New Romantics

Chapter 21

If it were up to me, I would've stayed in the alcove hidden between sports romances and paranormal fantasies until closing time. It managed a good hour of slipping between the shelves, stocking and restocking until my shoulders ached, torturing myself with what Leo said to me over and over, when Magda called Leo and I to her office. Descending the stairs, I caught Leo's gaze. This time, he was gilded in golden sunlight, his hair glowing white in the light, reminiscent of an angelic portrait in the Alter Museum at the Fine Arts building, or a tragic hero out of an epic.

You need to apologize to him again, a voice in the back of my mind scolded. You still have a chance at making this right.

He tore his gaze away quickly. It felt like a knife right to my heart.

I needed to fix this. No matter what.

"I'll be out the rest of the afternoon," Magda said when I filed in, careful to keep distance from Leo, my fingers twitching by my side, yearning to hold his hand again. Her keen eyes sliced between us, and she clicked her tongue. "Hmm...It's suddenly very cold here today, isn't it?"

"I feel fine," Leo said coolly, all but confirming her suspicion. I said nothing.

"Well," Magda said when she cleared her throat. "It looks like we can get an identity on one of the boys who broke in. Exciting, right? I'll be at the station this afternoon to review the footage with my lawyer. Call me if you need me."

"Okay," Leo and I said in unison.

She studied us for a moment. "Make sure to fix whatever is going on between you two while I'm gone. It's not good for you nor is it good for our books."

My jaw dropped. Leo snorted a humorless laugh.

Magda pointed a finger at us sternly, the image of authority, and said, "I mean it."

We nodded.

As Magda left, a group of customers filtered into the store. The next hour was surprisingly busy for being so late in the day, but with Halloween approaching at the end of the month, mixed with OU's obsession with the supernatural and the artful display, people were drawn to the spooky tales of the university.

"Olivia Saint James is beloved for her prose," I said to a customer intrigued by the ghosts that haunted campus. Picking up a book of her most famous poetry, I flipped to a random page and showed them the detailed illustrations with each work. "She's one of OU's most famous alumni, and rumor has it that if you go to the cliffs, you just might hear her reciting these exact words."

Taking the outstretched book from my hands, the customer gushed over the book with their companion. Out of the corner of my eye, I felt the burn of Leo's gaze on the side of my face. He watched me from across the bookstore, the soft sound of the scanner echoing in a steady rhythm reminiscent of a heartbeat. The customer's voice broke through the sound,

"I think I'm ready to check out!"

Walking them to the counter, I pretended not to notice Leo's stare. There was a brief pause in the scanner's beep, and I looked over before I could stop myself, Leo's lips twitching when he caught me. The thought struck me, then. I'd spent the last forty-five minutes finding the perfect books for the customers of Paperbound. Now it was my turn to find the perfect book for Leo. For myself. To prove that I was not in fact stalling as he'd accused me of doing. Instead, I simply didn't have the time until now.

"Cover the front for me?" I asked him when the last customers filtered out. "I need to pick a few books for an order."

"Sure."

I started with the classics. Of the sweet heart-felt love between Jane Bennet and Charles Bingley, and how they came together in a uptight world, or with Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy, with their strong wills and secret yearning. Maybe Leo would relate to Mr. Darcy, with his aloofness, with his caring, and with a sprinkling of adorably dorky moments. Wuthering Heights, with all its romantic tragedy, would be the perfect example to reinforce his narrative.