I waved at the box, encouraging Mr. Judgmental to open it and see for himself. He looked from me to the box, then gracefully stood up from his chair to open it. He was rather tall. While I wasn’t a skyscraper at my five foot nothing he definitely had a good foot on me. I also noticed he was far too nicely dressed for a desk job at a small town library: black slacks with a crisp navy button-down with a perfectly tied black tie behind a form fitting vest. I also spied a jacket draped across the back of his chair that probably completed his suit.
He gingerly opened the box to reveal what I knew, without even looking, was a text book of World Mythology, A Collection of Sherlock Holmes, and an Anthology of American Literature before and after 1865. And that was only what was stacked on the top.
Mr. Judgmental picked up one of the books and studied it. “I stand corrected.”
I couldn’t help the triumphant smile that pushed to the surface. Of course, he had no idea that it just so happened that the box in front of him contained all the fancy literature and textbooks. The other two boxes we had brought with us contained plenty of the Young Adult books he had so readily turned his nose up towards. I enjoyed myself some good literature, but nothing beat curling up with a good fantasy, or trashy romance.
“I’m Cal, this is Atalanta.” Cal finally piped up, placing down her box next to me and holding out her hand for him to shake.
He took her hand. “Percy. I’m the librarian.”
My eyebrows raised. He didn’t look much older than me, perhaps in his early to mid twenties at most. Yet he was claiming he actually ran this library?
“Hey, Atty, I’m gonna go get the other box, okay?” Cal said, mischief twinkling in her eyes.
I nodded, continuing to observe the stranger before me as he rifled through the box of books.
“So are you The Librarian? Like Flynn Carson?” I asked, curious to see if he would get my reference.
“If you are asking if I am the person who runs around the world collecting magical artifacts for the library, then no. But I do in fact run this library.”
I smiled, glad that he got the reference.
“But you look so young. Aren’t librarians supposed to be old women?”
“Aren’t teenage girls supposed to read trashy romance novels?” He asked, holding up my copy of Bram Stoker’s Dracula.
“Touché.”
We were silent for a couple of minutes. I stood there awkwardly, fiddling with the sleeves of my jacket while he pulled the books out of the box one by one and inspected them. Where was Cal?
“What’s your problem with Young Adult romance anyway? They aren’t all bad, you know,” I blurted when the silence became too uncomfortable for me to bear.
He glanced at me before going back to sorting through the books.
“They aren’t realistic.” He responded, clipped.
“Well,” I said, putting my finger to my lip in thought. “Most fiction novels are fantasy or Sci-Fi, so that’s not a very good argument.”
“Then,” he paused in his rummaging of books. “The guys are often too perfect, the girls are always whiny Mary Sues, and more often than not, the girl breaks it off with the guy about three quarters through because of some stupid misunderstanding only to fix it by the end.”
I pursed my lips and tilted my head, thinking about his reasoning, only to sigh and nod when I realized they were pretty well-founded.
“You’re right, a lot of them are like that, but not all. You just gotta find the good ones.”
At his skeptic look, I blew a raspberry and bent down to open the box that was at my feet. Rummaging through its contents I asked, “Are you a fantasy type or can you read contemporaries and not be bored to death?”
“What do you think?” It may have been my imagination but I could have sworn I heard him chuckle when he said that.
It made me want to hear him laugh for real.
“I think you could go either way, but contemporary is your go-to because you like the human experience more than the world building of fantasy.”
Finding the book I was looking for, I stood up straight to see him staring at me, his eyes wide.
“What?” I giggled nervously. “Was I right?”
He narrowed his eyes at me and I realized that I did indeed guess what his preferred type would be. But I had seen the way he looked at the literature books so it was an educated guess.
Seeing as how I wasn’t going to be rewarded with a response, I moved on.
Hugging the book in my hands closer to my chest, I said, “Now this is one of my all-time favorite young adult romances. And before you say it, yes, you caught me. I am actually a teenage girl who reads books that are targeted to teenaged girls. But as you saw, I read other things too so cool down that judgmental look I’m already seeing forming on your face.”
He at least had the decency to attempt to look bashful when he broke eye contact and scratched the back of his head. The move pulled his shirt taut against his stomach and I could see the outline of a very well toned, very drool-worthy body. Making sure my jaw wasn’t hanging open, I continued.
I held out the book for him. “It’s a humble romance. The girl, while adorable, isn’t perfect and neither is the guy…well, maybe a little, but you got to give it somewhere. The most important part is that it doesn’t have any of that annoying drama that a lot of other books like it do. And it isn’t like this huge lust at first sight thing either, they start out as friends.”
Taking the book gingerly from my outstretched hands, he examined the front cover. “A western?”
I shook my head. “No, not really. Just read it and tell me what you think.”
He looked back up at me. "Isn’t telling a stranger what to read a little presumptuous?”
“Perhaps. However, as the town’s only librarian, I would think it might be your job to help the girls in this town when they are asking for book recommendations. If you don’t know anything about the books in your YA romance section, how will you be able to help them? Look at this as expanding your horizons. Helping the good people of Argos,” I said with a wide smile, confident in my selling tactic.
The scrutiny of his gaze should have made me run for the hills. Hell, I almost did, but I had come too far to stop now. Besides, Cal had still not returned with that other damn box of books and it had to be at least a six mile walk back to the house through woods.
Finally, he sighed and carefully placed the book down next to his computer, separate from the others.
I beamed, taking that as confirmation that he would read the book.
“You’re an interesting young woman.”
I stiffened, realizing my mistake. Rule number one, don’t draw too much attention to yourself. You are a simple girl. Nothing more, nothing less.
I broke eye contact with him and began to fiddle with the zipper on my jacket. I had never noticed before how worn my clothes had become. Only a year or two old, the Walmart clearance rack muddy-brown jacket was missing a button on the right cuff and the stitching was coming undone at the sleeves from my constant fidgeting with them. I knew there were several holes in different parts of the jacket as well.
In that moment, I wondered what I probably looked like to this man. With his fancy suit and neatly combed, long flowing hair, next to me with my rat's nest of a head, bargain bin jacket, dirty jeans and boots. I mean, I knew I wasn’t bad looking. I could be downright attractive if I put my mind to it, but I doubted raggedy clothes helped.
Thats when it popped into my head. Rule number five, get a job to help you assimilate and blend in. The extra money didn’t hurt either. I could use that to get some new clothes.