Page 10 of You Had Me at Chocolate

Jude woke at three the next afternoon. It wasn’t thirty-six hours but it was substantial. He was thirsty, starving, and dying for a piss. But none of those things trumped the memory of his ridiculously foolhardy marriage proposal at Clementine’s party last night.

He picked up one of the plump, snowy-white pillows discarded on the bed beside him and covered his face letting out a long groan at his utter stupidity. What had he been thinking? Asking any woman to marry him in his zombie-like state, let alone one he’d last seen when he was twelve?

When she hadn’t even been a woman.

At her birthday party—her leaving party. In front of all of her friends. Way to put her on the spot, douchebag.

He wished he could have blamed being drunk or a recent blow to the head but it appeared extreme jet lag had resulted in him taking temporary leave of his senses. Unless it was some kind of weird African water-borne amoebic illness that was eating away at his brain? That could explain it. In fact, it would be preferable right now to be able to blame a deadly disease rather than himself for his faux pas.

Jude yanked the pillow off his head as his brain snagged on the other salient point from last night. Clementine was leaving. First to the Mediterranean then to New York. He’d arrived and she was on her way out. The well of disappointment inside him stretched deep and wide and that would be something to ponder in the weeks ahead but right now he circled back to the terrible assumptions he’d made that had led him to her door.

He hadn’t even stopped to consider these past few days that she might have plans. Plans that didn’t include him.

“Fuck,” he muttered to the empty room.

He had to go and apologize. If it wasn’t too late. Sure, he’d been contrite last night but that needed to also come from the cold light of day.

Dragging himself out of bed he stepped over the clothes he’d shed last night before crashing face down on the mattress and hobbled to the bathroom where he emptied his bladder, drank three glasses of water, then threw himself in the shower.

A cold one.

By the time he stepped out, his skin was buzzing and he actually felt alive again. Foolish, still, but definitely like a fully functioning member of the human race. A responsible adult. Instead of an impulsive, egotistical asshole tripping all over his own damn ego.

Throwing on some fresh jeans, a button-down shirt and a pair of boots, Jude left the room in search of Clementine. According to what she’d told him, she had one day left at work so hopefully she’d still be there. He’d call there, first, anyway then try her house.

Or, the scene of the crime as he was coming to think of it…

It was a pleasant day in Marietta as he navigated to Main Street, cold but clear, the sky an endless kind of blue. He’d arrived in town after eight last night and had paid little heed to his surroundings as he’d walked to Clementine’s but the leaves were changing on the dogwoods he noticed.

Autumn was hitting its stride.

Turning right, his legs ate up the distance to the library. Jude couldn’t help but be charmed by the old-world feel to the streetscape, from the carefully maintained facades of the buildings to the old-fashioned lampposts lining the sidewalk. It was bustling, too, people going about their business, some stopping to chat to friends and neighbors, most nodding at him and saying hello.

He was soon standing opposite the historic sandstone courthouse at the end of Main Street. With its domed edifice and multiple formal windows it was an imposing and impressive building but paled in comparison to the majestic line of Copper Mountain rising up behind. It drew his eyes upward to the powdery dusting glistening on the very peaks. He suspected within a couple of months the giant craggy angles sawing into the sky would be covered with layers of thick snow, running down the slopes like royal icing atop a cake.

To the left of the courthouse was the library. It wasn’t as grand as its neighbor but obviously also historic. Its retro red brick exterior, distinctive flat roof, lack of portico and tall windows made the whole building far less formal. More workhorse than show pony. No frills but excellent bones.

The huge central wooden door looked like it could have graced any number of barns in rural America and invited people to enter. The entire vibe was warm—inviting. Cozy. Like a library should be, he supposed. The courthouse pompously bellowed, serious business of state is conducted here. The library whispered, adventures await you here.

He could see why Clementine had wanted to be a librarian from the time they’d first met. If she got to come to work here every day he couldn’t blame her. He’d felt the same way working in the Latin Quarter in Paris surrounded by hundreds of years of architectural history and the echoes of millions of feet he swore he could sometimes hear whispering off the ancient cobblestone streets.

Mounting the five wide stairs he crossed the short distance to the front door, pushing on the wooden paneling. It was as heavy as it looked but it gave easily swinging open without a sound.

Jude was unprepared for what he saw on the other side of the door. What the building lacked in imposing on the outside, it made up for it on the inside, opening up as soon as he crossed the threshold into a large marble foyer dominated by a staircase leading to the floors above and a soaring ceiling. Beneath his feet, the polished red marble complemented the red bricks and was shot through with veins of milky white.

It was impressive, perhaps made even more so by the hush that pervaded the cavernous space.

Just ahead was the large wooden circulation desk and either side of that, filling the spaces was row upon row of shelves laden with books. Signs on the ends of the aisles indicated what books could be found in that section. And quiet please signs were prevalent.

To his right, there was a section with what appeared to be copy machines and printers and over a dozen desks, all with a computer station. Over half of them were being used by people of varying age groups all staring earnestly at the screens, some tapping away at the keys or driving a mouse, some making notes, others engrossed in the content before them.

On the opposite side there appeared to be a children’s reading section. It was partitioned off with furniture and some large bright, blocks that sported colorful posters on their inner surfaces. Several yellow and green beanbags were spread around the space and, in one corner, a two-dimensional cardboard cutout of a tree had been decorated in fall leaves made from red and orange paper and stuck haphazardly to the branches.

A kid’s project, he assumed.

A quick look around the space revealed no Clementine and he crossed to the central circulation desk to inquire. Mounted on the front was a large, rectangular framed art installation, consisting of what seemed to be repurposed book pages that had been rolled back on themselves to form petals and then somehow secured together.

An African-American woman, her hair back in a tight, elegant bun, glanced up from her computer console as he approached.

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