Home is Where You Are (5 page)

The sliding glass doors part and I step inside, taking in the familiar scent of
aged books with the slightest hint of must. “Hey Anna,” Beth at the front desk calls out in a whisper. I smile, give a little wave and head for the young adult section.

After months of dedicating my Saturdays to Habitat for Humanity, I finally have time to myself. I wander up and down the rows, my fingers gliding across the worn bindings. I’m so used to picking books based on my schoolwork, and now that I don’t have to I have no idea what to choose.

Decisions.

Decisions.

I pick up a contemporary romance with a cute cover and flip it over. Cute boy, lost girl, sounds good to me. I head to the front to check it out when my feet stop short. Sitting in the corner by the history books is the guy from the soup kitchen, hood pulled over his head. His backpack rests on the table beside him, and he’s completely zoned into a book. A pretty big book actually.

I don’t know what
’s wrong with me, but before I can think, I’m walking towards him. He has a brown paper bag with a half-eaten bagel on top.

“
What are you reading?” I almost slap my hand over my mouth. I’m never this blunt. Seriously, what’s gotten into me? I stare, mesmerized as he takes his hood down and glances up. My attention moves to his hair, a dark shade of brown like espresso, soft and shiny, sitting just above his eyebrows with a slight curl. What surprises me most is the fact his hair’s not dirty. Despite his busted lip and bruised face he’s surprisingly well-groomed.

He doesn’t
so much as blink, his face completely unreadable.

“You again
,” he grumbles.  

“Me again.
” I smile and shove my hands in my pockets to keep from fidgeting. “So what are you reading?” I move closer, pretending not to be as nervous as I feel, and lean over. “Ancient Egypt. Interesting.”

Definitely not what I
expected. A book about ancient civilizations with more words than pictures was not at the top of the list. Wasn’t even
on
the list.

“Yeah.
Sure.” He shifts away, and his hand twitches as he turns the page. My gaze lingers on the way his dark sleeves are pushed up over his muscles then I snap my eyes away.

He
clearly doesn’t want to be bothered. Not that I can blame him. I basically interrogated him the other day. I should walk away, but just like that day at the soup kitchen, for whatever reason, I can’t.

H
is eyebrow arches as I slide into the seat across from him. “I’m sorry about the other day. I didn’t mean to be so nosey. I’m usually not like that, I swear.”

He shrugs.
“Whatever.”

I fidget with my hands before continuing.
“I’m not the reason you haven’t been to the soup kitchen in a few days am I?” Since the day he walked out I’ve been watching for him. Waiting. Hoping he’d walk back in.

“No
,” he says, eyes focused intently on his book, refusing to look at me.

“Oh good
. I was scared you were starving, but obviously not because…” My gaze falls back to his upper arm. “Y-you have…uh…”
Huge muscles
. Or maybe his sweatshirt is too tight. No, it’s definitely muscle. Wow. I shake the thought far from my mind and when I glance back at his eyes, he’s staring at me. Heat shoots through my chest, creeping up my neck and spreading to my cheeks. “You have…hey is that a cinnamon raisin bagel?”

He runs his hand through his hair,
pushing the curl off his forehead. Then leans back in his seat. “Yeah, it is.”

Victory! More than a one
-two word response.

I sit up a little straighter.
“They’re my favorite.”

“Me too,” he says
, and for the first time he smiles. It’s nice, straight white teeth and completely charming. I wonder if he smiles a lot, considering his situation and all. He should. It looks good on him.

The bagel looks good
too. I can’t believe I skipped breakfast. At the thought of a big bowl of Apple Jacks, my empty stomach knots up causing an unavoidable growl. My cheeks flare up in a full on firestorm.

The
embarrassing sound causes him to smile again and although I’m mortified, I’m happy to see that smile. I guess there are still things worth smiling about.

“Hungry?”
he asks, not trying to hide his amusement.

I wrap my arm around my waist as if that will prevent it from making another ungodly noise.
“Maybe.”

He slides the bag with the bagel across the table.
“Here, take the other half.”

I can smell the cinnamon
, and my mouth waters. But I can’t take food from a homeless person.

I wave my hand.
“I’m good. Thanks.”

Hi
s lip quirks in the corner. “I didn’t touch it if that’s what you were thinking. Besides I probably wash my hands more than you do.”

“
That’s not what—”

“What then? Don’t want to take food from a homeless kid?”

My mouth opens then freezes, the lie sitting on my tongue. I don’t know what it is about him, but I don’t feel like I need to sugarcoat anything. I want to be honest with him. Real.

“Maybe
.”

“I do just fine when it comes to food, especially bagels, so please
, I insist.” 

I look up
, hoping to catch a glimpse of his eyes. Instead he’s concentrating on the book. I should go. Stop at The Bagel Hole and get my own. An amused laugh falls from his lips. “Can you stop debating if you’re going to take food from the homeless guy and just eat the damn thing?”

I tug at the lapel of my
blue blazer. “I wasn’t debating,” I lie. Only because I can’t let him know he has figured me out already.

