Checking Out Love (2 page)

“Keep your voice down,” the guy in the lavender sweater ordered, but in a whisper.

Jeremy froze again, then felt his mouth turn up the way it had when he read the plaque outside. He’d never been on the receiving end of such a stern—but soft—tone before.

“Right, sorry!” Jeremy took it as a challenge to be as bright as he could possibly be while also whispering. “We are in a library after all. I didn’t mean to be loud, but you startled me. Don’t tell on me. I’ll be good. No need to call the Minotaur.”

The man in lavender stared at Jeremy for another moment, this time studying him from ratty sneakers to quality bag, pausing at his black leather jacket and then his beanie. “Minotaur?”

“You know, the guardian of this place? Like the Greek monster inside the labyrinth,” Jeremy explained. The lavender cardigan had one sleeve that was longer than the other. Jeremy wanted to tug the shorter sleeve until it made sense. He focused on the titles of the books in the man’s large, capable hands. The selection was pretty random for one person’s reading material. The man must have been shelving books. “Oh, you work here. You must know him. Maybe he’s not a monster. It isn’t like the Minotaur got a choice. They locked him in the labyrinth too. Did you know that a maze and a labyrinth are different things, although today people use the terms interchangeably? You can get lost in a maze, but you can’t get lost in a labyrinth. Disoriented, maybe, but not lost.”

Jeremy took a breath and peered around the man’s impressive shoulders. The other patrons were either ignoring them now, couldn’t hear, or didn’t care. Jeremy returned to the conversation, admittedly one-sided, and tilted his head to make up for the difference in height. “This library has a librarian that has everyone trembling. Was the mythology reference too much? People usually get the Greek and Roman references. Even now, with everyone insisting Americans don’t read, they still know a few. Maybe from video games. You wouldn’t believe the level of writing in some of the newer games. Or maybe people don’t get the references consciously but the old myths are imprinted in their unconscious mind. Fear of dark places, and monsters around corners. Being devoured. Naturally, with all that cultural memory, conscious or unconscious, the game designers can build some incredible worlds. That shit is amazing.” Jeremy briefly put a hand over his mouth in dismay. “Library. I’ll watch my language. Sorry, again. I get excited sometimes. And when I get excited, I get enthusiastic, and then I cannot stop talking. It’s left me alone and dateless on Valentine’s Day since… pretty much puberty. I will shut up now.”

“I….” The soft librarian stared at him for another moment after trailing off into silence, then shook his head. “Are you….” Once again he didn’t finished whatever he’d been about to say. He coughed and a determined look flickered across his face. “Do you need help with something?”

Did he ever. Jeremy sighed again. Softy librarian wasn’t his type. The shoulders and this library were affecting him, that was all. “Actually, I’m looking for the special collections.”

Both intense eyebrows went up, then down. Then the man blinked and looked Jeremy over one more time. Jeremy regretted the beanie. He probably looked eighteen with it on, instead of a cool yet responsible twenty-three. His short black hair wasn’t his greatest feature, but he did put some effort into it on the rare occasion he went to a club. He supposed he could have dressed like an adult today, worn nicer shoes, or a shirt with buttons instead of a t-shirt molded to his chest. Not that it mattered; he wasn’t trying to impress a guy with a knitted sweater that was probably more cat hair than wool.

Fusty cardigan man was the least terrifying man in existence, even with his handsome, bearded face. Jeremy looked up, then realized he was staring into green eyes and not blinking. “What’s your cat’s name?”

After he’d asked it, he realized how disconnected that would sound. “I’m skipping things. It’s this place. Man, you are lucky to work here. It’s perfect. Families downstairs. Study time upstairs. Serious red brick and black tables, but then all that white and green. The pencils! What a perfect detail to think of. No leaky ink marks in your books to worry about if pencil usage is politely encouraged. It’s no wonder the troll is so protective of this place. I can’t wait to meet him. But first, special collections. Know where it is?”

