Page 41 of Beautiful Place By the Sea

Oliver strides to the circulation desk like he owns the place, shoving his books across the counter before I can get a great look at them. “I’ll take those,” he offers, grabbing my pile, too. He’s so distracted with worrying about whether I’ll see what he’s borrowing that he doesn’t even crack a joke about the spicy picks in my stack.

“Hey, Sam,” he greets the library clerk. She’s a curvy redhead with green glasses and even greener eyes.

Sam grins coquettishly. “Hi, Oliver. How’s it going?”

He smiles back, an expression that feels exceptionally familiar, and my stomach lurches. “I’m good. Just getting some books for my coworker. Sam, Ivy. Ivy, Sam.”

I mumble a greeting at the introduction, and Sam returns it in what seems an equally perfunctory manner. For some reason, Oliver calling me his coworker feels like a slight.

“Will you be at McGarrity’s on Saturday?” Sam’s eyes are bright on Oliver’s face.

Just check out the books, I want to mutter. I imagine tacking on any number of rude words that start with “s” and insult Sam’s right to a sex life, but the feminist in me chokes out the thought before it escalates.

“Not sure,” Oliver’s saying, grabbing his secret books from Sam and shoving them back under his arm before I can fully read their titles. Did one of them say “Poetry?”

“Well, I’ll be there.” She slides her glasses up her nose and winks at him. God, I want to vomit.

“Cool.” He seems uncomfortable, but I can’t help noticing that he keeps darting looks at me out of the corner of his eye. A smug warmth floods my torso. Is he squirming because Sam’s flirting with him in front of me?

Sam’s sizing me up now, jealousy scrawled across her face. I fix her with my sweetest smile. “It was a pleasure to meet you.” I grab my books, which she’s finished with, and touch Oliver’s arm with my other hand. “Shall we?”

He looks like he wants to laugh, but he just nods. “Sure, Ivy. Let’s go.” Oliver offers Sam the most attractive grin I think I’ve ever seen. “Maybe I’ll see you this weekend, Sam.” Then he smirks at me, like this whole thing is hilarious.

I swear, I’m going to punch him in the face.

Once we’re outside the library, I force myself to rein it in. Oliver doesn’t owe me anything. And, as much as I’ve been feeling more and more assimilated into this town that I love so much, I don’t actually live here. I’m not staying. What Oliver does, and who he spends his time with, is none of my business.

“Thanks for the use of your library card.” My voice sounds stiff; more formal than usual.

The clipped words seem to confuse him, also. “You’re welcome. Everything okay?”

Nodding, I try to sound flippant. “Absolutely. Still not going to tell me why you’re sneaking books about poetry like they’re porn?”

A guilty expression flashes across his face. “I just need them. For a project.”

I suppose my poetry guess was spot-on, then. “You know, when women say they like mysterious men, I don’t think this is typically what they mean.”

He takes a step toward me, a dangerous glint in his eye. “What do you like?”

My breath catches in my throat at the blind intent in his tone, but I recover quickly. “What does Sam like?”

“I’m not interested in what Sam likes,” he retorts.

The urge I’m fighting is no longer related to punching him.

“Well, don’t tell her that,” I manage quietly. “You might break her heart.”

Oliver snorts. “I think she’ll survive.”

“Well,” I draw in a shaky breath, deciding to forget I promised to take Oliver out for ice cream, “I should probably get home. Laurel’s cooking us dinner, and I don’t want it to get cold.”

Laurel texted me earlier that she’s making egg salad sandwiches for us tonight, but Oliver certainly doesn’t need to know that.

He nods slowly, as if coming to terms with the fact that this tense conversation isn’t going to go any further. “Okay. See you tomorrow?”

“Yep. Thanks again.”

I spin on my heel before I can let my heart fixate on how crestfallen he looks right now.