Total pages in book: 21
Estimated words: 19879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 99(@200wpm)___ 80(@250wpm)___ 66(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 19879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 99(@200wpm)___ 80(@250wpm)___ 66(@300wpm)
For example, most families—wealthy or not—kept some kind of record of their business dealings, and you can find all sorts of clues in those ledgers. A bundle of garden plants sold here, a silver spoon sold there. A deal made between two families, one supplying glass and one supplying silver to make a perfectly circular mirror. Sometimes, if you’re very lucky, someone will have made a note about a deal being made at a weekly meeting and listed the names of the women in attendance.
I open my notebook again. I have a rough sketch of the town as it used to be in the seventeen and eighteen hundreds —scans of the real documents are on my computer—and a list of names I want to research on the opposite page. I read them over one more time, then get to work.
The laughter in the rest of the library fades away. I barely notice Finley’s voice as he speaks to someone at the circulation desk. Although, I do notice. I take down one old volume after another, bring them to the table, and go through them page by page.
At some point, the front door of the library closes with a loud bang, and a new silence settles over the stacks. A whisper of cold air brushes the back of my neck, but I don’t pay attention. It must be a draft from the front door.
I’m almost finished with another volume when I inhale more cologne.
Finley is on the other side of the narrow aisle, reshelving some books. He scans each shelf slowly, carefully, his eyes landing on every spine as he goes past.
He’s still there when I get to the last page in the volume and close it as quietly as I can.
And then…
I have to go over there.
Because he’s standing at the shelf where this book goes.
Finley glances at me as I approach, his dark eyes flickering up and down my body. Heat floods my body and there’s a little flip in the pit of my stomach. He gives me a terse, professional nod.
I nod back at him, ignoring the blush rising in my cheeks.
The gap where my book belongs is right in front of him.
I swallow thickly, suddenly unable to function normally. “Excuse me,” I murmur, and step closer. It’s a thick book, so it’s heavy, and I need both hands to lift it back to its place.
He’s so close.
There are only inches between the books in his hands and my back. Only inches between the heat of his body and mine. He’s holding his breath.
I lift the book, and then his hand is over mine, helping me push it onto the shelf.
“Thank you,” I say, and take a quick step to the side. We’re still so close in the aisle. “I was also looking for…”
My face is so hot that it’s hard to see the call numbers on the spines of the books. I have to pull out my notebook to double-check it, and—
It’s on the shelf right in front of Finley. A little farther down than the book I just put back.
“I was looking for—” I point. “It’s that red one, if you could—”
He grabs the book off the shelf and passes it to me. Our fingers brush together on the old leather, and I feel the heat of that touch all up my arm. A quiet gasp comes from somewhere nearby, like an echo. Did I do that? Or was it someone else?
Thump, thump, thump, my heart pounds.
Finley hasn’t broken contact. I don’t pull my hand away. He just stops and waits, and I stop, too, finally managing to look up into his dark eyes.
They’re very dark. The red in his cheeks is pretty dark, too. I’m almost transfixed by it. Like he’s the one who’s been calling to me. He’s the one I should’ve been researching. He’s the one I should be studying.
I am studying him. I can’t tear my eyes away. I start to go up on tiptoe, drawn in by the electric tension between us, and he takes a short breath, tipping his head down—
The front door of the library opens, letting in another gust of wind. “Finley?” a voice calls. “Oh, I’m freezing to death. Finley, where are you? I’m here about that hold I placed. It’s here, isn’t it?”
Clearing his throat and straightening his shoulders, Finley pulls away, turning toward the footsteps coming toward the back of the library.
But before he goes, “There are other volumes in the back,” he says quickly and quietly. “They’re only available by appointment.”
“Oh?” I say breathlessly. “When could—”
“Tomorrow night, once the library’s closed.”
“Yes,” I agree without taking a breath. Thump, thump, thump, my heart races.
He gives me one more nod, and then he’s gone. Leaving me in more suspense than I’ve been in since I first came back home to that shop.