Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
My heart races, and worries attempt to slip into my mind, but I shut them down. Tonight is going to go exactly as it should. I just know it. And perhaps I’m meant to come in a bit cold and a bit wet and in need of comfort.
I arrive at the library parking lot twenty minutes late. My heart skips a beat at how dark it is with the power out. The lights by the door aren’t on, and it appears pitch black inside.
Is he still there? I wonder as the windshield wipers swipe one last time. I turn off the ignition and swallow down my nerves.
Did Finley give up on me? My heart flickers before I catch sight of a car in the parking lot. It must be his.
Shaking my head, I can’t believe I even thought that. I cast the spell. I know tonight is going to show me how he feels and I know deep down there’s something there. The car door shuts with a thud as I hurry across the lot and almost slip in a patch of rainwater on the sidewalk. I barely stop myself from falling so I slow way down even though the rain’s wetting my hair and on the back of my neck. God, it’s cold. I should have brought an umbrella, but I didn’t think of it.
Grimacing, I make my way as quickly as I can. I climb the steps to the library doors breathing a little harder than I’d like. As if I’ve been holding my breath and now my lungs are struggling to catch up.
The building is old, and with the power out, it’s as if I’ve stepped back in time before the invention of electric lights. The thought pushes a huff of a laugh from my chest.
I can’t see my reflection in the windows set into the front doors at all. It’s too dark. But I pat my hair anyway, attempting to smooth down any strays, stand up tall, and pull on the door handle. I most certainly look as though I’ve been caught in the rain for a minute, but it’ll be alright. It’s the fact that I’m late that concerns me most.
The door seems heavier tonight. It opens with a loud creak, and part of me wants to run back to the warmth of my car and hide there for a few minutes first. Part of me is that nervous. Part of me is that excited.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” I call and step inside. My voice nearly echoes. “I was just—oh, wow.” My entire body freezes.
There are a dozen candles lit on the circulation desk. Different sizes and heights. From a small jar, to a tea light, to an elegant two-prong candelabra. So many candles that it makes a ring of light. Finley stands behind the desk, lit with a warm glow.
My heart seems to flicker, to trip like I nearly did a moment ago. In black suit pants with a simple button-up cotton dress shirt, you’d think Finley would come off a bit nerdy or professional. But his sleeves are rolled up revealing the corded muscle in his forearms. The air around him is powerful and undeniably so. Again my heart stutters. Forgetting it’s purpose of keeping me alive in favor of something else.…in favor of lust, perhaps.
The next time my heart beats, I swear the heat and blood flow travel lower.
His dark eyes meet mine this time and he offers me a charming yet relaxed smile. “You came.”
His voice. Good God what has overcome me? The spell was for him, but it must’ve affected me too. Slowly I slip my purse off my shoulder and make my way toward him, toward the glowing light, my heels clicking on the marble floors.
“I should’ve called, but I… There were people at the shop.” My voice seems too loud at first, so I lower it and then clear my throat. A blush rises to my cheeks and I wish it didn’t. The heat throws me off. I continue, “And I didn’t want to kick them out, and everybody has somewhere to be tonight. Then this”—I gesture to the power going out—“I’m so sorry I’m late.”
With the lights out, the bookshelves are only slightly darker shadows. It’s romantic somehow but eerie all the same. Lightning flashes against the large floor-to-ceiling windows at the far back of the room and for a moment there’s light and then it’s gone.
“I’m glad you made it,” Finley says softly, and then he steps out from behind the desk to meet me. His gait is just as powerful as his broad shoulders. It’s a quiet authority and simultaneously charming. He picks up one of the candles, a tall pillar candle that could burn for hours on a handled drip pan, and escorts me past the desk. “This way. I set up a little something.”