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Her husband patted her back. “Don’t think he’s getting the same books as you, sweetheart.”
The woman winked. “You never know. These young men nowadays are more in touch with their feelings.”
With her free hand, she patted my arm, and my lips edged up in an unwitting smile.
Wandering down the rows, I finally found the area I was looking for, crouching down to the bottom shelf where my finger traced along the spines. As I did, I felt someone’s gaze on me, and ignored it.
Just as I was about to pull the first book out, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched, so I glanced over my shoulder at the front desk. The woman working was on the phone, her eyes trained on her computer screen. The elderly couple was out of sight.
Shaking my head, I exhaled quietly, and tipped the book off the shelf, flipping through the pages. There were diagrams, and I grimaced at some of the illustrations of childbirth. My eyes snagged on the wordsmucus plug, and I carefully set the book back on the shelf, deciding maybe this one wasn’t for me.
“What the fuck is a mucus plug?” I whispered.
What did it plug? Why would it fall out at some point?
I probably didn’t want to know.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood, and I glanced to the side again. Scanning the big room, I saw a mom with some young kids heading into the children’s area, two teenage girls sitting at a table in the middle of the room looking at a laptop, and then by the entrance near the community board, I saw her.
Her dress was bright green today, hair down around her shoulders, her eyes aimed right at me. When our gazes locked, Poppy’s dimple appeared with the easy curve of her lips. My throat went dry as she started walking over, and I stood slowly, making sure all the mucus plug books were safely out of view.
She reached the end of the row and leaned her shoulder against the bookshelf. “Weekend reading?” she said, nodding her chin at the section of pregnancy books.
My cheeks felt fucking hot, and I cleared my throat. “Just browsing.”
I snatched blindly in front of me and pulled something else off the shelf. When Poppy leaned forward to look at the cover, the scent of orange blossoms had my eyes falling shut.
No.
No.
No sniffing the hair of the friend carrying your baby. That was right underneathno jacking off in the shower to thoughts of her mouthon the list of things I definitely should not be doing.
“That’s the book you were looking for?” she asked, an innocent widening of her eyes. Curious, I looked down at the cover and clenched my jaw.
The Seed: Infertility is a Feminist Issue
When Poppy bit down on her bottom lip to stem her smile, I gave her a steady look, then gently pushed the book back into its place on the shelf.
“I mean, now I’m curious,” she said, tapping her finger along the spine. “Maybe I’ll try that one next. Will you let me know how it is?”
In response, I cut her a dry look.
She laughed under her breath. “What are you doing here?”
“Some people come to the library to get books,” I told her.
Poppy sighed. “Okay, smart-ass, don’t answer me then.”
We walked toward the entrance, and I kept my hands tucked behind my back. Between us, there was hardly any space, and the ends of her hair tickled along my upper arm. “What about you?”
“Some people come to the library to get books,” she answered smoothly, gently nudging me with her shoulder.
I sighed heavily, and Poppy laughed. The clerk at the front desk gave her a stern look, and Poppy whispered she was sorry.
The elderly couple from the romance section appeared around one of the front displays, and she leaned into her husband, whispering something into his ear when she caught sight of me and Poppy.
“The books were for her, then?” she asked.
