Page 109 of Divine Temptations

My throat tightened. Words seemed like an impossible task, but I managed a stiff nod. The library was public. Safe. Neutral. Walls of books and plenty of witnesses—nothing could happen there.

At least… that’s what I told myself.

I got to the library twenty minutes early, partly because I didn’t want to keep Noah waiting, and partly because I wanted to control the battlefield.

No cramped reading rooms. No quiet corners where the air felt too warm and the walls seemed to lean in. I picked a table smack in the middle of the main floor, directly beneath the huge chandelier that spilled light over the space like a spotlight. We’d be surrounded on all sides—students reading, typing, whispering. Witnesses. Neutral ground.

When Noah walked in, every head seemed to turn just slightly. Not enough to be obvious, but enough for me to notice. He had that kind of presence—the casual, effortless confidence that made people want to look twice.

“Nice table,” he said as he slid into the chair across from me. His grin told me he knew exactly why I’d chosen it.

I opened my notebook and pretended to focus on the margins. “Plenty of light,” I said flatly. “It's easy to spread out our work.”

He leaned his forearms on the table, that easy posture that made it look like he had all the time in the world. “So,” he began, “I thought we could start by outlining the key imagery in the garden passage, then compare it to some of the other metaphors in the text—”

I exhaled, relieved he was actually talking about the project.

“—but before we do that,” he said, interrupting himself, “where are you from?”

The question threw me. “Why?”

“Because I want to know.” He rested his chin on one hand. “You’ve got this quiet, Midwestern professor vibe.”

I stared at him. “Bellevue. Small town in northern Ohio.”

His eyebrows went up. “Isn’t that where Sherwood Anderson grew up? The Winesburg, Ohio guy?”

My mouth fell open. “You know that?”

He grinned. “Of course. Except in the book it’s called Winesburg, right?”

I shook my head in disbelief. “I’ve never met anyone outside of my high school English teacher who knew that.”

It happened so easily I didn’t see it coming. Noah tapped the cover of the text with his pen. “I bet you’re the type who likes novels with no wasted words. The kind that gut you in under two hundred pages.”

I narrowed my eyes. “And you’re the type who gets lost in thousand-page epics and quotes the sensual parts like scripture.”

“Guilty,” he said, grinning. “Give me lush, lyric-heavy poetry any day.”

I shook my head, fighting a smile. “Academic puritanism suits me just fine, thanks.”

He leaned back, pretending to look wounded. “Puritanism? Henry, every novel’s just a love story in disguise.”

I snorted, the sound louder than I meant. “That’s absurd.”

“Prove me wrong,” he challenged, his eyes catching the light in a way that made it impossible to look away.

Apparently, we were enjoying ourselves a little too much, because a sharp “Shhh!” cut through the air. The librarian behind the desk—mid-sixties, with horn-rimmed glasses—was glaring at us like we’d just started singing in the middle of the room.

We both mumbled an apology, grinning like kids who’d just been caught passing notes in class.

Noah lowered his voice, but he didn’t stop. “So what else? Bellevue, favorite books, what’s next? Siblings? Weird hobbies? What makes you happy?”

I should have shut it down. This wasn’t supposed to be personal. But the truth was, I liked the questions. I liked that he was listening—not just waiting for his turn to talk. And the more I spoke, the more I caught that glint in his eyes, like he was memorizing me one answer at a time.

Noah’s phone buzzed on the table. He glanced down at the screen, and just like that, the warmth in his eyes dimmed.

“Sorry,” he whispered, reaching for it. “I’ve gotta cut this short. Someone I work with called out sick, so I’ve gotta take his place.”