“Persephone.” The librarian stuttered the name, then widened his eyes. “Wait. I mean--”

“Persephone?” Jeremy repeated, then understood. “Your cat? So you did get the reference.” His small smile was becoming a big one. Jeremy probably sounded like a kid during finals operating on caffeine and no sleep. Sadly, he was like this all the time, although he usually tried to control it around it people who didn’t know him. “I’ll stop calling your boss a minotaur then, and it will be our secret.” He winked, then instantly wished he hadn’t. One, because Jeremy was cute, but not cute enough to pull off a sexy wink, and two, because flirting with random guys in the suburbs wasn’t always wise.

Then again—lavender sweater. He might be safe on that score. And it wasn’t like he was interested, so it wouldn’t matter if this guy told him he didn’t like Asian guys, or nerds who couldn’t shut up, or slightly femme guys, or guys that were too skinny. Whatever. He’d be fine.

At the man’s presumably stunned silence, Jeremy tried to seem nonchalant. “Don’t worry, Persephone. I’ll ask downstairs.”

“No. no. I know where it is.” The expression on the man’s face, more than his quiet statement, stopped Jeremy. Once again the guy didn’t seem sure if he should frown or not. “Do you have an appointment?” The hush of the library must be in the guy’s blood. He spoke clearly but never once raised his voice.

Jeremy stared at the curve of his lips, thought about learning lip reading, then looked up. “Do I need an appointment?” The librarian had a nice mouth. Jeremy’s mouth was his best feature, or so he’d been told, pillowy and plush, soft and welcoming—when he wasn’t talking, anyway. Jeremy licked his bottom lip at the thought.

The librarian stared at him without blinking, then coughed and tightened his hold on his books. “Not necessarily.”

Of course, some items in the collection might take longer to access than others. Or this librarian might not have the ability to get to them. The Beast was probably protective. Jeremy nodded and grabbed his bag to indicate he was willing to be led.

With a start, the librarian turned as well. He didn’t speak and stopped only to put the stack of books down on a desk against the wall. Then he crossed the center area with the tables and passed a series of tall shelves. Jeremy noted more plants, more immaculate shelves, and then they were there. Double doors of frosted glass that must have cost a small fortune to install in an old building, and a discreet sign on the right naming it the Madeline Canales-Barrett Special Collections Library. Jeremy almost walked into one of the doors when the librarian unexpectedly opened it for him. He slid out of the way just in time, and then the two of them had an awkward silent moment of mutual apology that ended when Jeremy felt his neck get hot and quickly moved on.

“It’s this building. I wasn’t expecting it. It threw me,” Jeremy confessed once they were both inside, and the doors closed behind them and left them in an even deeper quiet. The man raised one fuzzy eyebrow at that, which really wasn’t fuzzy as much as it was thick and dark and sort of intense. Jeremy lifted one slender and slightly arched eyebrow in reply. “The building. It’s beautiful. Maybe I should have studied architecture. That’s art
and
math. But then, literature and linguistics are sort of the same idea.”

If the librarian had a reaction to that, Jeremy didn’t see it. The librarian glanced around as if searching for someone, probably the Beast, so Jeremy looked around the room too. The reading room was small, and the whirr of the circulating air was noticeable once he stopped speaking. The room had several tables, and no plants to need watering to add to the humidity. But most importantly, the walls were lined with cabinets and glass cases filled with all kinds of historical pieces of interest.

Jeremy made a noise not unlike how a pterodactyl might sound and made a beeline for the nearest cabinet. He was vaguely aware of the librarian staring at him in either astonishment or confusion while he studied a fireman’s helmet from around the turn of the last century and read the brief note about the fireman who’d worn it to fight the fires in San Francisco after the earthquake. The fireman had come out here after, and wound up marrying a Barrett daughter. That family got around. If Jeremy had chosen history as a major, and then gone with local history, he might know more about them.

“There’s just so much I don’t
know
,” he confessed in quiet frustration, then turned around. The librarian was bent over a neat desk with a computer. When Jeremy came closer, he noted the nameplate in front of the computer monitor read
Leland Barrett, IV
.

