfway point—half of the shelves are full and orderly—and I thought that if I could survive another few weeks, then I would be done.

Just a few more.

“So, um, what are you doing here?” I ask. I don’t see a book anywhere near him.

He slides his long legs off the armchair and sits properly. “I figure I should help you, since that was the deal in the first place.”

“I’ve been doing fine alone, thanks.”

“I know, but I got some more books off the top shelf for you,” he adds—proudly, I might add—and waves over to the stack of books in the other wingback chair. They are books that I couldn’t reach alone, but also…

“I don’t need those for a while.”

He seems to wilt a little. “Oh.”

I give him a curious look. “Why are you helping me all of a sudden?”

He gives a one-shouldered shrug. “I guess I got tired of acting petulant.”

“Mm-hmm…you know this isn’t going to make me say yes to dating you, right?” I venture, and he gives me a surprised look.

“Of course not. That’s not why I’m here. I mean, I don’t make it a habit of wasting my time—not that you’d ever be a waste of time,” he quickly corrects, and rubs the back of his neck, because yeah buddy, you are digging that hole real deep right now. “I just mean that’s not the reason I’m here. I don’t expect you to change your mind.”

As much as I hate to admit it, I believe him.

“Well,” I say, “at least I’ve found one guy who takes no for an answer.”

“Hmm?”

“Oh, nothing. Just some school drama.”

He tilts his head, and the hair tucked behind his ears comes undone and falls into his face. It’s back to its normal color now, a washy white-blond, but I sort of miss the orange-ish that it was. “You know, I’ve never been to school.”

I look up from the iPad, surprised. “What, seriously?”

“Seriously. I was homeschooled. Did most of my studying on film sets between takes. I think the only time I’ve actually set foot in a school was for that indie film I did a few years ago—An Inevitable Thing?”

“Do you think you missed out?”

He gives a one-shouldered shrug. “I can’t say. I mean, I got to spend ‘spring break’ in Bali so I don’t think I can complain too much.”

I let out a low whistle. “The farthest I’ve been from home is the Harry Potter part of Universal Studios.”

“I bet that was a magical time.”

“It was for a spell.”

He laughs, and I find myself smiling more than I really should. I like the way he laughs, sort of soft and to himself, like it’s a secret that he laughs at all.

I suppose it wouldn’t be too terrible if I had help for the day. The library does get a little lonely sometimes. But I can pretend like I don’t like it. “Well,” I say, “I guess if you’re here and you actually want to help me, get me that box over there.”

We work together for the next two hours. I show him what we’re supposed to be doing—cataloging the books, and then putting them in order on the shelves—and he helps me by making sure I don’t miss one, and reaching the books I usually use a chair to get to. It’s a lot quicker work with another person. If he had helped from the beginning, we would’ve been done by now.

As I’m about ready to wrap up for the day, Mr. Rodriguez calls my name from the kitchen. I exchange a look with Vance, but he just shrugs again—he doesn’t know what Mr. Rodriguez wants, either. “Yes?” I reply as I leave the library and enter the kitchen.

Mr. Rodriguez has his cell phone pressed to his shoulder in the way you do when you don’t want someone to listen into a conversation. “It’s your dad,” he says quietly. “He’s been trying to reach you for a while.”

I tense. My cell phone! It’s in my bag. I didn’t even hear it. “Is something wrong? Is he okay?”

“Yes, he’s fine, but, well…”

He offers me the phone, and I hesitantly take it.

On the other end, Dad—sounding frazzled, though trying not to alarm me—tells me, “Thank God I finally got to you! Okay, so, don’t panic but—remember the older woman from the circulation desk? Pam?”

I don’t understand. “Yeah, isn’t it her birthday?”

“Right. I was wanting to make something nice for her, so I decided to try to bake her a red velvet cake, you know? She loves red velvet and I was going to put a cute little bookish design on the top and—”

My stomach begins to sink. “Oh, you didn’t.”