Page 75 of Roses in Summer

Rolling my eyes, I salute Diana and wave at the rest of the kitchen team deep in the second wave of diners. I rarely leave the kitchen while it’s still light out, staying until the last seating to clean and prep for the next day’s service. But today, being on the earlier shift is a relief.

I walk quickly through the kitchen, down the hall, and into the employee locker room, grabbing my bag before locking myself in one of the shower rooms Franki and Kate stock up for the staff. I shed my clothes, rolling them up before shoving them in the front compartment of my backpack and turning the water to hot. The shower heats in seconds, and I step under the spray, letting the hot water relax my muscles and wash over me.

If I were in my apartment, I’d take my time, scrub the soap into my skin, and let my mind drift to scenes I probably shouldn’t imagine, scenes involving a petite brunette with large eyes and long hair. But since I’m not home, I take a utilitarian shower, harshly working the soap into my skin to clean the scent of food off my body, but not deriving any pleasure from the act.

I give myself five minutes before I turn the water off and grab the towel I hung on the hook right outside the stall. Running the cotton fabric over my body, I toss the towel over my shoulder as I pull on the briefs and sweatpants I packed. Dropping the towel to the floor, I throw a T-shirt over my head and clean any evidence of my presence. It’s only when I’m walking out of the employee entrance of Garganello’s and heading toward the open lot where I park my car that I take out my phone and turn it back on.

Immediately, notifications bombard, and I can’t help the “What the fuck?” that escapes as I see missed calls from Ava and Greyson, along with forty texts in the group chat I share with Dante and Grey. Instinctually—and based on obvious evidence—I know something is wrong. I click on Grey’s number and bring my phone to my ear, surprised when he answers after the first ring.

“Linc, I need you to go check on Seraphina. She’s at the Marymount library.” Grey bypasses a greeting, and I’m grateful he cut straight to the point.

“What the fuck happened?” I increase my speed, almost jogging in a need to get to my car faster than a normal walk would allow.

“A guy from small’s high school cornered her in the library and, from what Ava said, freaked her out pretty bad. Rafe is checking on her roommate, but someone needs to check on Seraphina.”

“Done.” I don’t question anything, knowing that for Seraphina to ask for any kind of help, she must be in a bad spot. “I’ll let you know how she is.” I hang up on Grey and pocket my phone, breaking out into a full run as I try not to bang into the other pedestrians on the sidewalk.

—

The drive to the library should have taken forty-five minutes.

I made it in twenty.

Shifting my car into park, I throw my door open with more force than I normally would and stride to the library’s entrance. A sense of déjà vu comes over as I walk over the threshold, memories of my days spent studying assaulting me at the smell of paper and wood cleaner. I don’t make it three steps before a voice stops me.

“And who might you be?” I look to my left, surprised by the accusation in the question. The woman approaching me, who can only be described as a geriatric Ms. Frizzle fromThe Magic School Bus,has a stern look on her face.

If I wasn’t over a foot taller than her, I’d be concerned that she was going to try to beat my ass. Honestly, my height may not deter her if the scowl is anything to go by.

“I’m looking for Seraphina Gregori,” I supply, hunching my shoulders and loosening my posture to make myself seem smaller and less intimidating. Hopefully, it’ll alleviate the look of absolute death on this woman’s face.

“And what do you want with our Seraphina?” She crosses her arms, looking me up and down as though she’s sizing me up. “If you’re one of those…” She pauses, looking around before continuing in a low voice, “fuck boys, you can march right out of here.”

I choke on a laugh, not expecting the profanity from the deceptively sweet-looking woman. “I’m not that. I’m Lincoln.”

I don’t know what the hell I said to put this woman at ease, but as soon as I finish speaking, her body loses the rigidity that strung her tight, and she releases a hum.

“Sera is in the archive room in the basement. Just go down the hall to your left and take the staircase all the way to the bottom. Follow the sound of the scanner, and you’ll find her down there, probably buried under a mound of paperwork.” She shakes her head, looking upward. “I told the provost we needed more funding and at least two more part-time staff, but did I get that? Of course not. Now—”

“Okay,” I cut her off, clearing my throat in the most respectful way possible. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to go down and see cíe—Seraphina,” I correct myself.

“Yes, yes, of course.” She waves her hand, motioning me to go. I start to turn toward the hall she indicated when her voice stops me once again. “And no food or drink downstairs, Mr. Lincoln.” She gives me a curt nod, her demeanor shifting back to professional before she walks away.

I shake my head, confused as fuck by that interaction.

Following her directions, I walk down the hall and easily find the stairway leading to the basement. It’s surprisingly well-lit, nothing like I imagined when she told me Sera was in the basement. Keeping my footsteps light, I let the loud hum of the scanner guide my movements and carry me to Sera’s orbit.

I freeze when I see her—so fucking pretty, even from behind. Her hair hangs long and loose, hitting just above her ass as she sways back and forth, moving documents from a large container into the scanner. She pauses, typing something into the large computer in front of her before returning her attention to the scanner.

I allow myself a few seconds of uninterrupted, unknown observation, something I’ve never gotten with her. Her movements are graceful, her body strong, the definition of muscle on her arms flexing with each movement she makes.

Her body deflates, and it’s then that I realize how much tension she’s carrying in her shoulders. Dropping what appears to be the final page in the box, she twists her back side to side, the cracking of her bones echoing in the otherwise quiet space.

Until her moan slips out, and then it’s like the only thing I can do is get my hands on her and relieve whatever pain I can from her body.

I move quickly, not bothering to remain quiet since she has those earphones plugged into her ear. I rationalize that I’m about to scare the shit out of her and make her jump ten feet in the air. And I feel bad about that, I really do.

But I’ll apologize after offering her some comfort for however long she’ll let me.

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