Librarians were a little scary. It was part of the job description. Being able to intimidate people into behaving themselves, keeping quiet, and not dog-earing the pages of the books. Wynne considered herself rather good at it, in a nice and likable sort of way. But her heart really wasn't in upholding the whispering rules today, or even in stopping unattended children from rummaging through the card file. Wynne's head was far too full of a certain man. A man whose smile could make her skin warm just thinking about it. A man who haunted her dreams. A man who had terrified her with his unholy practices. A man whom she'd been really horrid to. A man she missed. A man who had been inundating her with flowers at work to the point of real embarrassment.

Wynne didn't know what to do about him. She wanted to call him, to thank him, to find out how he was doing, what he was feeling, thinking, dreaming. But she didn't know how to go about it. She felt like a little girl hiding away from him, imagining the feel of his hand against her skin and not having nerve enough to do anything about it. Thus, Wynne was shelving books. Lots of them. All the counting kept her brain busy, but it wasn't too complex for her to do it well.

Pushing a freshly filled up cart, Wynne entered the non-fiction section, finding places for books about nutrition, cooking, weight-loss, pregnancy, cancer, and more. She was standing on a stool, running her finger along the spines, looking for the right space for a book advocating a vegan diet when something unexpected caught her eye. Or, someone, rather. Wynne closed her eyes. Opened them again slowly, sure that it had been a figment of her entirely too active imagination. But, no. There he was. Looking right at her.

And she wanted to run.

She probably would have run, too, except that her legs didn't seem to want to work and she only just stood there, on the stool, staring at him, with a heavy book held up in the air, half way to the shelf. And then, true to form, she dropped the book, which made a loud, echoing thump when it hit the floor that had her cringing. Wynne brought one of her hands up to partially obscure her reddening face. "Erm . . . hi," she whispered, though not half loud enough for him to hear . . . unless he had some super witchcraft hearing - which she wouldn't put it past him.

JOEL WATKINS