Page 48 of The Librarians
“Well, thank you for coming to my rescue today,” says Hazel sincerely. “That’s a lovely salwar, by the way.”
Ayesha preens a little. The gauzy green scarf over her hair flutters, the golden embroidery along its edge matching perfectly with the neckline of her fitted green tunic—very pretty, if a little formal for grocery shopping.
She asks Hazel the best way to cook bitter gourds. Hazel shares her grandmother’s practice of blanching in salted water to get rid of the bitterness but warns that Ayesha still might not like it.
Out of the corner of her eye Hazel spiesFifty Shadesleaving, the large paper bag in his hand presumably full of crispy, delicious samosas. Earlier she was more concerned with getting away from him. But now she wonders why he wanted to show her the video. Was it just an excuse to scoot closer to her? Does he know that Perry is dead? Why was he interested in the video in the first place?
Jonathan, waiting for his weekly bowl at Peng’s Noodles, assesses his life.
He seems to be doing that a lot lately.
He isn’t in a bad place at all. He has his mom’s old house, his dad’s old truck, and a job he enjoys. The poetry workshops, the open mic nights, and the young writers’ programs that he leads every summer are deeply gratifying—in encouraging others, he nurtures himself. He is plugged into Austin’s large network of creatives. Not to mention, a small university press published a slender volume of his poetry a few years ago, mostly poems that had already appeared in literary magazines and other anthologies. Royalties have been negligible, but the satisfaction? Immense.
His lackluster romantic life has felt almost par for the course—half of his colleagues are single, as well as a good portion of his friends. Even at the reunion, where presumably only those classmates who feel at least somewhat good about their lives showed up, there was a lot of commiseration about being on the dating app merry-go-round after ending marriages and major relationships.
But seeing Ryan again at the reunion upended Jonathan’s relative passivity.
To want someone with such intensity—to long for that spark, that connection—is disconcerting. Almost like being a teenager again. Jonathan is not exactly scared, but—
The door of the tiny noodle shop opens and in walks a man who makes Jonathan think that AI must have installed filters in his eyes—surely this level of good looks can only be achieved with pixel manipulation.
His hair, which Jonathan remembers as bouncy and a bit rumpled, has been sheared off. The dark buzz cut serves only to emphasize the celluloid-ready angularity of his features. He wears a white T-shirt under a structured charcoal blazer, but instead of jeans or trousers he sports a pair of charcoal joggers that taper at the ankles.
That is not a look most men should attempt. But Conrad, Ryan’s roommate, has the long, lean physique and the slightly otherworldly air not only to pull it off but to convey the impression that he happened to be wearing the T-shirt and joggers at home and simply grabbed the nearest item of outerwear as he headed out the door.
Conrad stills and studies Jonathan for a moment before approaching his table. “Hi. Jonathan, right?”
Jonathan finds his voice. “That’s right. I thought you were out of town?”
That was what Ryan had said when Jonathan texted him after Game Night to tell him that he’d found someone who could be Conrad’s perfect match.
“I came back a few days ago. Ryan says he met you because your colleague was in some trouble with the police. Has she been cleared yet?”
The idea of Ryan mentioning him, even if in passing, makes Jonathan’s heart skip a beat. “We can’t be sure. At least she doesn’t seem to be in bigger trouble than before. So…small mercies.”
But what is Conrad doing in this part of town? Is Ryan with him, by any chance? Did they—or Conrad by himself—go to the library, which is right across the street, to check out Hazel?
As if Jonathan has conjured her, the door of the noodle shop opens again, and in strides Hazel.
She is dressed in the exact same color palette as Conrad, a figure-hugging sweater with white-and-gray Breton stripes tucked into a knee-length gray suede skirt. With her bare face and pulled-back hair, she looks like Hollywood’s idea of an ivy league grad student, one whose arrival tolls the death knell for more than one department chair’s long-term domestic arrangement.
Conrad certainly stares as if he were a fellow student who has already jeopardized his doctoral candidacy for her.
She goes straight to the counter. “To-go order for Hazel, please.”
Her transaction takes all of thirty seconds. She turns around, spotsJonathan, and covers the distance between them. “Hi! I was in the library and didn’t see you.”
“I must have been in the back,” he answers. “I thought you didn’t have any hours scheduled.”
“I don’t. But I wanted to talk to Sophie and she wasn’t there.”
“She called this morning. She’s taking a personal day off.”
“I see,” says Hazel, some significance to her words that Jonathan can’t quite grasp.
Her gaze at last slides over to Conrad, who is still staring at her. But she gives this Adonis only a cursory glance before her attention returns to Jonathan. “You’ll be at work tomorrow, right?”
“That’s right.”
