You’re not the most frequent library visitor there ever was. Or, well, you haven’t been. Not up to this point.

A few weeks ago you came into the library in search of a really cheesy romantic comedy book. You were in desperate need of such comforts. And who was in there, replacing books on their correct shelves, the entire pile seemly consisting of romance novels?

Andrew Wilburn, the librarian who works the night shift.

You freaked. Hard. Because my god was he handsome. Really the epitome of your type, just handling books like they were children or small animals.

Now you come in all the time. Two, three times a week. Just to see him. And he always greets you with a smile, asks if you need any help, compliments an aspect of your appearance. You eat it up every single time. Not once has he ever asked you why you come into the library so late every night.

This was your fourth time in the library this week. You figured, on top of the normal books you read, you would grab some that made you seem smart or sophisticated. Maybe peacock some for Andy. Tonight as he’s checking out your books for you, making normal conversation and taking extra long to scan and stamp everything, he asks you the question you were dreading he ever get around to.

“How come you’re always in here so late?” He closes a book and looks at you. “Normally I’d expect overworked law students, but you…”