Chapter Four
Instead of working like I’m supposed to, I’m searching the internet for anything major that happened in Arizona over the past year. Lots of things happened, but I can’t link any of them to Griffin. Frustrated, I set my phone down. Grandma Ruth’s warning repeats in my head. You cannot change the future. The sooner you can accept that, the better off you will be.
Sorry Grandma, I refuse to accept that.
On an average day, this library isn’t a ghost town. Today is a weird exception. This gives me little to do other than think and worry. Even despite the unwanted downtime, I love everything about my job. Sure, it’s an underpaid position, and it probably won’t look great on any future résumé, but it’s quiet. People don’t flow through the doors in hordes like they do at coffee shops or malls.
Most people don’t like to read—or rather, they’re more inclined to buy and rent e-books online. It’s simpler, so I guess I can’t entirely blame them. But me? I love to feel the books within my fingers, feel the pages as I turn them. Yeah, it sounds like a cheesy quote someone stamped over a stock photo, but it’s true.
I blame my book addiction on Grandma Ruth. She’s always been a librarian. Sometimes when I was younger, she’d bring me to work with her and I’d search the shelves high and low, looking for my next fix. But it’s a better addiction than others, so I’m more than okay with it. Grandma works here at the Centerville Public Library only a few days a week, so I rarely see her when I’m working. We have opposite shifts.
An older man comes up to the desk with a few books to check out. As I take the last book from his hand, his fingers graze mine. I see a momentary flash of our ending, which is him leaving out the front door. Someone I’ll never see again. But I notice in the vision that his shoe is untied. Blinking away the image, an idea forms.
Maybe I should practice changing the future. Why start with such a big thing like saving a life? If I tell the man to tie his shoe and he does, the vision I saw won’t exactly become reality. Right? That detail will change. “Your left shoelace is untied,” I say too loudly.
“What? Oh.” He looks down, grumbling. “I’ll fix it when I get to my car.”
Of course, it wouldn’t be that easy. “Sir, I insist. It’s a fire hazard. You wouldn’t want to be responsible for a serious injury, would you?”
The man snorts, waving a hand dismissively. “Looks like the only person I’m endangering is myself. If I get that close to the floor, I’ll be lyin’ on it. So, if ya don’t mind.”
Before I can say more than, “Sir,” he’s already on his way out.
Crap. Awful psychic visions: one. Me: zero.
Looks like I’m going to need a lot of practice experimenting with small visions. The doorbell chimes as I’m working out the details of my plan. I glance left, and when I do, my heart stutters.
The sunlight streaming through the windows highlights Griffin’s dark golden hair like a halo. For a second, he looks like a freaking angel—a hot angel—his hair a mess in just the right way. Subtle biceps aren’t completely hidden beneath his teal shirt-sleeves.
I blink. The door shuts behind him and the halo fades, but boy, does he look good. It’s not fair.
I didn’t expect him to take me up on my offer to visit the library so soon. But there’s no denying my happiness, not with my heart drumming an excited beat. He hasn’t noticed me yet, so his gaze wanders to the left, where the library opens wider. Slowly, he steps sideways then turns so I get a perfect view of his profile, which is just as stunning as his front. Seeing this guitar-playing, museum-visiting, songwriting, hot guy walking into a library has my heart melting. Just a little.
I eye the library card application forms before watching Griffin as he moseys toward the aisles. Pulse thrumming, I continue to take in the sight of him. Even from yards away and with his back turned, he’s still a stunning piece of art.
I lick my lips, break my stare. Too bad no book on earth contains info on curses and how to break them. Actually, I bet a few have curses mentioned in them, but no one has ever been cursed like me. Lots of people would literally kill to see the future. But they don’t know how wrong they are to want such a painful existence. I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy.
Pressing my fingers down on the gray counter, I take in a deep breath, shut my eyes for a moment, and then open them again. No amount of deep breathing will help me change fate, though. And despite all the signs pointing to fat chance in hell, I have to do whatever I can for as long as I can. Holding on to such a desperate hope of saving Griffin is like wearing thousand-pound shackles. But I’ll continue wearing them. All the way to the end.
My heart pulses when I leave my post at the front desk and cautiously walk toward him.
“You don’t look like the kinda person to wander into a library on a Friday afternoon,” I say, placing one hand on my hip in the hope that it makes me appear cool, calm, and confident. I’m not calm. Not in the slightest. Haven’t been since a few days ago when Griffin touched me.
His amber-golden eyes widen. Then a slow grin spreads across his stunning face. “Quinn.”
The way he says my name sends a fluttering through my veins. I hate him for it. “Griffin.”
He steps toward me. “I think you’re stealing my lines.”
I shrug. “Sure am. I’m surprised you came.”
Griffin laughs deeply. “You did invite me. Unless you were saying that only to be nice?”
“Of course not. I meant it.”
His grin cracks even wider, and oh, how I wish I had my camera so I could keep this memory forever. “I guess it’s true what they say.”
I raise a brow. “True what who says?”
“Whoever… About fate. Kismet. Whatever you want to call it.”
I’m not sure that’s a thing, but I don’t exactly want to discuss fate right now. “Ah, I guess so,” I say, twisting to see if there’s anyone standing at the checkout. “I didn’t take you for a reader.”
“I’m not.”
“Then why did you come?”
He grins and inches closer. “Thanks to some good advice this gorgeous stranger gave me, I’m giving new things a try. Looking for inspiration.”
My cheeks flush, and I tap my fingers against my jeans. We walk toward the rows of books on the left. “It’s the art section over here. And the music section is down there.” I nod to where he’d been standing. “This section of the library isn’t an unlikely place. Art and music aren’t new to you.”
A moment later, he’s holding a book in his hands, twisting it around with his fingers. One beautiful brow rises high on his forehead, which crinkles in the cutest way. “Baby steps.”