Can’t Get My Head Around You

Holden

My friends were less than helpful when I visited them last week. Both of them whooped and hollered, telling me I should “Just ask her out.” That doesn’t feel like the right course of action, though. War and Peace has taught me that making an appropriate plan is critical to achieving success. Really, everything I’ve done since high school has been carefully planned and executed. I set goals and I achieve them. The gorgeous enigma in a floral sundress walking two steps ahead of me shouldn’t change that.

“I should be done by next week.”

Dina stops walking in the middle of the library’s entryway and turns to face me. “You’re actually reading it? Nothing better to do?”

That makes me laugh. “I have a lot of things to do that would be a better use of my time, but I said I’d read it, so I am.”

“Wow. Integrity. I wouldn’t peg you for the type, Dickens.”

“Ouch. That’s offensive.”

She scrunches her face like my niece does when she has to fart. It’s adorable on Dina, too, but I doubt it’s for the same reason.

“Sorry. Sometimes I speak without considering people’s feelings. This is why I stick to books. Speaking of, I have work to get done. I really need to get going.”

I get the impression she’s an eager reader, but work? “What do you do for work?”

She heaves a sigh and rolls her eyes, making me wonder if Nacho gets his attitude from her. “You’re the second man today to keep me from it, so at this point, absolutely nothing. Have a good day, Dickens.”

Before I can apologize this time, she spins on her heel and walks through the motion-sensored doors and into the humid summer air. I watch her walk away until she’s almost out of sight. Julie is staring at me with a concerning grin on her face when I finally look away from Dina’s retreating back. I smile and wave to play off how ridiculous I must look right now.

My plan to show up, hoping to meet Dina, only half worked, because I was late. I had gone down a rabbit hole when studying this morning, and by the time I looked up, it was almost 1:30. The walk from my house was more like an Olympic test event for race walking. I wasn’t sure she’d be here anyway, so as I was walking up the stairs and saw her approach the top, my surprise almost prevented me from sprinting up the few steps to keep her from tumbling down. It was a good thing I did my race walk training.

Not going to lie. The brief time she was in my arms felt even better than crashing into her, as one would assume. It felt right; like the kind of cheesy moment Phoebe reiterated at family dinner from her latest romance read, much to the chagrin of her husband.

As quickly as possible, I retrieve the suggested reading material for my sister and rush to check out so I can get back home. Might as well dive back down my rabbit hole.

My week is occupied by studying, attending one event for each Sam and Phil, regular chores and adult tasks, and more studying. Between those things, I spend a lot of time wondering if I moved my study sessions to the public library, would I run into Dina again? The problem is, a public library and academic library are not on the same level in terms of content or study atmosphere. The public library has great resources, but their scientific journal selection is limited at best, and the environment, sitting amongst people reading best-sellers and self-help books, isn’t as conducive to studying.

Plus, I’m pretty sure that would put me square in stalker territory. I’m smart enough to know that’s not a category I want to be roped into, so my better judgement prevails and I stick to my regular routine.

But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t revisit that decision multiple times.

I’m grateful for my sister being a quick reader. That means I have a legitimate excuse to go back to the library to pick up some new X-rated romance novels for her. My library checkout list is starting to look like I should be placed on a sex-offender registry, but I love Phoebe enough to risk it. Okay, I do love my sister, but that’s not why I’m going back for a third Friday in a row.

Julie is seated at her spot behind the reception desk, glasses perched on the end of her nose, hair up in a tight bun like a stereotypical librarian. She winks when she sees me, which is uncomfortable… and confusing. She never seemed like the winking type, but maybe she’s getting the wrong idea about me and my recent habit of only checking out books with shirtless men on the cover. I need to talk to my sister.

For now, I send Julie a polite wave and high-tail it up the stairs toward the reading terrace. I reach the top, taking in the large windows overlooking the main intersection outside, but that’s definitely not the most exciting thing I see.

Dina is seated on one of the uncomfortable modern sofas across from a redhead who is engrossed in an animated conversation. It doesn’t look like Dina is too enthused about his intrusion on her reading time.

She doesn’t need a rescue, but I’m up for a little fun today.

I stop at the edge of the sofa and wait for her to notice me. “Hey, babe. Were you waiting long?”

She looks at me with wide eyes. “Um. Hi. Just been here talking to Ed… for forty minutes,” she deadpans.

I resist the urge to chuckle at her expense, because that will result in both her and Nacho grumbling at me.

“Sorry. I got tied up.” I reach my hand out to the talkative ginger. “Hey, man. I’m Dickens.”

My introduction makes Dina giggle and the Ed Sheeran lookalike scrunch his face.

“Hi… I’m Ed. Nice to meet you. Are you two”—he waves his finger between me and Dina—“a thing or something?”

I sit on the sofa beside Dina and put my arm around her shoulders. I’m aware it’s a move that could get me slapped, and to be honest, I’d be okay with that if she was uncomfortable. But to my surprise, she leans into me like this is where she belongs.

“You betcha. He’s my cutesy schmootsie wootsie woo.” Dina pinches my cheek like an affectionate grandmother, cautioning me with her eyes.

Ed is shifting in his seat. I’d be willing to bet he’s not used to nor comfortable with confrontation. He stands, brushing off his navy slacks with a seam ironed down the front. I’d also bet his mother did that for him.

“Well, I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone. Uh… thanks for… the chat?” He poses a statement as a question, which, again, I’d bet is because he’s feeling awkward. The poor chap scurries away in his loafers and argyle sweater. It’s summer.

“So, nutter butter, having fun?” I squeeze her shoulder gently.

She shifts on the sofa, sliding out from under my arm. For the first time, I notice Nacho in his bag, glaring at me from behind the mesh. I’m not convinced that’s sturdy enough to stop him if he decides to eat my face.

“Nutter butter?” Dina asks, placing a gentle hand on Nacho’s bag.

I shrug. “You gave me a rhyming nickname.”

“That’s a terrible nickname. I’m disappointed you can’t come up with something more creative.”

I lean back against the sofa and kick my feet up on a turquoise stool. “What’s wrong with nutter butter? I think it’s cute.”

Dina scoffs. “It’s not cute.” She sets her book down, which she hasn’t even glanced at since I got here. “You have to come up with something better.”

“Better? I don’t think it’s possible.” I’m trying and failing to hide my smirk as I run through potential options. “Okay, I’ve got one.”

Now she’s intrigued, made clear by her new smile.

“Minnie.” I’m sporting a full grin, wondering how long it will take for her to make the connection.

“What?”

I stare at her for a moment, really noticing her striking features in the natural light from the windows. Pouty lips. Narrow nose. Dark, mysterious eyes. She’s beautiful. I knew that from the first day we crashed into each other, but that wasn’t what caught my attention. There’s much more to her than her appearance.

“Minnie… as in Minnie Mouse?”

Her cheeks flush a bright pink that the sunshine enhances. “I kind of hate you right now.” She pauses for a moment, fanning herself with her paperback. “I’ll have you know… never mind. Are you here to pick up more books for your ‘sister’?” She adds air quotes, making it clear she doesn’t believe my book choices aren’t for me. Her and Julie both.

“That’s one reason.” I won’t mention that I offered to come pick up new books. My actual goal was this interaction.

“Oh-kay, then. I can respect maintaining a little mystery.” She tucks her book in her non-Nacho bag, signalling she’s ready to leave. To my surprise, she places her hands in her lap and asks, “So what’s our story, Dickens?”

“Our story? I don’t follow.” The split second I have to run through different possibilities, nothing clicks.

She tilts her head and shrugs one shoulder, then clarifies, “Everyone loves a fake dating trope.”