Page 11 of When Hearts Remember

A smile tugs at my lips. People usually call me red because of my hair. But Sunbeam? That’s something new. I wonder why he calls me that.

Snap out of it, Lexy.A hot guy is a dime a dozen in New York City. Probably all idiots, as Liam would say.

A car honks and I turn around. Dayton waves, his blond hair a disheveled mess like he’s been tugging at it.

“Need to go, babe.”

He pokes his head out the window and looks behind him like he’s searching for something.

Frowning, I glance around and see nothing out of the ordinary. Just white and gray, the skies hurling down snow like it’s taking over for the god of war on vacation.

“Sorry!” I hurry toward him.

But before I get into the car, I turn back and stare at the closed library door, wondering what the god of war is doing in the library in the middle of a snowstorm.

Chapter 4

Past: Two Years Before the Accident—Twenty-Two Years Old

I walk past themain floor of the library toward the stairs.

Get in. Do my research. Get out. No time to waste.

A handful of people have their heads down, diligently scribbling on their notepads or reading under the soft glow of the vintage green lamps from the turn of the century. The windows rattle as the storm traps the city in a sea of white and gray.

Except for that flash of red.

Stopping, I glance back at the front door where the girl was, recalling her flawless, creamy skin. Luminous blue eyes. Hair the color of fall leaves. She was a breath of fresh air, momentarily distracting me from my purpose here at Ravenswood.

Sunbeam.

That nickname tumbled out of my mind. She was radiant—the smile, the warmth and vibrant energy rolling off of her in waves.

It suited her—the mysterious girl with the spark in her eyes.

Geez, Ethan. Get a grip.I rake my fingers through my hair and continue walking.

If Liam were here, he’d grumble about how he should be at home gaming or blasting the new Lethal Dead single instead.

Most people assume I’m the same way, wanting to have fun instead of working.

Then again, most people don’t have my last name. They don’t understand the pressures of being an Anderson.

But here among the books written by the great minds of the past, the smell of aged parchment and worn leather wafting to my nose, I can finally breathe.

There’s no judgment or expectation in the library. After all, many authors lining these shelves—like Herman Melville and John Keats—blundered through life before they were considered great. And now, nearly everyone knows the whale inMoby-Dick, and poetry lovers still read Keats.

Let’s hope you find your place before you die, Ethan.

I shake away my insane thoughts. The stress of what’s happening next Monday must be getting to me. After all, that’s why I’m here, to read a newly published financial modeling book since my copy was delayed by the blizzard.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I fish it out to read the incoming text.

Liam

Dels the Nerd, you didn’t really go to the library, right? We graduated from college already. You don’t need to study anymore.

I roll my eyes at his nickname, a play on my middle name, Delaney, and make my way up the stairs.

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