Clove Kentwell had never been a huge people person.
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She much preferred books actually because books never judged you; instead, they poured themselves open in a quiet respect and allowed you to feel, truly feel, vulnerable, or satisfied, or understood. They stayed on her shelf and never left, were there when she needed to pull it out once more, told stories that filled her mind with an imaginative haze that she couldn't describe as anything other than pure comfort.
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How silly to compare a book to a person.
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The heels of her dark combat boots made scuffing noises against the maroon carpeting that lined the floor of the campus library, leading her along to a shelf of history books that would soon become home to the returned books lining the cart wheeling along with her.
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She loved working here, lost within shelves of stories both real and fake, completely in her element amongst books both new and old. Her shifts consisted of four hours of cleaning up the shelves, returning the books to their respective places, and checking out books for the numerous young adults who circulated the place the five days a week she worked there.
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Normally, college students would be at fraternity parties, or study groups, or out at any of the many events hosted on the large campus of her school, but to do those kinds of things, you'd need friends to do them with. Clove's only friend, Glimmer, lived one thousand six hundred seventy-six miles away, attending The Juilliard School as a dance major.
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Let's just say Clove hadn't been very successful in making herself known on her campus; she hardly talked to her roommates, never mind anyone else in her lectures or classes. But she still had plenty of time, at least that's what her mother had told her on the phone the night before; she was only a Freshman, she still had three more years to 'make friends and have a college experience.'
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Until then, she would stick to her quiet little library job, where her only companions were worn old book covers and the Dewey Decimal Classification.
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She knelt before a long shelf of classics, the hem of her brown jeans brushing the floor as she pulled a copy of 'Wuthering Heights' from the cart of books pulled up beside her and was about to slip it into its respective spot before she was startled by a deep voice over her shoulder.
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"Do you work here?"
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She stood, book in hand, and turned, her dark eyes landing on the owner of the voice, a boy clothed in sweatpants and a t-shirt, hands stuffed in his pockets.
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She blinked, momentarily frozen, before coming to her senses, her cheeks flush with embarrassment.
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"Oh, um, yeah, I do," she scuffed the toe of her boot against the carpeted floor. "Can I help you with anything?"
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"I actually need the book in your hand," he flashed her a pearly white grin, lifting a hand and running it through his fluffy blonde hair.
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"Oh, here," she handed it over, watching as he flipped it over to scan the back with his azure eyes. "Are you a Brontë fan?"
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"I prefer Shakespeare," the grin returned, setting loose a flock of butterflies in Clove's stomach. "This is for an assignment; I'm an English major."
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"I'm an English major too," she tried out a shy smile as he checked the page count. "I've read Wuthering Heights before; I'm sure you'll enjoy it."
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"I'll have to get back to you on that one," he lifted his head, tucking the book under his arm. "Do you work here often?"
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"Monday through Friday," she toyed with the silver band on her pointer finger.
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"Well, I normally do my homework here, so I'll keep an eye out for you," his lips twitched upward, dimples creasing on his cheeks. "I'll see you...?"
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"Clove," she supplied, folding her lip between her teeth as he chuckled.
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"I'm Cato," amusement danced across his features.
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"Nice to meet you, Cato," the smile returned to her lips, paralleling his own.
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"It's been my pleasure," Was it just her, or was he always smiling? "I'll see you around?"
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She nodded, watching as he turned his back to her to return to his table, book in hand.
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She may not have been a people person, but maybe she could make an exception for the boy with golden hair and a love for literature.348Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPjYyPLRkpS
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Maybe she wasn't as hopelessly doomed as she thought she would be.
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