"W-what kind of book?" I said, my voice trembling. Damn my shyness showing up in undesired times.
With a smirk on his face, well aware of what he was doing to me, he answered, "foreign languages. Do you have any?"
"Yeah. D-down the aisle to your right." I must have sounded so freaking lame, drooling at the sight of him, a guy who I never seen before.
"Thanks," he whispered before running towards the direction I pointed out.
I watched as his tonic back faded away from my eager sight. As he turned around the corner, my view traveled back to the old ragged copy of The Bluest Eye. I had to read the sentence where I stopped at multiple times before catching the meaning of it. It was difficult to devote any attention to the words written on the paper, when my attentiveness was immersed in those clear, light, and unknown green eyes.
"I'm sorry to interrupt your reading... But where do I find books in Italian?"
The raspy voice rustling beside broke my trance and forced me to look up at him once again.
I shifted unconformably my weight to my left leg at hearing he was looking for something in Italian. His attractiveness showed there was no way he could be just one percent Italian, not to add his strong accent that made strain myself in order to fully comprehend his words.
"Mmh, yes. There should be some in Italian there." I frowned at him. Books in Italian were the first thing I looked for the first time I entered this library three years ago. Though the school did not offer a lot of books in Italian, but just the most important ones for literature, it was still a surprise they had some. "What are you looking for exactly?" I asked him cautiously.
He extracted from his back pocket a little paper and read the note for me. "Se questo è un uomo," he said with a even thicker accent. The sound of him speaking my native language gave me chills. I wasn't used of someone talking in Italian. No anymore. I didn't hear speaking Italian for such a long time, the only times I did was one I tried to teach Zara some phrasing, failing miserably as she was not good at learning idioms at all; or the few times I called my father then and there.
"Oh, Primo Levi." I named the author. I loved that book. It was one of my favorites, but then again, each book about the Second World War were my favorites. I didn't know why; they just intrigued me.
He gave me an astonished look, surprised that I was well aware what he was talking about.
"How the hell do you know?" He asked me, incredulity overflowing his pure tone.
"Well, I work here, don't I?" I said with a grin, deciding not to mention the particular that I was, indeed, Italian.
"Fair enough," he replied looking at the book I was reading.
I abruptly positioned my book at the bottom shelf before turning my attention back to guy. Nosy people always annoyed me, even if he was just interested in what book I was reading.
"Well, I'm afraid we don't have it, I'm sorry." My voice high pitched.
"Darn. I have a paper due on Friday about that book." No matter how beautiful he was, now was he getting annoying. What did he want me to do about it?
"Well, I'm almost certain that we do have the book in English, if you'd like." I said in my most polite voice I could bring in use at that moment.
"No, thanks. I've already read it in English. I need to read it in Italian so I'd know what to write on the paper. It's for my Italian class."
My mood suddenly changed at the mention of him talking Italian classes. It was not usual that someone would. In my advanced class, I was the only student, with a mediocre teacher who just pretended to speak Italian. It was strange yet delightful knowing that someone likes Italian to study it there.
I instantly remembered that I had a copy of the book in Italian in my new apartment, must be still have been in my luggage, but I knew it was there.
"I have it in Italian if you want. Just swing by tomorrow at this time and I'll give it to you." I offered.
"Really, that'd be awesome!" He smiled vastly at me, though it quickly faded away as he continued speaking, "ummh, tomorrow I can't. I gotta work. Is there any way that you could give it to me today?"
"I'm afraid I can't. I don't have a car, plus I have to work." My apartment was already too far away to go back home, then to the library, then go back home again.
"I can drive you. What time does your shift end?" He tried once more.
I looked at the clock, noticing it was already six forty. "In twenty minutes."
"Perfect I will stay here then." He nodded before sitting on an empty sofa.
After exactly twenty minutes, Frank showed up. Saying a swift goodbye to him, I approached the spot where the boy was. I just realized that I still didn't know his name, but I wasn't going to ask.
He looked up at me before standing. Now that I saw, he was much taller than me. My head barely exceed his large shoulders.
"Ready?" He asked. I nodded once, still shocked at our height difference, it was unbelievable.
"Let's get going then."
Once we reached his black Range Rover, he opened my door, thing no other boy have ever done to me, but then again, I actually never had a boyfriend or a guy friend that I could compare his gesture to.
After giving him the street of the apartment, we stayed silent. A strange silent, but not weird.
Before turning the car to the parking lot, he finally spoke.
"By the way, I'm Harry."
—
Hey guys!
Again, thank you SO much for reading!
i. xx
