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    They Met in the Library
    They Met in the Library
    They Met in the Library
    Ebook78 pages1 hour

    They Met in the Library

    By Nell Iris

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    About this ebook

    Adrian, book-lover extraordinaire, adores his job at the small community library. He gets to share his passion with other people and help them with all book-related questions and issues. When a big, hulking man walks into the library, looking terrified, Adrian’s skills are tested in a completely different way.

    Manne’s relationship with books is uneasy, to say the least. He’s dyslexic and events in his past have made him fearful of books and turned libraries into his worst nightmare. But when the quirky, bowtie-wearing librarian steps in to help, the experience turns positive.

    Their banter is easy and their chemistry instant. But can an accidental meeting turn into something more? Can someone who has trouble reading ever fit into the life of a man whose passion is the written word?
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJMS Books LLC
    Release dateJan 16, 2021
    ISBN9781646566662
    They Met in the Library
    Author

    Nell Iris

    Nell is a forty-something bisexual Swedish woman, married to the love of her life, and a proud mama of a grown daughter. She left the Scandinavian cold and darkness for warmer and sunnier Malaysia a few years ago, and now spends her days writing, surfing the Internet, enjoying the heat, and eating good food. One day she decided to chase her lifelong dream of being a writer, sat down in front of her laptop, and wrote a story about two men falling in love. Nell writes gay romance, prefers sweet over angst, and wants to write diverse and different characters.

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      Book preview

      They Met in the Library - Nell Iris

      Epilogue

      Chapter 1

      I notice him immediately when I return to my desk. He’s hard to miss, a big hulking man with a shaved head, huge gauges in both ears, and strong arms covered in tattoos.

      But his looks aren’t what draws my attention. No, it’s his pale face, rivaling the freshly fallen snow outside the windows. And the way he barely moves at all, not even a slight rise and fall of his chest. Is he even breathing? The only thing not frozen is his gaze. It darts over the library, from one bookshelf to the next, and he’s looking at them like they’re wolves ready to strike.

      Knitting my eyebrows together, I look closer. He’s swaying a little and he really isn’t breathing, so I round my desk and hurry across the floor, slowing my steps as I approach so I won’t scare him.

      Sir? Are you all right? I ask.

      His eyes keep flitting around as though he hasn’t heard me. He’s tense; I could cut glass on the cords of his neck.

      I soften my voice. Sir?

      He tears his gaze away from one of the many book displays—I’m looking for a book and the cover was blue—and looks at me, but I’m not sure he realizes I’m a human being. His eyes are glassy and unfocused and wild. Pleading for help. He looks terrified, reminding me a little about a visitor who had a panic attack right here in the library a couple years back.

      Sir? I keep my voice low, soothing. Sir, you’re worrying me. If you don’t take a breath, I’ll have to call the ambulance. No reaction. I take a couple steps closer and touch his arm as I scan his face, looking for clues. He’s perspiring and his pulse flutters frantically in his neck. He’s holding his coat in one huge hand and the grip is so tight, his knuckles are whitening.

      This man is scared to death, and if I don’t do something quickly, he’ll pass out.

      I gently squeeze his arm. Sir? You’re safe here with me. I won’t leave you. Would you please breathe for me?

      There’s a glint of recognition in his eyes, as though my words are getting through to him, as though he realizes I’m a fellow human and not a dangerous predator ready to attack.

      His chest rises and falls, and he dips his chin once. The acknowledgment—and the breathing—makes me relax, so I smile at him.

      My name is Adrian, and I work here. Would you please come with me? My desk is just over there. I point. You can sit down for a second and I’ll get you a glass of water, okay?

      Another dip to his chin.

      Great. Are you all right to walk to my desk on your own, or would you like me to help you?

      Without a word, he holds out his elbow; I link my arm through his and coax him toward my desk. After just a couple steps, he speaks. There are so many books. I don’t know what I was thinking, coming here. I can’t do this. I can’t. There are so many books. His voice is fervent. Agitated.

      I give his arm a little squeeze, reminding him that I’m here. Yes, sir. We have a lot of books here. A little too many if you ask me, at least when it’s time to put them all back. I’m hoping my words and a little humor will divert his attention from whatever scares him about the books and bring him out of his state. The little huff he lets out tells me I’m onto something, so I continue to babble. I’m very good at babbling, after all.

      Just a few more steps and we’ll be there. I’m the boss of the information desk, but don’t tell my coworkers I said that. They’ll try to tell you I’m wrong. That we’re all equals here at the library. But you and I know that’s not the case, right? Only someone wearing a bowtie can be the boss of the information desk, that’s an old rule. I bump my shoulder to his to show I’m kidding and get another huff as a reward.

      I pull out the visitor’s chair. Please sit, sir. He collapses into the rickety old wooden thing that’s seen better days—every year, the city council cuts funding to our little library, so we can’t splurge on stuff like furniture—and it groans underneath him. He’s way too big for the tiny thing; he’s spilling out of it, as though someone poured him into it and didn’t stop when he started flowing over. The man is muscle upon muscle—easily double my width—and tall, maybe even a bit taller than my own six feet four inches. I hope the chair won’t collapse underneath him.

      I pour a glass of water from the carafe standing on my desk and hand it to him. And unwilling to put distance between us by sitting in my chair, I half sit on the edge.

      His hand shakes as he brings the glass to his mouth, but he manages without spilling. He gulps every last drop of the water, then hands the glass to me.

      More? I ask.

      He shakes his head.

      Can you tell me your name?

      Manne. Uh. Simon Mandelberg, but everyone calls me Manne.

      It’s very nice to meet you, Manne.

      Uh, you, too.

      Are you all right?

      He shrugs.

      "Are you ill? Do you need a

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