“Sure you weren’t.”

I reach for the bagel and take a huge bite
to prove a point. He raises a dark eyebrow at me.

“So what’s your name?”
I ask, wishing I would’ve waited till I swallowed before I spoke.

His features harden, and the curve of his jaw ticks.
“Why do you care?”

“Okay
, can we drop the attitude already? For heaven’s sakes we’re sharing food. I think we’re passed the I’m-too-cool-to-talk-to-you phase.”

His lip
tugs at the corner. “Dean.”

“
That’s better. I’m Anna. Thanks for the bagel. I forgot to have breakfast this morning.”

As the words come out I
mentally kick myself for sounding like the rich snobby bitch he accused me of. Here I am complaining about forgetting to eat as if I forgot to zip my pants while he eats only when he can.

“I’ve done
that a few times myself. You kind of just get wrapped up in something, and it completely slips your mind.”

I don’t know if he says it because he saw the “oh shit” expression on my face
, or if he actually means it. Either way, it puts me at ease, and I’m grateful.

“
That bagel was good, but you know what would be even better?” I ask.

“What’s
that?”

“A hot
mochachino.” I grin as the skin on the bridge of his nose wrinkles, and he looks at me like I’m crazy. “It’s like coffee. There’s a coffee shop right next door. Want to come with me?”

“I’m good thanks.”

“You gave me half your bagel. The least I can do is buy you a cup of coffee.”

“Believe me, it’s not necessary. Besides I want to finish reading about the Curse of King Tut.” He holds
up the book. 

“
What do you want to know? I wrote a ten page report on it in sixth grade.” Seven pages over the requirement, but I didn’t want to leave anything out.

“Thanks, but I’d rather read about it myself.” 

“Bring it with you.”

His shoulders
slump, and he looks away. “I can’t,” he says, his voice no more than a whisper. He runs his hands through his hair and takes a deep breath.

“Why not?”

I wish I could read his thoughts because I can’t figure out if he’s frustrated with me or something else.

His lips part but nothing comes out.

I reach across the table and rest my hand on his. An unexpected heat rushes through my arm. Shock and bewilderment streak across his face and run rapid in my mind.

“What?” I ask
.

“I don’t have a library card.”

Relief washes over me as I realize it’s not me. “Well I can fix that. Come on.” I grab the book from him.

“What are you
…?” His words fall away as I take long strides towards Beth. I’ve volunteered at the library and signed many people up for library cards. It’ll take me two minutes.

“Hey Beth
,” I say as I approach the desk.

She
smiles and brushes her dark bob behind her ear. “What can I do for you?”

“Is it alright if I sign him up for a library card?” I point
behind me to Dean, a look of shock on his face. Or maybe he’s pissed. It’s really hard to tell.

“Sure. You can use the computer over there.”

I head over to the end of the long desk, Dean following close behind.

“What are you doing?” he
asks, his features hardening.

I roll my eyes.
“Getting you a library card,” I say it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Why?”
His voice is tight, strained. The friendliness from just moments ago completely gone.

“So you have no more excuses
to not get a cup of coffee,” I say, hoping to ease the tension pulling tight across his jaw.

“Why are you doing this for
me
?”

“Honestly,” I say, looking up and locking eyes.
The tension in his face slowly eases. “I have no idea.” For some reason I want to know how he takes his coffee and why he’s so interested in Ancient Egypt. But for the life of me I don’t know why. “Okay, so I got your first name. What’s your last name?”

He combs his fingers through his dark hair.
“Lando.”

“Dean
Lando. Address?” I look up and our eyes lock. The tick in his jaw is back and more pronounced than before. He shoves his hands in his pocket. Then shakes his head, but doesn’t say anything.

I’m an idiot.
That’s probably why he doesn’t have a library card in the first place. “Dumb question, sorry.” I’ll just put my address in. No big deal. I enter the information then print it out and laminate it before I present it to Dean. “Your very own library card.”

“But how?”

“I put it under my address. They’ll never know. Just make sure the books are returned on time. Don’t want my account to go delinquent
because I trusted you,” I say with my hands on my hips.

“You don’t have to worry about
that. I spend most my time here anyway.”

“Good.
I already checked the book out for you. Now let’s go get that coffee.” I can see the hesitation in his stance. I grab his arm and pull him towards the door.

Outside he stops, but I tighten my grip, turn to him
, and nod towards the coffee shop. “It’s right over here,” I say with a smile.

I walk into Morning Brew,
the smell of fresh ground coffee, and recently baked scones permeates the air. My hand’s still securely wrapped around Dean’s upper arm, and I don’t release my grip until we’re in line.

He smiles
the cutest smirk, and my insides warm. “You didn’t have to drag me here.”

“I was afraid if I didn’t I would
’ve turned around and you’d be gone.”

Until I sa
y it, I didn’t realize how afraid I actually was. Ridiculous since I know better. I shouldn’t be talking to him. Shouldn’t be getting coffee with him either. But all the rules I’ve been following lately vanish every time I look at him.