Gotta Get Away

Dina

A week after my miserable encounter with Dickens, I’m still irritated. Every time I think of his obnoxious ocean blue eyes, I want to simultaneously dive in and punch him in the throat. No one has ever left me with such polarizing feelings, and to be honest, it’s exhausting.

After all the hassle, I finished The Cracked Curtain, and it was underwhelming. Disappointing, really. At least Catalyst was phenomenal. Now, I have six more books on my reading list I need to read by the end of next week to keep my ambitious thesis-writing schedule on track. Nacho and I are headed to the library in hopes we can pick up most of them.

Working toward my future should be the main reason for my rapid steps, but it’s not.

When I enter the glorious climate-controlled building, I drop my borrowed books into the return slot and head to the second floor. Even as I ascend the stairs, my breathing accelerates, and it’s not from the minimal exercise. At the top of the stairs is the reading terrace where I last left Holden. I’m not ridiculous enough to think he’d come back on a regular schedule, and I certainly wouldn’t think he’d come here to chance running into me. I mean, that’s definitely not why I came back, Friday at 1pm. Pssh.

Why would I even want to see him again? To ask him if he’s actually spending a good portion of his life reading War and Peace because he told me he would? No, he wouldn’t waste his time on that.

Stop. He shouldn’t even be crossing my mind. My education needs to be my sole focus. Plus, Nacho is the only man I need in my life. I don’t need to worry about him getting offended by how much time I spend studying or how little time I have for other things. He doesn’t tell me how awful I am at dating.

Nacho and I gather all six books I need to continue the compilation of data for my thesis. But instead of heading home to read in the peace and quiet of my fourth-floor condo, I park myself on one of the armless sofas and crack open a notepad and my book.

To my surprise, a few chapters in, a voice to my left asks, “Do you mind if I sit here?”

I look up to find an average-height, pale-skinned man with bright orange hair pointing at the adjacent sofa. He looks like a scrawny Ed Sheeran. But even if he burst into song right now and serenaded me with the buttery smooth voice of the ginger Yorkshireman, I still wouldn’t be thrilled with his company. Nevertheless, I don’t own this library.

“Be my guest.”

The stranger settles into the seat opposite me, causing Nacho to grumble in his bag.

“What was that?” the man asks, swiveling his head around.

As sly as I can, I reach over to pat Nacho, trying to sooth him. “What was what? I didn’t hear anything.” I glance at him from the corner of my eye with my face still directed toward my book.

“Never mind. I’m Ed.”

Of course he is. “Hi, Ed. I’m reading.”

“Hi, Re… Oh, I gotcha.” He chuckles and unzips his backpack he set on the table. “Do you live around here?”

I release an exasperated sigh because, clearly, Ed didn’t “gotcha” at all. “Yep. I have a tent under the Gardiner. Rent prices. Am I right?”

“That’s Canada’s second-most expensive city for ya. Do you come here a lot?” Kudos to Ed for not being deterred by my apparent lack of an address. Or lack of interest.

This is not the first time I’ve been approached by a man who wanted to strike up a conversation. It’s not even the first time it has happened at the library. The three years it took to obtain my bachelor’s degree were marked with plenty of awkward, one-sided conversations I didn’t want to be part of. It’s obvious I need to work on my do-not-approach face.

I’m going to make myself a fake book cover with the title How To Murder People Who Interrupt You and Get Away With It. It’s a working title. Needs revision.

After several seconds of silence, I assume my lack of an answer has discouraged Ed from wanting to speak with me anymore, but when I look up, he’s staring at me with his forehead creased, eyebrows raised over his blue eyes. I close my book and tuck it in my bag that’s now concealing the only male reading companion I like.

“I do come here often. It’s nice to have indoor plumbing sometimes… and silence.”

“I bet. Good place to warm up or cool down too.” He opens his textbook titled Physical Anthropology with two cute monkeys on the cover, but he doesn’t start reading. “Hey, uh, if you ever need a place to crash, you could stay with me and my parents.”

Ed here needs to read a few true crime books instead of learning about theories of evolution. Though, I suppose that could be fitting, too. Survival of the fittest, and all.

“I appreciate the offer, Ed. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” I stand, hoisting both of my bags, one on each shoulder, and march toward the stairs. Poor Ed is left in my wake, scratching his head when I glance back.

Social cues are not my strong point because I’ve always been one to dive into books with little regard for the real world or the actual people in it, but even I could give Ed some pointers. Though, on that note, Nacho could learn a thing or two from Ed about being more approachable. I pat my little reading companion as I reach the stairs and mutter into my bag, “You should’ve growled louder. Maybe I could’ve finished my chapter.”

I’m so distracted by speaking to my dog, I misjudge the top step and nearly plummet to my death. That might be dramatic, but I would die from embarrassment. In a turn of events—considering the last time we ran into each other, I ended up on the ground—this time Holden appears out of nowhere to keep me off of it.

He hooks his arms under mine as he straightens me on the top step and steps back two stairs. “You good?”

Nacho hasn’t made a peep, which is out of character for him. That makes two of us, because I can’t think of anything to say, either. I nod, taking a second to soak in Holden’s incredible blue eyes. My reaction to his versus Ed’s has nothing to do with the shade.

“Fancy running into you here.” His lips tilt in an irritating grin, but I can’t find the sense to be angry with him for existing this time.

I stare into his eyes, trying to come up with something clever to say. “Thank you.” Brilliant.

“Are you on your way out?”

I glance down at Nacho, who is glaring at me as if he’s awaiting instruction to growl or not. “Yeah, I was trying to do some reading, but some people can’t respect the sanctity of the reading terrace.”

“Sanctity?”

“Yes. I was sitting there, nose in a book, when Ed Sheeran, sans charming accent, interrupted me and wouldn’t stop yapping.”

Holden chuckles as he looks past me at the reading terrace. “Guard dog didn’t help?”

A teenage couple holding hands manoeuvres around Holden and me, making me realize we’re blocking the stairs. I start descending, ready to leave this place behind for the day. “Later, Dickens.”

Only a few steps down, I realize Holden is in stride with me, marching to the first floor.

“What are you doing?” I’m not taking my eyes off these stairs and risking face-planting again.

“Aren’t you going to ask how my reading is going?”

“War and Peace? I didn’t think you’d actually read it, so no, I’m not going to ask.” No matter what my traitorous brain is telling me about engaging in further conversation with a man who is more frustrating than pop-up ads with a tiny x in the corner.

That’s why I’m surprised by his reply.