Unfinished (New York Unraveled #3)

Chapter Two.

ELENA.

I flipped another page of the book I was reading. It was getting very interesting and the quotes in it were simply beautiful. A content smile pasted itself on my face as it did every time a new book welcomed me into its familiar embrace, enticed me to jump into the rabbit hole and take a trip to a new wonderland. The creaking sound of the doors of the library made me look up and my breath caught in my throat when I saw who it was. He made a face at the loud complaints of the old doors like always. Before he could vanish in one of the aisles again like every day, I called him. "Hey, excuse me?"

He turned with a start, as if surprised that somebody was speaking to him.

"You left your books here yesterday," I said and then mentally slapped myself. Of course he knew that, idiot. Say something worthwhile.

"Yeah. Are they still here by any chance?" he asked. He didn't have his spectacles on and his brown eyes had a natural lustre to them. They were so hypnotizing that I had to make an effort to look anywhere else.

"No. I mean, yes. I mean, I kept them safe for you," I stumbled over my own words and disappeared below the desk before I could make more of a fool of myself. I retrieved his books from one of the drawers and handed it to him. Our fingers brushed as he took them and I think I squeaked inside my throat.

"Thank you," he said and smiled. It was a simple action- just the stretching of the corners of his lips but it looked so magnificent and complex when he did it.

"No problem," I said and I'm not sure whether I was audible.

He extended his hand. "I'm Stuart."

I gave him my hand which thankfully wasn't shaking unlike everything else inside me. His hand felt strong and warm clasping mine. "Elena," I said.

I guess he smiled again but I didn't have the guts to look him in the eyes. I couldn't drag my gaze above the lapels of his jacket. All the self confidence that the heroines of my favorite books sported seemed to be evading me like the plague. I had about as much confidence in me as a mouse loves chasing cats.

He started to leave when I said, "Umm, I noticed you're using the third edition of DSM. Is it purposeful or did you not find the latest one?"

"I couldn't find it. I've been trying to locate it since almost a week now," he replied.

"Somebody has issued it. It will be back in a couple of days. But if you need it more urgently, I can get it for you," I said, a little more confident now that I was talking in a space familiar to me.

"No, that's alright. I can probably wait for a few days," he said and smiled at me again. I noticed that his lips stretched a little more to the left than they did to the right.

I melted down into a puddle once he was out of sight, flopping down on a chair with a sigh. He was so adorable, with a dimple on his right cheek and big spectacles which made him look something like Andrew Garfield in The Amazing Spiderman. He had been coming to the library almost every day since about half a year now and I still hadn't gathered up the courage to talk to him, let alone ask him out. He didn't fool around with his friends like the other stupid jocks did. He treated my books with respect and actually read them. The other guys mostly just pretended to look dope in front of their girlfriends or me by holding a book in their hands. He wasn't one of those imbecile idiots which already gave him a big point in my attraction scoreboard.

Even though he did smile at me every time when he passed by, I had no excuse to talk to him for the next four days. Then the blessed person who had issued the DSM-IV returned it and I had the perfect reason to talk to him. I had to take a ten minute session to practice deep breathing first so I don't get all flustered when he speaks. None of it helped.