Naturally.

“Nice of them to let their daughter marry beneath her station,” Jeremy observed. Firemen were heroes now, but back in the day they’d been viewed as common and working class. Not to mention the fireman had an Irish name.

“The story is, he saved her grandfather that day and became a family friend,” the librarian remarked, almost absently, but then lifted his head to focus curiously on Jeremy. “Part of the family still lives in the city,” he added. He was almost questioning. “If you’re interested in the family.”

“Maybe I
should
study local history. Maybe when my thesis is done.” Jeremy sucked in a long, deep breath. “No. Down, boy. One thing at a time. I can learn all this later.”

“You can’t know everything,” the librarian pointed out, in that way people said things when they thought Jeremy was being “unrealistic” and “obsessive.” Then he tugged on the sleeve of his sweater as though he was aware it was shorter than the other one. “Although, if you were going to try, a library would be a good place to start.”

He flashed a smile, a mere glimpse of pleasure, then immediately ducked his head when Jeremy didn’t answer. Jeremy was too stunned to try. The librarian didn’t offer any more jokes.

He also didn’t use the chair in front of Leland Barrett, IV’s desk, but continued to stand as he flipped through a log book and wiggled the mouse to wake up the computer. Jeremy watched him, amused at how the guy was visibly flushed, how he started to tuck a pencil behind his ear then changed his mind after a glance at Jeremy.

Jeremy grinned winningly at him. The librarian missed the cup of pencils and stabbed the desk. He peered at the desk blotter for a moment, then cleared his throat and carried on. His skin flushed even darker.

“What did you need?” He was very professional.

“The diary of Rosa Canales.” Jeremy wondered how angry Leland was going to be about the pencil mark.

The librarian stopped again for the smallest moment, then frowned and took his pencil back to scribble in the log book. “It’s diaries, actually. They—” He looked up again. “Why do you want to see them?”

“Because they sound amazing.” Jeremy tugged off his beanie to scratch his hands through his hair in excitement. The leather of his jacket creaked loudly in the expectant silence. “My friend read about them and I looked it up and it—they—are here. I love language, and stories. And history, and people, and kind of everything. And this diary—diaries—allegedly have a teenager writing down the dialects and words around her. She studied the rules of each language she encountered and not only found those interesting, but then used them to create her own. That is monumental as heck, and most historians play it off as a young girl’s daydreams, because we know how society treats women, and teen girls, and women of color.” He realized his volume was going up and leaned in to whisper the rest while staring into wide eyes of misty green. “I’m really excited. More so because you haven’t told me to shut up and usually someone has by now—and that’s even when I’m not in a library. Do I have to get special authorization to look at the diaries?”

“I…” The librarian drew in a long breath then frowned determinedly at the computer, as if technology confused him even though he hadn’t typed anything yet. “You’re in luck,” he announced softly. “You don’t need special permission to access those.” He took another breath, his frown firmly in place, and glanced up. “I’ll need to see your ID.”

That was in Jeremy’s wallet. Which was in his bag. Possibly under his helmet somewhere. Jeremy dug around for it with a fading smile and got the impression that whatever goodwill he’d earned with his nerdy ramblings had been lost when he revealed the less-than-neat state of his bag. But he finally handed over his school ID, and then his driver’s license as well, just to be a smartass.

“Jeremy Song,” the librarian read aloud, in his husky, whispery, library hush. Jeremy unexpectedly shivered from his shoulders to his toes. The librarian wrote his name in the book, his head down, his gaze possibly intent on Jeremy’s picture.

Or possibly not. The school ID photo wasn’t his best, although Jeremy had swooped his hair down over his forehead that day, and the lights had made his brown eyes seem especially dark and intriguing. His eyebrows, he could admit, could be just as intense as the librarian’s, but in a thoughtful, reactive way. Like a puppy’s tail. He was also wearing yellow in the picture, which he thought made his skin look golden buttery delicious, though of course some others did not agree.

He should not have worn black today. He thought black made him look too serious and bland.