Page 4 of Cohen

“No, not at all.” She stands up and returns my smile as she comes around to the front of her desk. “Good to see you again, Cohen. What can I help you with?”

She remembers my name, so that has to be a good sign. And she seems genuinely happy to see me, though I’d be willing to bet she’s friendly and helpful with all the library patrons. Still, it feels good, like my gut was right, so I’m not going to question it too much.

“Oh, I just came back to, uh…” I take a quick look around, my brain grasping for something,anythingthat will give me an excuse to talk to her for at least a few minutes. “I was going to look up a few of the local ordinances here, in case there are differences from my previous jurisdiction.”

It isn’t exactly a lie—I do need to look into the laws on the books in Kismet Falls and the surrounding county—but it isn’t anything pressing that has to be done today.

“Sounds important,” she says with just a hint of teasing in her voice. Yeah, she can see through my excuse. “I trust you remember your way around the reference section? I’ll just be over here if you need anything.”

Well, shit.

I can’t just let the conversation end here. Time for Plan B: I have to tell the truth about why I’m here. The whole truth and nothing but the truth.

“Before I get started with my research,” I say, throwing caution to the wind again because that’s apparently who I am now. “I was wondering—you said you don’t usually have to work on the weekends, right?”

She raises a perfectly manicured brow. “That’s right. I mostly work Monday through Friday and there’s a girl who comes in part-time to help out on the weekends.”

“So you might not object if I ask you out to dinner on a Friday night?” I grin. “As in… tomorrow night?”

Her cheeks flood with that familiar, delicious shade of pink that I can’t get enough of as she glances down at the floor and then back up at me through her long eyelashes. “I, um, no. I don’t think I would object to that.”

It isn’t ano, but it isn’t a full-fledged yes, either. Then again, I guess I haven’t officially asked her out, have I?

“In that case,” I pause because I have to laugh at myself. Why do I suddenly feel like I’m back in high school, about to ask the girl of my dreams to the prom? Oh, right. Because we may not be in high school anymore, but Delilah really is the girl of my dreams. “Can I pick you up for dinner tomorrow night? Around seven?”

“Yes.” She doesn’t hesitate, even for a second. Definitely a good sign. “Give me just a second and I’ll write down my address. And my phone number.”

I have to stop myself from pumping my fist in the air like a dumbass. But seriously, I’m feeling the same sort of rush right now that I get in the courtroom after I win a big case. Like I’m on top of the world. Like nothing could go wrong.

And how could it? I’ve just scored a date with my dream girl a few days after moving back to my hometown to get a fresh start.

Life really doesn’t get much better than this.

4

DELILAH

I finish buttoning my blouse and smooth a hand down the front of my skirt. After agonizing over my outfit for more than an hour, it’s almost irritating that I look exactly the same as I always do when I look into my bathroom mirror.

It’s been so long since I’ve been on a date that I think I’ve forgotten what to do, what to wear, and how to act. My entire wardrobe looks like it belongs to, well… a librarian. A librarian who has her own style, but maybe not the best fashion sense?

God, why am I so nervous right now?

Cohen has only ever seen me in a pencil skirt and a sweater or a blouse, so it’s not like he’ll be shocked if that’s what I wear to dinner tonight. But will he be disappointed?

My hair is down and curled, so that’s different. The blouse I’m wearing is a little more low-cut than anything I’d consider wearing to work, so there’s that. But is it enough? Will he notice?

Do I even care about things like that?

Well, obviously I do. At least some part of my subconscious does. I guess I’m just worried this date will end like every other date I’ve had, where the guy thinks I’m too boring or too curvy or not flashy enough—or worse, he doesn’t care about any of those things because he’s only interested in getting me into bed for a one-night stand.

In my admittedly limited experience, most guys seem to fall into one category or the other. God, I hope Cohen is different. My heart tells me he is, but I try not to make a habit of trusting my heart. It’s definitely been wrong before.

I glance at the time and take one more quick look at myself in the mirror. I'm not totally thrilled with every detail of my reflection, but I can honestly say I look nice, like I’ve made an effort and that I’m looking forward to what I hope will be a great date with a seemingly great guy.

That’s not asking too much, is it?

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