The Librarians Apprentice

I stared at the tall lengthy man for far too long. He looked up from his book and at me. My eyes widen and I look down.

He saw me staring.

I restrain myself from looking at the brown haired special agent again. It didn’t matter, he was already in front of me.

“Excuse me,” he coughs as if to deepen his voice. He’s nervous? Social anxiety. I get it. I look up, now definitely a smiling mess. He asks, “do you—um—do you know if you have a copy of—Edgar Allan Poe’s works?” I nearly melt when he asks. I nod excitedly.

“It’s just down that row…right there,” I point.

He thanks me and strolls down that isle. He returns shortly with a book in his hands, it’s not Edgar Allan Poe.

“Joyce Carol Oats? That’s quite a different poet,” I chuckle.

He almost looks worried, “you don’t like her?”

I wave my hands and assure him, “oh, no, no. She was my favorite in high school.”

“She’s not your favorite now?” He wonders.

I shrug.

He smirks and says, “want to find out?”

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