The Eastwood Archives is not a place to be crying your heart out after a heartbreak.
No, definitely not when the said public library houses endless rumors of a weird Library Ghost that appears at midnight.
But when Ebony Suarez, a graduating college...
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I was scared to ask him, even though I knew I shouldn’t.
"Now kiss me here; then here."
I raised my eyes to meet Ronan's, my heart thrumming against my chest, a gentle reminder that I was in his presence. Did I hear him right? Oh, God. Those rich brown eyes stared at me for far too long, making me wonder what he saw in me. For the longest time, I thought I was just a passerby—an afterthought, an option. Someone people looked at for a few seconds before searching for prettier things.
But Ronan...
"Ebony, are you still listening? We can take a break if you need."
Then it hit me. He just read a line from the book. And here I thought it was something else! Oh, the embarrassment!
Still, Ronan started at me worriedly.
I couldn't help but notice...
"Why are you staring at me with those eyes?"
"What eyes?"
I jolted in my seat, realizing I had just voiced that. I wanted to sink into the ground and pretend I hadn’t said anything to incriminate myself.
I cleared my throat, attempting to act cool.
"Eyes that tell me I'm the prettiest person you've ever laid your gaze on. Surely, I can't be that stunning?" I laughed, gesturing to my outfit: a plain t-shirt and boyfriend jeans I’d pulled from my closet that morning. I kept reminding myself to drop by the laundry services; at this rate, I'd have nothing to wear. And the Ghost Festival was tomorrow! Shit. What if...
"But you are."
Ronan's voice pulled me from my thoughts. Noticing my confusion, the Library Ghost chuckled and closed the book he was reading to give me his full attention.
"You are the prettiest person I've ever laid my eyes upon, Ebony. And that's saying something because I see a lot of people come and go in this library."
At this point, I didn’t know if my heart could beat any faster.
I melted at Ronan's words. Truly, this man had a way with stringing together the perfect words at the perfect moment. But I had to shy away and blurt out something random I had read on a paper crane he kept in the now half-empty jar. As the end was nearing, I realized we had displayed most of the cranes on the wall—remnants of the many things he had given up on.
Now these paper cranes symbolize Ronan setting himself free.
"Haven't you written 'romance writer' in one of these? You sound like one now. Maybe you should pick it up again."
I gingerly reached for the jar between us. My heart ached at the thought that Ronan's list included so many normal things that he had given up as impossible: going to the grocery store to buy every potato chip on display (we had accomplished that just hours before), learning pottery (pretty random, but I found the cheapest class on campus scheduled for Saturday—of course, I wouldn’t tell him I was paying), and waiting for the sunrise outdoors (easy enough to drag him out later).
